14. Finn
FOURTEEN
FINN
“How are we feeling this morning?” Rhett asks at the starting line of the Dashing All The Way 5k. “You disappeared the last few days. Thought you might be sick or something.”
“Nah. I was busy with work.” I lift my leg and rotate my knee out to stretch my groin. “Did you miss me?”
I haven’t told them about Margo.
It’s been three days since I put her in an Uber and watched her drive away, and she’s still on my mind.
I know they wouldn’t make fun of me for thinking about her; if my buddies didn’t tease me about hooking up with a woman who purposely peed the bed so she could record how guys reacted, I doubt they’ll give me shit for having a fun night with someone that involved zero urination. (And yes, that’s a true story.)
I don’t understand why I can’t shake the thought of Margo, though. I’ve had one-night stands before. I’ve had a quick hookup in a hotel bar with a stranger whose name I didn’t learn. Hell, I’ve had serious girlfriends, with some of the relationships lasting a year.
So why the fuck is this girl driving me crazy?
Maybe it was her laugh or the way she batted her eyelashes. It might be the confidence she has, not an ounce of shyness to her game. Honestly, it’s probably her smile and the way her eyes twinkle when she’s happy that’s pulling me in.
Whatever it is, I need it to stop .
“In your dreams,” Rhett says, and it’s a yank back to reality. He takes a sip of his water and tosses it in the trash can on the other side of the barricade. “What are you going for this morning? A PR? Running for a certain time?”
“I feel pretty good.” I shake out my arms and pull my sunglasses over my eyes. “Beautiful day for a race. Might fuck around and shoot for a personal record.”
“Beautiful day? It’s freezing.” Holden tugs on his gloves and shivers. “Running in weather below thirty-five degrees should be illegal.”
“You grew up in Illinois. How do you still think this is cold?” I ask.
“Because I’m a sensitive man who prefers the warmer climate.”
“Run faster so you can finish sooner.” I pat his shoulder and nod hello to the row of guys up front. This race always attracts the college boys who are home for the holidays, and I like lining up next to them. They think I’m some old guy who can’t throw down negative splits, and it’s fun to see the surprise on their faces when I pass them in the last mile. “And stop complaining.”
“We’re doing lunch after this, right?” Rhett asks. “I told Jada we could go to that new pasta restaurant up the street from our house.”
“Sounds good to me. Last one in has to buy for everyone.”
“Not fair,” Holden groans. “You all know I’m the slowest of the three of us.”
“You’re not slow, H. You run at your own pace,” I tell him. “And what do I always say?”
“Miles are miles no matter how fast,” he grumbles, and I nod.
“Exactly right, my friend.” I click my watch and hover my finger over the start button. “I’ll see you kids on the other side.”
The race announcer blows an air horn and I take off, dodging a six-year-old who’s about to get mowed over by a pack of very ambitious runners.
I exhale a breath as my lungs adjust to the bite of cold nipping at my nose. Holden might complain about it being freezing, but you can’t dream up a better morning to go for a run. The air is still. The sky is clear, and the sun makes everything feel infinitely warmer.
At the half mile mark, I settle into my pace, knowing my competition likes to go out too fast before they start to drop like flies. I prefer the longer distances over the shorter sprint stuff, but it’s fun to change it up once in a while.
Like today.
I’m cruising well below my 5k PR pace of fourteen minutes, a time I haven’t hit since my early twenties. The effort feels easy as I enjoy the moment and keep an eye on the leader out in front. A kid with a sign cheers me on, and I give a halfhearted wave to the volunteers blocking traffic for us.
The pain starts at halfway.
The familiar burn in my legs works its way up from my calves to my quads. My hamstrings scream at me when I climb a small incline, and I curse under my breath at whoever the fuck decided on this course.
When I cross the two-mile mark four seconds ahead of my PR, I know I have to make a decision; I either need to go for it now, or I’m going to run out of ground. I don’t have twenty more miles to chip away at the guy ahead of me.
Fuck it.
Might as well make my last race of the year a fun one.
Gritting my teeth, I round a bend and search for the well inside me I tap into when I need to dig deep. When I need to grind a little harder to accomplish my goals, and I pass fifth place, then fourth.
My body feels like it’s revolting against me.
I never thought I’d be wishing I was running five times this distance.
My legs are heavy like lead and my lungs sting with the mid-December cold.
Everything hurts , but when I pass third place, I wipe the snot from my nose and put my head down, ready to finish this damn thing.
I hang behind the guy in second place for thirty seconds, matching his stride as I kick it up a notch.
Margo’s face appears in my blurry vision. I picture her teasing me for being so fast, the look of admiration in her eyes when I told her how many marathons I’ve done. It makes me smile, and as a knife of pain wedges itself in my lower back, I veer around second place until there’s only one guy left to take down.
I recognize him from the singlet he’s wearing. He’s in a different run club in the city, and I’ve never really liked him. He’s showboaty when he wins, the kind of athlete who posts on social media like he’s god’s gift to the sport.
It’s fun to be fast, but it’s really fucking lame to make other people feel like they’re inadequate just because they don’t run the pace you do.
With a quarter mile to go, I surge forward. My feet pound the pavement and I cross three miles, thirty seconds away from wrapping this up with a nice decorative bow. I pass him, our shoulders brushing as the race announcer calls out our names to the cheer of a crowd.
Eight-tenths of a mile turns to seven-tenths, then six. I pick up my cadence. My feet turn over as fast as they will go, and I’m the one to break the tape at the finish. I lift my arms over my head in celebration and slow to a jog, leaving everything I had in me out on the course.
“Shit.” I lean over the metal barricade and swallow down the bile rising in my throat. I shrug off the medic who comes over to look at me and stand up straight. “I’m fine. Just need to walk it off.”
I put my hands over my head and shuffle past the finish line. My breathing finally returns to normal and my heart rate slows to its resting pace.
When the possibility of projectile vomit subsides, I loop around on the outside of the course so I can watch the rest of the runners come in.
Men make up the first fifteen finishers, but I spot a familiar blonde charging toward the finish as the first female. I laugh when she crosses the line, waving her down after she lifts her head up from between her knees.
“Katarina,” I call out, and she blinks at me with the dazed look runners get when they’ve pushed themselves past the point of exhaustion. I grab a bottle of water and meet her at the barricade, handing over the hydration. “Damn, you’re fast.”
“Thanks.” She holds the water bottle to her forehead and exhales a shaky breath. “Been training for this one. Didn’t realize I was in the lead.”
“Incredible run. College cross country?”
“Yup. D1. Finished third at the national championships.”
“Impressive.” I scan the finish line, not sure why I think I’d find Margo in the seventeen-minute group. I doubt she’s here, unless it was to support her friend, but I look for her anyway. “Nice job out there.”
“She’ll be here in a bit.” Katarina props her foot up on the curb to stretch her calf and groans. “Margo. Right around thirty minutes.”
I perk up. “She’s here?”
“Yeah. She almost backed out this morning, but I think she was excited to try again and not end up in a medical tent this time.”
I laugh. “That would be much preferred. Do you know what she’s wearing?”
“A shirt that says tequila made me do it .”
“Do you think—” I lick my lips and clear my throat. “Would she mind if I was waiting for her at the finish line?”
“I think she’d like that very much.” Katarina eyes me and gives me a smile. “I don’t get weird vibes from you, and she was very happy when she got back from your place. You did something right.”
I don’t know why that makes me giddy, but it’s enough confirmation for me to stick around. I give her shoulder a light squeeze and head to the end of the finish line chute. “Thanks for the reassurance.”
Rhett comes in a few minutes later, and Holden is behind him. I watch the waves of finishers cross the line and search for her. The time on the clock tells me she’s probably still five minutes away, but a flash of color heading into the last one tenth of a mile catches my attention, and I hightail it to the volunteers handing out medals.
“Hi,” I say to one of the women. “Do you mind if I give one of the participants a medal? It’s her first 5k, and I want to surprise her.”
“Oh, of course.” The woman hands me a medal and a mylar blanket. “Are you proposing to her too?”
“What?” I burst out laughing and shake my head. “No ma’am. We’ve only hung out once.”
“Sometimes that’s all it takes to know.” She winks and turns to congratulate a mother pushing a stroller.
“And coming across the line is Margo Andrews from Chicago. Give it up for Margo, everyone,” the announcer says to the crowd, and I move forward so she doesn’t miss me.
A quick assessment shows me she’s in better shape than after the half marathon, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Hey,” I say, and her eyes snap up to meet mine. “I’ve said it once, but I’ll say it again. We have got to stop meeting like this.”