Chapter 9
Steph
The road to the park’s gate was snow-packed and slick.
Steph could tell a plow had gone by, but the steady snowfall had changed things since then.
She took it slow and kept her SUV in four-wheel drive.
She met a fair amount of traffic heading back toward Irma, yet remained the only car bound for the park.
“It’ll be good conditions for training,” she said as she clicked the wipers up a notch.
The temperature indicator on her dash showed twenty-eight degrees.
Cold enough to snow, but it should still feel comfortable as long as the wind didn’t come up.
Wind changed everything and could turn an enjoyable training session into a miserable one.
Steph sighed and shook her head. “Cowboy up, girl. You know the actual race could be ten times worse.”
When she’d called her friend Gina to file her training plan with her, Gina had tried to talk her out of going up. “It’s going to snow a lot,” she’d said.
“Not until after midnight. I’ll be back at my SUV before then.”
“Did you forget what happened only a few months ago with Brooke’s training run? The forecast was wrong, and the weather came in early. You know how that turned out.”
Steph did know how that turned out, but what happened at Bearwater was an anomaly.
The situation had been terrible, the result of a perfect storm in more ways than one.
She hadn’t been with them, but clearly understood the danger her friends had been in.
In the end, Steph lost a friend because of what happened.
She reached over and turned on the music, keeping the volume low. She liked listening while she drove, but only at the right level and tone. Soft background music, not something loud enough to shake the car.
On long drives, she preferred an audiobook. The drive from Irma to the park usually took a little over an hour, but it’d be longer today with the road conditions. Outside the car, she rarely listened to music or books at all.
Lots of runners trained to music, earbuds in and playlists full of motivating beats. Steph hated running that way. For her, the best soundtrack was the rhythm of her shoes and the steady sound of her breathing.
But just like on long drives, sometimes during long training runs or an actual ultramarathon, she needed something more to pass the time. That was when she’d turn on instrumental music or an audiobook. She rarely paid enough attention to the story to know what was actually happening, but it helped.
Steph glanced in the rearview mirror and caught her own gaze. Until you start hallucinating.
During her first attempt at The Frozen Divide 100, she’d experienced hallucinations, and it freaked her out. That was part of the reason her race ended in a DNF—Did Not Finish—a tag no runner ever wanted.
She realized then how important night training was. That was a lesson learned the hard way. Now she did at least three overnight training runs, trying to mimic the conditions of the actual trail as closely as possible.
The park was a great option for this. The road was closed to wheeled vehicles in early November and didn’t open again until spring.
That left the two miles between Silver Mane’s Lodge and the gate for skiers, snowshoers, and the occasional winter runner crazy enough to be out there in the dead of winter.
Once she reached the gate, the training options were almost endless. She could stay on the road and practice with her sled or take one of the ungroomed trails. Steph had been coming here for years, during all seasons. It was one of her favorite places.
She went over her plan as she drove. Three and a half, maybe four hours out, sled in tow with the mandatory gear required by The Frozen Divide, plus the extra items she needed to feel comfortable and self-sufficient if something went sideways.
She’d filed her route with her friends Gina, Jocelyn, and Brooke before she left.
Gina insisted on always being included since she was a registered nurse who worked at the hospital and was a volunteer member of Basin County Search and Rescue. “If I get a notice of needing to go save someone, I don’t want to find out in the field it’s you,” she’d said once, only half kidding.
Neither Brooke nor Jocelyn were part of BCSAR, but the close friendships required her to keep them in the loop.
Brooke wouldn’t make a big deal of it if Steph didn’t share her route with her, but Jocelyn would, using her best drama queen skills to remind Steph of the dangers of being in the wilderness alone and no one knowing how to find her.
Jocelyn had even suggested Steph wait until after the Christmas shows were done to train in the park so she could join her. Steph considered it, but then she’d need to do two extensive trainings close together, and that was a recipe for injury.
Training alone in the mountains wasn’t ideal, but one of the biggest concerns—bears—wasn’t an issue with the weather. They were denned up and in their winter sleep. While not a true hibernation, as long as she didn’t do anything stupid, like seek out a den and harass them, she’d be fine.
It was still light when she turned into the lot at Silver Mane’s Lodge, the low winter sun throwing long shadows across the snow.
There were half a dozen cars in the lot, probably people cross-country skiing or snowshoeing.
The snow had stopped, and the beauty of the area almost took her breath away.
She had timed her arrival so the first hour or so of her run would be in daylight.
She’d get used to her sled, the one she bought at the gear swap, and be nice and warmed up by the time darkness fell.
She wanted to get at least five hours of dark training in but was willing to cut that short if the weather changed. Being smart and adapting was important.
She put the SUV in park and glanced around.
Next to her, a family of four loaded up after sledding.
The youngest, maybe three or four, beamed, her cheeks pink and her coat dusted with snow.
The mom reached down and wrapped the little girl in a hug.
A boy, not much older, laughed with the dad as he tried to help lift the sled into the back of the vehicle. The perfect picture of a happy family.
Steph sighed.
Her mind, which had been reasonably well-behaved for most of the drive, chose that moment to bring up Jack Swisher. Again.
While the family loaded up, she watched them and let her mind drift. She’d checked the registration list for The Frozen Divide on Monday. She wasn’t sure what had prompted it, maybe restlessness or some instinct she didn’t want to examine.
She scrolled through, spotting familiar names from previous years and a few people she recognized from other events but were new to the grueling winter race.
To participate, runners had to prove they could handle the course and the conditions, so a complete novice was unlikely for the hundred-mile distance.
She was nearing the bottom when she saw it.
Swisher, Jack. Elkridge, Wyoming.
She’d stared at it for a solid thirty seconds.
The nerve. The absolute nerve. As if the running club and his dumb endurance race weren’t enough. As if showing up at the Jingle Run with his checkbook and his easy laugh and his infuriating competence wasn’t enough. Now he had to register for The Frozen Divide?
It was her race, the one she’d failed to finish in year one and barely finished in year two, and had spent every training run since then preparing to finish properly.
She knew she was being ridiculous. The Frozen Divide wasn’t her race. Anyone could register. But him? How’d he even get in? Probably greased someone’s palm somewhere.
Steph knew that was unfair. She knew the race directors and knew safety was their top priority. They wouldn’t have let Jack in if he hadn’t provided something that proved he could do the event without the risk of dying.
The problem wasn’t that he was registered.
The problem was what would happen when he showed up.
Jack Swisher, former Olympic hopeful, founder of a new running club, organizer of a hot new endurance event that had everyone’s tongue wagging.
He’d walk across that finish line, and it wouldn’t matter what time she posted or how far she’d come from her first year.
The only name anyone would talk about was his.
She grabbed her gloves with more force than necessary.
First he took her dream of organizing a major race in Basin County, then years of quiet work for Windy Basin Youth were reduced to background noise the second he came on the scene. Now this.
As the family pulled away, Steph opened her door and stepped out of the SUV.
The cold hit her square in the face, and she welcomed it. Cold she could work with. Cold made sense.
She was pulling on her balaclava when she noticed a vehicle, a couple of spaces beyond where the SUV had been.
A truck. Dark, newer, the kind with enough clearance for winter roads. Someone stood outside, fiddling with their pack.
Steph went still.
He hadn’t seen her yet. He was looking down at the waist buckle of his pack, the breeze off the mountains pushing at his jacket. She knew the set of those shoulders. She’d been more aware of them than she had any reason to be since the morning he’d pulled her off Grand Avenue.
Jack Swisher.
She said a word she generally kept to herself and reached back into the SUV for her trekking poles.