Chapter 38 Rachel
Currently playing: I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor
***
“You ready, sweetheart?” Adam asked with a rough hand on my lower back.
“No.” I smiled warily. But I was here anyway, wasn’t I?
Granted, I was doing the “sprint” triathlon and not the regular one I had foolishly hoped to sign up for. After the last couple of days of running and swimming with Adam at his parents’ house, he so kindly told me I wasn’t quite ready for the full thing—mostly because of the swimming. He said it in the same way a parent tells their kid the park is closed or that the store didn’t have their favorite ice cream. As if I was going to be entirely heartbroken over not having to run an additional five miles or so and who knows how far for swimming.
I was a strong swimmer. We had a pool at my house when I was growing up, and I was pretty good at making laps, but it was speed that was against me. Adam said I used too much energy in the swimming to focus on the running or biking portion. At least now it was only a half-mile swim, three-mile run, and then twelve and a half or so miles on a bike. It wasn’t going to be easy. It was borderline impossible for a reformed couch potato such as myself. But Adam, Layla, and the entire Wells Family were here to support. How could I not give it my best?
Everyone was starting to line up. Mostly men in their midforties stood at the white line. It was a little intimidating, everyone in their tight black wet suit–running combos and their tiny pouches of energetic goo. Most of the people here seemed to do this professionally. Their equipment was all name brand, and they all had runner’s bodies with lean muscle and zero percent fat content. Meanwhile, my swim cap had come from Target, and it wasn’t until last week that I truly understood how to hold my breath and push air underwater. Growing up with a pool meant mostly me sitting out on a float, lounging around to work on my tan and taking maybe a lap or two to cool off. I certainly never trained for the freaking Olympics.
But none of that mattered. I wasn’t here to win or to claim a medal like a lot of them. I was here for my dad, and I’d told Adam to be sure to grab a picture at the end so I could rush to show him as soon as my legs weren’t flabby Jell-O.
“You’re going to do incredible.” Adam kissed my forehead and squeezed my arm.
That was a stretch, but I had gotten a lot better at running over the months, and if I could make it across that finish line, what else in life could I do? The world was my oyster and all that.
With a shaky hand, I squeezed his wrist, turning my head to kiss his cheek. “I should go line up.”
He nodded. “Be careful. Don’t push yourself too far, and take a break if you need to.”
My smile grew wider. He was such a dad without even realizing it.
“I love you,” I whispered up to him, and he shook his head at me, pinching one of my cheeks. “I love you, little squatter.”
Calla stepped up behind Adam, her fiancé hot on her trail. “Good luck, Rach!” she shouted, two hands around her mouth despite the fact that I was three feet away.
Behind her were Marigold and Layla, holding up signs that said Run, Rachel, Run! with a Forrest Gump figure on one side. Layla’s had a cute hand-drawn Yoda on there that said May the course be with you in a cute Star Wars font. I loved them all so much. And they were mine, technically speaking. My sisters-in-law. But prior to that, they were the best girlfriends I could have ever asked for. I smiled at them softly with a head tilt. I still felt a twinge of guilt over never telling them about Adam before. But that would change soon too. We were supposed to meet up for a girls’ day on Monday as a celebration of me, hopefully, not being dead. I would catch them up on everything then. After that, all circles of my life would finally be put back together again. My little mosaic of a life. Broken here, shattered there, but put back together by the most wonderful glue, making the prettiest art around me.
“Thank you guys so much, really.” I gave them each a hug, then gave Adam one more kiss before taking my spot toward the far end of the line, since I knew my boundaries.
Marigold whistled and Layla shouted between her hands. Adam’s lips twisted in a smile at his family before he looked back at me.
The guy at the front with an orange flare gun raised his arm as the crowd counted down. I looked down the crowd to the side, my eyes instantly catching on my tattooed husband in a black tee with a small smile on his face.
He mouthed, “You’ve got this.”
And that was all the encouragement I needed.
Bang. We were off, diving into the water.
Twenty-seven felt like an awfully young age to die from exhaustion, but I wouldn’t put it past me either. I’d made it out of the swimming portion now, although I was currently the very—and I do mean very—last person in this race. There were a couple of women in front of me, one who was quite pregnant and the other who was at least eighty. So that was that. But somehow, I was still alive. That felt like a win.
I ripped off my wetsuit, leaving me in my one-piece running suit as I slipped on my race belt for the biking portion. The bike with my number on it was up and ready at its station beside me as I started grabbing my helmet and glasses. The glasses were a last-minute addition that Adam forced on me, but now that I felt the wind, I got it.
“Come on, Rach!” I heard one of the girls shout, but I didn’t up to see which one.
If I timed this right, I could use the time on my bike to make up the time I’d lost on the swimming portion. I was fairly good on a bike, and the running itself couldn’t be too much, right?
I tossed one leg over the seat as my hands gripped the handles, squeezing tightly around them. Unlocking the brakes, I took off to catch up with the people in my far view, my feet hooking to the pedals.
“You’ve got it, Stevie!” a husky voice shouted loud and proud behind me, and I smiled down at the bars in front of me. Oh, he was so going to get any kind of sourdough treat he wanted after this. Well, after I didn’t feel like my lungs were being squeezed out by an evil giant.
My bike and I cut through the wind, the supportive shouts around me slowly dwindling as I began leaving that crowd behind and heading down the path through the streets of Philly.
Two miles in, and the muscles in my legs were already beginning to heat up, this deep, dull burning sensation that started at the root of my calves and was slowly creeping up. But that didn’t matter. I was still going. I’d gotten the worst part over with, surely. Swimming was done, and now the biking and the running were just…cherries on top. Sure. My legs continued pushing as I worked to catch up to the other racers, my newest goal simply being don’t come in last. Foo Fighters “Monkey Wrench” began to play in my ears, and I smiled to myself, looking down at my feet pedaling.
I was wrong. About swimming being the hardest part. Maybe the breathing in the swim section, sure. But keeping up pace on the bike’s incredibly thin tires, which I still wasn’t entirely used to, as well as trying to focus on how I was going to do my next transition was at least twice as difficult. We were reaching the end of the biking portion. The paved road was surrounded by temporary walls with rows of people—family, friends, loved ones, volunteers holding signs and shouting individual’s names. I hadn’t seen Adam and the rest of my people in a few miles. I assumed they were rushing to the next viewing spot after the transition.
The once somewhat narrow path was now becoming wider as we reached the area to hang our bikes up and transition into the running portion—the last portion. Rows of bikes were hung up before me, their handlebars caught on these metal stations labeled with each contestant’s name and their correct shoes and running materials.
Swinging one leg around the side, I hopped off my bike a little too harshly, considering my knees buckled at the movement. My calves were wobbly blobs of Jell-O and the soles of my feet ached a deep, red-hot pain. But my arms settled over the bike as I pushed it down the alphabetical lineup, all the way to the Ws. The Ws. Because I was a Wells now.
I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage to finish this race, not with the ache in my calves and the acidic burn that was building up in my muscles. But I had to do it. This was about much more than me proving to myself that I could. Although, selfishly, I was extremely excited to take a picture and post that I did it to look back on for years to come. Regardless, it was for my dad. The training, the race, the shortened breath, and sore muscles—all of it was dedicated to him. With that, and the thought of giving Adam the sweatiest hug after this, I kept pushing forward. My sign finally came into view. The familiarity of my running shoes almost made me sigh in relief.
I hooked my bike up, making sure the wheel was positioned to not knock over any of the other bikes. Breathe. Adam’s voice rang in my mind. Slow down on transitions. There is no need to rush putting on your shoes or stretching. My chest rose as I breathed deeply in through my nose and out of my mouth. I closed my eyes, turning my neck from side to side to pop it. Then I grabbed my socks and shoes and quickly, although not too quickly, changed into them. I shook out my shoulders, bouncing and stretching a little before putting in the earbuds I had stashed in my running shoes and started my running fast, kicking ass playlist.
The comfort of my socks no longer being pooled with sweat, mixed with the feeling of being entirely free from a bike—just me and my legs here to finish up this race—was euphoric. I never in my life thought I would say Thank God, I only have to run three miles. And yet there I was. My neck craned, searching for my own people down the rows of spectators cheering on each person approaching with their bike. I would do absurd things to hear Marigold’s whistles or hear Layla shout nice butt, Rachy-poo like she swore she was going to. But my eyes couldn’t find them in the sea of mixed-up people holding signs for their loved ones.
I stretched my legs, pulling one with my foot touching my butt and then swapping, all while attempting to steady my breathing. I shoved down any possible disappointment that I hadn’t seen Adam or the others since the last transition. It wasn’t like they could run the entire thing with me. Plus, who knows? Maybe I’d passed them without realizing. I did have my AirPods volume turned up pretty high.
Feeling ready, I shook out my shoulders and began in a slow jog with two other women right beside me. I smiled—attempted one, anyway; it may have come out looking more like I was going to throw up—at both of them, and we steadied our pace together to keep pushing through to the steady track ahead of us. That was one thing I had noticed about this race so far. The people around me that seemed to do this kind of torture for fun all encouraged each other as if this was a group effort.
It almost reminded me of being on a road trip and you and three other cars are all matching speeds down the interstate. Though you might not even make eye contact with them, you still felt like they’re your buddies for those couple of hours. Until one of them betrays the pack and veers off to their assigned exit.
I kept their pace as long as I could. They were both a little older than me but had running bodies. Tight calves, smaller thighs than mine, toned stomach muscles shining underneath their tight crop tops. I wasn’t in their league in the slightest. But they hung around for about a mile when I knew they could have taken off without me at any moment. The encouragement was definitely helpful for as long as I could keep up. But whereas they were saving their energy by going at my pace, I was using all of it to keep up with theirs. Each step was getting harder. Blood pounded in my ears, my breath becoming louder and louder over my music. My throat begged for water despite the fact that I’d chugged down two cups from the volunteers about three minutes prior.
My body ached for rest, for a couch to magically appear to fall back on with a giant glass of water in my hand while an Adam-shaped figure rubbed my feet. My joints, mostly my knees, begged for me to stop, my chest filling with this icy-hot pain that somehow felt like all of my organs were shutting down. Everything in me screamed to stop then and there.
I really did try to keep in mind why I was doing this. Why I’d signed up for this in the first place. I wanted to see my dad—as soon as I chopped off these legs and magically grew new ones—show him the pictures, and say look, I did it. I did it for you. He wouldn’t remember it. In fact, maybe thirty minutes later, he would ask what I did over the weekend, and I would probably just shrug and say not much. The point wasn’t so he would remember. It was to see his reaction and know how much it would mean to him. The old him and this new transitioning one as well.
I kept that in the forefront of my brain as I pushed farther and farther. One mile down, two miles down, two point five. Each mark was a reminder of what the goal was here.
My body was betraying my mind. I so, so badly wanted to finish. I wanted every bit of my spirit to be there, but my feet relented. Just when I thought I wasn’t going to make it, that my legs were going to give out and I was going to have to army crawl out of this nightmare, I heard the familiar deep rumble of a shout in front of me. On the horizon, beyond about ten other racers, was Adam.
Two hands around his mouth, yelling my name in that baritone that was sure to scare off anyone in a twenty-foot radius. Maybe it was because I hadn’t seen him in what felt like ages, or maybe it was because I was past the point of exhaustion and was borderline delirious, but I started crying. I slowed my pace to a stop, forcing racers behind to veer around me. My head slumped down, shoulders shaking as the tears flowed out of me involuntarily. They rushed out one by one as I cried, bent over with my hands on my knees.
“Come on, honey!” he shouted, and I looked back up, not caring the slightest that I had to be the least attractive person on the planet while my Adam was practically Superman in civilian clothing. The finish line was right there, in perfect view, like pearly white roads leading to a golden gate. I shouldn’t have even stopped, but hearing him, seeing him, made it feel like my entire world had stopped on its axis.
I sobbed, my chest aching and tightening. I sniffed in an attempt to not look like a four-year-old throwing a tantrum, but I couldn’t keep this in. Even more so when I heard another deep voice shouting at the sidelines.
“I didn’t come this far to not see you finish.”
My eyes shot up again, because this time, I was surely, surely hallucinating. Behind Adam, in his distressed red Phillies tee and long khaki shorts, stood the man who had raised me to be everything I was.
My bottom lip wobbled, and I rubbed my eyes. “Dad?”
He chuckled, his eyes looking clearer than they had in weeks. He looked like the man who’d taught me to ride a bike. The one who used to sing Hootie and the Blowfish to me when I couldn’t sleep. The same man who was left behind by almost everyone in life and yet had never once given up on me. There he stood, smile wide and laughing loud enough for me to hear over the crowd.
He pointed at my face before turning to Adam to say something in his ear. Whatever was said caused Adam to bust out laughing. That dimple that I wanted to write an entire dissertation on flashed for everyone to see.
They were here for me. Right in front of Calla, Layla, and Marigold, as they whistled and shouted my name. Crew was beside them, crying, which somehow turned my sobs into laughter.
I spread my arms wide and ran full speed to my father, pulling him into the tightest hug.
“How are you even here?” I asked against his chest as his hands wrapped around me and patted me hard on the back. It felt like I was being transported to the moment I fell off my skates as a kid, scrapes covering my scrawny knees with blood pouring to my ankle. My sister pointed and screamed, which freaked me out even more. Dad held me, told me crying was okay—that he cried all the time—and brought me inside to clean it up. Mom yelled at him for not watching me better. Ironic, since she was sitting on the couch watching the news. He didn’t answer. He just cleaned me up and wiped me free of tears before hugging me with a firm pat. You’re so strong, little Stevie.
The memory shuddered through me as my sobs grew louder. He was the best, best dad there ever was. There was no doubt about it. Even in this state, he was still the best.
“My son invited me, of course.” He sounded so bright, and I smiled into his shoulder. What a good day for a good day.
His son. What a little softie my dad was becoming. I remembered visiting him last week, talking about Adam coming home soon and my excitement. He smiled over at me. I always wanted a son. Closest thing I got was a girl in pigtails that shared my love of ACDC and Jurassic Park. He’d ended up with both now. As long as Adam was mine, he was going to be Dad’s too. And I had a feeling he was going to be mine for a much, much longer time than any of us anticipated.
I pulled back to look at Adam, who was smirking down at me with that dimple that I wanted to crawl into. I knew I looked awful, but not an ounce of me cared as I leaped for him, my thigh muscles magically feeling a burst of energy that only he could cause. Chuckling, Adam reached for me and picked me off the ground, squeezing me tight.
“You okay?” he asked low in my ear.
I nodded. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”
“You’re my wife. You know I’d do anything for you.”
I sniffled and pulled his face to mine, planting my lips on his, tears and all. Ignoring the wolf whistle from who I assumed was Calla, I wrapped my arms around Adam’s neck, squeezing tight and shaking against his lips.
He pulled back and set me back on my feet. “Let’s finish this, yeah?”
No more motivation needed. I could have flown to that finish line if I willed it. I nodded enthusiastically and readjusted my race belt so you could see it more clearly.
My feet turned to go to the finish line when I stopped myself and turned back. “Dad!” I shouted.
“Yeah?” he asked with a head tilt.
I waved a hand over. “Come on!”
He deserved this. Chances were, he wouldn’t remember it tomorrow. That was okay. I would remember enough for the both of us. He chuckled and waved a hand to brush me off, something he did regularly when he didn’t want to admit he was confused.
Adam dipped down a little to his height, speaking in his ear as he separated the temporary fencing enough to leave a gap for my dad to join me. Dad’s eyes looked from Adam to me as I reached a hand out his way for him to grip.
“Your bucket list,” I explained. “Let’s cross one off together, okay?” I smiled at him through the ache in my chest.
He smiled, wide and proud, and stretched his arms out before taking his hand in mine. I pulled him into the path with me while Adam and his siblings walked down to congratulate us at the finish line.
“You ready?” I asked.
He shook his head with a smile. “Let’s go, kiddo.”
I got into a running stance before stopping. “Wait!” I reached my hands down and unclipped my race belt with my dedicated number on it.
Turning to him, I clipped it around his waist. This was his race to finish, not mine. He deserved every bit of credit he could take.
The crowd around us cheered loudly for him as we clasped hands and gave one more quick hug. I knew my mom didn’t deserve to see him for a second, but part of me wished she was here to watch this. To see him glowing under the crowds cheering. To see him smiling brighter than I ever had. He had his bad days, of course, but this? This was my dad. And I had never been prouder of that than right at that moment. If he forgot it all tomorrow, so be it. I would never let this memory slip from my own mind.
“Let’s finish this together.” I smiled as we took off, right toward the other man I loved with all of my heart, who stood at that finish line, clapping away with a single tear in his eye. We ran at a slow enough pace to get to the finish line. Cameras flashed all around us, but all I could think was run to his arms. Hug him, kiss him, be with him. Adam was all I saw in my tunnel vision. Dad could enjoy the attention all he wanted, and believe me, I knew he wanted to. That man loved any excuse to brag, and who could blame him?
Adam wrapped an arm around my waist and lifted me up, wrapping both of my legs around his abdomen and settling them on his hips. I kissed him, long and hard, whispering thank you again and again against his lips.
If I hadn’t already been married to Adam Wells, I would have dropped down on one knee right here.