Chapter 6 #2
Training for the Deca means I tack more onto the end of every race I run. And today, I ran one of my fastest paced half marathons after the full length TitaniumPerson race.
I’m not entirely sure why I could go so quickly.
That’s a lie. I know what compelled my feet to fly around another thirteen miles of Chattanooga’s riverwalk.
Laney.
It’s like my legs knew I needed to be back in time to see her finish.
Today's event is a qualifier and a top ten result means she has an automatic entry to the invitational later in the year that will determine pro status. We didn’t talk about it long but I get the sense she wants to earn her card this year.
She almost sounded disappointed when I told her it took me two seasons to get it.
She’s only in her third season so she’s still new to the sport.
Why is she putting so much pressure on herself?
I push myself towards the finish area and the board shows the elite athlete's times as they go. Then, it flashes a few key times for age-group athletes at the end of each discipline.
After the bike, Laney was third.
The run is a full 26.2 mile marathon and it's been three hours since the bike leg finished so I expect to see her turning the final corner to the straight leading up to the finish line any minute.
I don’t know her average pace or what her target pace is but she was quick when we raced along the lakeshore path.
The sun is blaring down so I lift my hand to shade my eyes as I keep them on the turn where the road curves away from the river. It's hot too. One of the benefits of being in the elite group is you typically finish before the sun has a chance to turn up the heat in the late afternoon.
It was easily five degrees cooler when I was running and it made all the difference.
I hope she’s okay.
I didn't see what she ate for breakfast besides my one piece of toast. I pray she found something more than the granola bars and processed dessert I saw in the back seat.
It would be weird to ask if she has a hotel room booked in Indianapolis right?
Because if she doesn’t, I’d love to recreate last night.
Yeah, I can’t ask her that.
Second chances are few and far between, I know that better than anyone, and I don't want to push it with Laney.
Sunlight glimmers like a halo over the blonde head of hair as Laney rounds the corner.
Her form looks strong, anyone would be tired after 140 miles and over nine hours of racing but she's still standing up straight, leaning slightly forward using her body weight to propel her forward, her footfalls rotating in an easy cadence.
Except.
No way.
She's not wearing shoes.
I lift my sunglasses and squint into the distance to confirm.
Yep, no shoes. Just socks.
I scan up to her face and see the firm set of her jaw and her laser focus on the finish line. A few other women are ahead of her and I think a few more were ahead of them. I wasn't paying attention.
I have no idea where she is in the standings.
But running in socks probably isn't helping.
There are a few family members cheering along the gates and I listen for anyone saying her name. No one seems to be calling to her specifically. As she gets closer, fifty yards to go, I clap and yell out, "Let's go Laney! Finish strong!"
Her head whips side-to-side until her eyes lock with mine. I clap again, yelling "c'mon!"
She nods and turns back to the race, she picks up her pace by a hair, good to know she still has something in the tank, and I walk behind the gathered crowd in pace with her as she reaches the line.
I head towards the finishers area and watch her get a medal, a thermal blanket, and a banana, and with the help of two volunteers, she slumps down to the ground and rests her arms on her knees.
I walk over and crouch down in front of her even though my muscles are tight and my knees scream in protesting pain.
"Great race Laney! You finished!" I congratulate her, knowing this is her first completed full-length TitaniumPerson event. She must be overwhelmed with pride.
She scoffs a bit as she still tries to catch her breath. "Would have been better if my fucking shoe hadn't fallen off."
"Your whole shoe fell off?"
"No, the sole. I was at mile six when I felt it flapping.
" She looks up at me and the defeat in her features rocks my balance.
I almost fall backwards. "It was sticking to the ground a little and I started to limp to put less impact on that shoe.
Then my hip started to sting so I stopped, pulled them both off, and left them on the side of the road. "
"What mile was that?"
"Seven."
"You finished twenty miles in just your socks?"
"Yeah, and a lot of good it did me. I placed eleventh."
She blows out a frustrated breath and hangs her head.
"You finished eleventh in your socks?"
"Yes Miguel, mister podium regular," she sasses, "I finished eleventh and I know I'm not good enough, you don't have to rub it in."
She thinks she’s not good enough?
"Fuck that, you're amazing for finishing, let alone eleventh in your group."
"Sure, but only the top eight get invites." She says with her head still hanging.
What is going on in her twisted mind?
I’m desperate to reach out and lift her chin. She needs to raise her head and let me shower her with praise. But like this morning, I don’t know what she wants to hear from me.
"There are other qualifying races." Is the lame line I settle on.
"Sure." She shrugs.
Laney, you’re an incredible athlete and I want to help you.
Laney, with a little coaching from me you would be unstoppable.
Laney, you’re a magnetic woman and I’m under your spell and would do anything to stay close to you.
"Hey, you finished a solid race." I say gently.
"But it would have been better if I had better shit." She looks so discouraged I can hardly stand it. TPs take it out of you. Yes, you get a runners high but you're also so fucking exhausted it's tough to summon the endorphins.
But I've never seen a head hanging so low or shoulders so slumped on someone who finished.
She’s more than just physically tired.
Is it possible she’s discouraged?
That she somehow doesn’t believe in herself?
Who is in her corner reminding her of her strength?
Her potential?
I know more than anyone the power of having someone behind you.
Someone to help hold the belief until you can carry it yourself.
Jeff might not be here with me today, but we talk before every race.
And he was there for me in the early years.
My family was too, with this basically being a training day for me, I told them not to worry about the trip down.
"I'll train you."
"No thanks." She clips immediately.
"Why not?" I ask, taken aback by her quick refusal. "I have a proven track record. And it’s perfect because we’re both in Chicago."
"So I’m convenient."
"Hardly." There is absolutely nothing convenient about the way she’s entangled me so quickly.
"But you said–"
"I was pointing out a selling point."
She sticks her legs out straight with a little bit of effort. She needs to start moving before the lactic acid can settle in and make it impossible for her to move tomorrow.
"I still don’t understand why you’d want to do this."
How does she not see her talent? Her drive? Laney has the commitment to excellence in her veins.
That can’t be taught.
"You want to win. I’ll help you win. Simple as that."
She might be down, but she’s not out.
And she’s considering my offer.
How do I know?
The fire in her bright blue eyes as she finally lifts her face to me says it all.
"I do want to win, but there are other reasons not to do this. One," she forces eye contact and my breath catches. Will that ever stop? "I can't afford it."
"I'll do it for free."
She eyes me suspiciously. "Why?"
How do I tell her it’s because I think she’ll help me just as much as I help her? Seeing her for training will be an added motivator to get me closer to my Deca distance.
We all have our motivations for being in endurance sports. Mine stems from a dark, ugly place. Laney is pure light and fresh air and I’m afraid I’ll darken her doorstep.
But I also have a record of success.
One I’m willing to share with her.
"I think you’ll help me in return."
A humorless laugh huffs from her chest. "How the hell am I supposed to help you Mr. World Champion?"
"By helping me shift my focus." To say the least.
Her eyes narrow as she processes my answer. "I have another reason this is a terrible idea." She says.
"Let’s hear it."
"I don't think we're a fit."
My grin turns wolfish as the image of her body curled up next to mine in bed this morning comes to mind. "I beg to differ."
"Really?" She scoffs. "You said it yourself, I'm chaos. And you're only seeing me on race days. My entire life is a tornado."
"I can handle it."
"Well, I can't." She shakes her head and starts to stand. I reach out to pull her up by her elbows and again her proximity sends alarms ringing in my head but I can't help myself. I am drawn to her. I want to be close.
Closer.
"Why can't you accept my help Laney?" I ask quietly in the shred of shared air between us.
Her eyes blink as she looks off past my shoulder. I can see the responses forming in her head. "I don't want to say it."
"Why not?"
"It's embarrassing." Her eyes flare wider even as she keeps them averted from me.
"You can trust me."
Those words bring her face to mine. She's so fucking beautiful. Impulsively I reach out and pull her braided hair over her shoulder. My fingers linger as I trail down the plaited strands finally letting my knuckle graze her chest as I rest the braid against her.
She looks innocent, yet confident, with her hair done like this.
But if dragging her out of her car and letting her sleep in my bed last night is any indication, I'm not going to rest easily knowing she's not taken care of.
She wraps the thermal blanket tighter and crosses her arms against her middle, resolving herself to speak with a heavy breath.
"You're too attractive."
"What?" I laugh. That was not what I was expecting her to say. When her face remains steady I know she’s not joking. "Well maybe that'll motivate you to keep up, you won't want to lose sight of my pretty face."
"Shut up." She bites back a smile.
"I think you're too attractive too." I tell her quietly. Honesty being the best policy.
She stills and blinks at me. The vitality in her face is intoxicating.
It’s irresistible.
Potentially dangerous.
"Think we can handle it?" I ask her, knowing my answer may as well be no. But the draw to her is making me do things I wouldn’t have done before. Things that risk my carefully curated balance.
"Absolutely not." She says but the smile on her face says something else entirely.
She’s with me.
"I was hoping you'd say that. So is this a yes? You'll let me coach you?"
I hold my breath as I watch her eyes dance with her thoughts. Until this moment I thought impulsive choices were a thing of my past.
Until Laney Matteson apparently.
She bounces her head back and forth as she’s considering the offer.
I feel each finger slipping from the grip I have on the edge of the cliff known as my control.
"Fuck it. Fine. Tell me what to do, Coach, and I'll do it."
Coach. I fucking like that.
"Yeah?"
"Don't make me second guess this." She warns with a raised eyebrow and I laugh.
"Fair point. Okay, give me your number."
"So demanding." She laughs as I pull up my contacts to add a new one.
She rattles off her number and I save it.
"I’ll text you a full plan later but do your recovery ride tomorrow and on Monday we’ll meet at Montrose Beach for a swim."
"Okay." She agrees.
"What are you doing for recovery today?"
"You’re looking at it." She holds up the banana and bottle of water from the finishers area.
"You really should replenish your carbohydrate and fat reserves." I tell her but see her shutting down my advice. "Honestly, my favorite way to do it is with ice cream."
"You eat ice cream?" She asks, eyeing my body.
"After TP races? Hell yes."
She laughs. "I’ll take your word for it."
"I’ll do you one better than that." I pop my elbow out for her to link hers into.
Is holding her arm and helping her gather her items from the T1 and T2 staging areas part of my newly appointed role as her coach?
Debatable.
But I can’t deny it. I am invested in her, feel protective of her. And, I want to make sure she cools down well, takes care of herself. An added bonus? I get to treat her to some ice cream.
This is not how I expected today to go but the deviation from the routine isn’t as upsetting as I thought it would be.