Chapter 11
Steph
The road beyond the barricade was smooth and wide, packed down by a volunteer group and their grooming machine that maintained the area for cross-country skiers and snowshoers. The slight incline was runnable, but with the sled and just starting out, she preferred to power walk this section.
Steph settled into her pace within the first quarter mile, feeling the sled pull behind her, testing the connection between her body and the load. The new sled moved well, better than she’d expected when she bought it at the gear swap.
She didn’t look at Jack.
The temperature was holding in the upper twenties. No real wind beyond a gentle breeze, which made it almost comfortable, the kind of cold that settled around you rather than cutting into you. The sky had gone pink and orange at the edges where the sun was finishing its business for the day.
“What did you bring for food?” Jack nodded toward her sled. “I wasn’t sure what all to pack, so I brought a mishmash of stuff. Probably too much. I’m the kind of guy who likes to know where my next meal is coming from.”
She considered ignoring him, but what good would that do? Knowing Jack, he wouldn’t take the hint. He’d just keep yapping and wouldn’t understand that while she was letting him come with her, they weren’t friends. Not by a long shot.
“I always bring more than I think I’m going to need,” she said. “It seems smart.”
“Exactly what I was thinking. Although I do think I need to back off on my food a bit.” He patted his stomach. “I’m not training like I used to, and it’s catching up with me.”
His tone carried a hint of humor, and Steph found herself stifling a laugh. Not that she agreed with his assessment. At the ski swap, without extra layers to cover him, she had noticed his trim build. She had noticed plenty.
She took a moment to compose herself as she thought about a response. She finally settled on, “Food is fuel, but I can see how you might need to make changes now that you aren’t competing professionally.”
She didn’t add that if he trained properly for The Frozen Divide, which was coming up in March, and the Elkridge Endurance race later in the year, he’d have no trouble keeping weight off.
The truth was, she didn’t want to encourage him, especially as far as The Frozen Divide was concerned. He had no business even doing an event like that. She knew it, and if he had any brains at all, he knew it too.
Of course, he had zero brains. He was here, interrupting her training time so he could . . . what? Tag along? There was no way it was a mere coincidence he happened to be at the exact same place she was at the exact same time to start her overnight.
“Have you ever done a training like this?” she asked.
“You mean hours in the wilderness?”
“In the wilderness.” She waved her arm to take in the trees around them. “But also in the cold and snow.”
“I grew up in the snow. Michigan. Joined the Nordic team in middle school. Went to state in high school. My first Olympic dream was the Cross-Country 50K.”
She glanced in his direction. “Really? I didn’t realize. I guess I should have, considering what the biathlon is.”
“Yeah. My big dream was to medal in the 50K.”
Steph did the math in her head—50K was just over thirty miles. It wasn’t as far as he’d need to go for an ultramarathon, but not too shabby. “But you ended up doing the biathlon?”
“Yeah. In high school, I went to state for the seven and a half kilometers. Placed first in my senior year. In college, I moved up to 15 and 20Ks. I was ranked well.” He paused.
She glanced in his direction to see him staring straight ahead, his jaw tight.
“And?” she prompted.
“After college is when I set my sights on the 50K at the Olympics. I was training year-round. Had a coach who thought I could do it. Life was good.”
“Why’d you switch to the biathlon?”
His pause was longer this time, and when he spoke, his tone held a note she couldn’t quite decipher.
“It wasn’t really one thing, more like a lot of little things.
My coach made me realize that, even if I made the Olympic team, I’d never medal.
Norway dominates the sport, and with the times they put out, I wasn’t even close.
Well, I was close, but not close enough.
He was the one who suggested I switch to the biathlon.
I used to shoot skeet with my dad. Hunted geese and ducks.
Deer. I tried it. Loved it. And I was hooked. ”
“Until your injury.”
They walked in silence for many minutes, Steph mentally berating herself for being so blunt about how his Olympic dreams ended.
I should say something to smooth things over, she thought. Why? You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, she countered to herself.
Eventually, Jack said, “So you were going to tell me about the food you brought.”
“You really are obsessed with food.”
“I still have my high metabolism, I guess.” He shrugged.
“I used to have a running partner, and he had a rule that when out on a long run, we never discussed food until the last five kilometers.”
“That sounds like a terrible rule. I’ve been thinking about the food I have in my bag since we left the parking lot.”
“That food in your bag is going to be frozen.”
Jack stopped in the middle of the road. “Ugh, you’re right. I didn’t even think about that.”
Steph stopped next to him. “I have my first snacks under my jacket.” She unzipped her layers enough to show him. She had little round cheeses tucked against her torso, a homemade protein shake in a leakproof container, a bag of mixed nuts, a bag of dried fruit, and a third bag with pretzels.
“Everything freezes if you let it get cold enough. Cheese gets hard as a rock. Gels turn to concrete, so I never bring those.” She rezipped. “Body heat helps, but some stuff might still get a little chewy. Did you not carry food when you were skiing?”
He shook his head. “During training, some. But usually, my coach kept me fed, and during events, we’re taken care of at the feed stations by someone handing us a carb drink. Besides, the Lycra race suit doesn’t leave much space for tucking in snacks.” Jack wagged his eyebrows at her.
She barely held in her laugh as she tried not to picture him in his racing suit. She’d seen the videos and knew he was right. The form-fitting uniform left little room for anything as it sculpted to his muscular frame.
“I guess I should move a few things to my jacket?”
“Probably a good idea.”
He knelt next to his sled and took a few things from his backpack. He awkwardly tucked a dry bag under his arm as he tried to undo his zipper.
“Need a hand?” She reached for the bag.
He handed it to her with a smile. “Thanks.”
She watched as he unzipped his jacket, showing a gun holster across his chest.
He caught her looking. “Bears.”
“They’re denned up.”
“Probably. But I thought bringing the 10-millimeter made sense.” He flashed a sheepish smile.
Adorable. The word surfaced in her mind before she could stop it. She scowled slightly and buried the thought.
“Bear spray is more effective anyway.” She touched the quilted holster on her hip that held a canister. “Even if you’re a good shot, stopping a charging grizzly with a pistol requires nerve and precision under conditions that don’t favor either one. Spray gives you a wider margin.”
“Good to know.” He didn’t sound defensive. “I’ll add spray to my list for next time.”
She ignored the hopeful tone of his words. “You won’t need it for the race, and you can carry the gun if it makes you comfortable. Just know its limitations.”
He took a few minutes to get his food situated against his torso and added a water bottle to an inside pocket. She noticed it was a wide-mouth container, and he inserted it upside down.
At least he knew that much; the trick for keeping water from freezing would be enough tonight since it wasn’t expected to get too cold—upper teens with no wind. She had her water in an insulated holster on her chest harness. Keeping things from freezing was a true challenge.
“All set,” he said.
The road curved gently upward, and she felt the sled’s weight shift with the grade. She adjusted her lean and kept moving. The harness sat well at this load. The new sled tracked true and didn’t pull sideways the way a poorly balanced load would. She’d packed it right.
“What are you thinking about?” Jack asked.
“The sled, how it’s pulling and whether the load distribution is right.”
“Is it?”
“So far.” She rolled her shoulders slightly, feeling for hotspots where the harness might dig in over time. Nothing yet. “Ask me in a few hours.”
He smiled at that. She caught it from the corner of her eye and looked away.
“Ready to increase our speed?” she asked, taking up an easy run.
Jack moved well. Smooth and confident. She supposed it made sense from his hours on skis in all weather, training across elevation and distance and temperature.
The gun made sense, too, seen through that lens. He was comfortable with firearms in ways most recreational runners weren’t. Of course, the biathlon used a rifle and shot at targets. She wasn’t really sure a pistol and a possible bear was the same thing, but she didn’t disagree with his choice.
Steph didn’t hate that he could keep up with her.
She didn’t want to think about what that meant.
“What are your layers for today?” he asked.
She glanced at him. He was genuinely asking, not filling the silence. She recognized the difference.
“Base layer is merino wool. Midlayer is fleece. Outer shell is wind and water resistant but breathable.” She held out her arm so he could see the outer layer’s construction.
“I run warm, so I went lighter on the mid layer than I might in harder conditions. If the temperature drops significantly, I have an insulated vest and an insulated top layer I can add, plus an additional base layer and a few miscellaneous items I always have.”
“Where?”
“In my pack on the sled.”
He nodded, filing it away.
“What are you in?”
He told her. She listened and made mental assessments without offering them unless he asked, which he did, twice, and she gave him straight answers both times. He hadn’t gone wrong exactly, but there were adjustments she would make, and she said so.
The sun had dropped by the time they reached the gate, and it was lightly snowing. She reached up and clicked on her headlamp without breaking stride. He did the same a beat later.
The world contracted. That was the thing about headlamps in the wilderness that people who hadn’t done it didn’t understand.
It wasn’t just darkness pressing in from the edges.
It was the way the light created its own small world, a moving circle of visibility that traveled with you, the two of them inside it together and everything else outside it.
The road ahead was lit up, but everything beyond ten feet ceased to matter.
She was aware of him in a way she hadn’t quite been in the daylight.
They had found a rhythm, their pace matching without discussion, their footfalls falling into a pattern that was almost synchronized on the packed snow. Their sleds hissed quietly behind them.
“You’re good at this,” he said. It wasn’t a compliment, exactly. More like an observation he hadn’t meant to say out loud.
She didn’t answer right away. The road curved ahead of them, and she tracked it with her lamp, reading the surface.
“I’ve put in the miles,” she said finally.
“It shows.”
She kept moving and didn’t examine why his words made her stomach do that crazy little flip.
The trees on either side of the road were heavy with snow, dark shapes at the edge of the light.
The cold had sharpened as the last of the daylight left, the way it always did once the sun was fully down.
She felt it on the small, exposed strip of skin between her balaclava and her goggles.
She pulled the balaclava up another inch.
Beside her, Jack was quiet, which she didn’t mind. She’d noticed that sometimes he’d start talking and the words just kept tumbling out, but he wasn’t doing that now. He was just there, watching the road ahead with the same attention she gave it.
Steph didn’t hate it.
Not hating something is a long way from liking it. Don’t make more of it than it is.
The road stretched ahead of them into the dark. The sled pulled clean and steady behind her. Her legs were warm, her breathing was easy, and the cold was the right kind of cold, the kind that reminded you that you were alive and capable and exactly where you chose to be.
“This is a good place to speed up a bit,” she said.
“Let’s do it.”
Jack’s headlamp swept the road beside hers.
She didn’t hate this at all.