Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Miguel
Stir In My Lycra
"Where the hell is she?" I mutter to myself as I lean against my bike at our designated meeting spot.
I refresh my radar app again. The low pressure system headed this way has slowed down but it could pick up speed and nail us at any point. I wouldn't be so concerned about biking in the rain if Laney hadn’t nearly frozen to death three days ago.
Loathe to admit it, but the day we spent together was fun. Laney helped me in the kitchen as I made her some egg cups and granola bars. She was light hearted and full of laughter as her energy returned and we took the dogs for walks.
Leaving her at the end of the day was more difficult than I’d expected it to be.
And the hours I spent tossing and turning that night set me back in my training routine. Again.
When my alarm went off the next morning I had to drag myself out of bed for my run. While I was running, every blonde had me looking twice to make sure it wasn’t her.
Nothing good can come of my obsession with Laney Matteson.
Already I’m losing myself by giving her my energy and my attention.
But I can’t fucking quit her.
I wish I could. I want more than anything to not feel this pull towards her.
I’d be a calmer, less anxious person.
Especially when she’s running fifteen minutes late to our meet up.
Chaotic.
Disorganized.
Exquisite.
I roll my shoulders back and attempt to focus.
The plan is to take the lakefront trail south and see how she’s feeling.
I'd love to pack up the bikes and head west to the forest preserve and spend hours pedaling with her through the woods but I also want to be close to help if she decides to try and train with the wrong equipment again.
Concern prickles behind my ears and the snap of my gum echoes around me.
“C’mon Laney, pick up.” I mutter into the phone as I call her.
No answer.
How long am I supposed to wait for her?
Why hasn't she told me she's on her way?
How am I supposed to find her if she’s having a problem?
Who else is around to help her?
I call again and turn in a small circle as I do. Not many others are out today, with the rain in the forecast. When I’ve turned halfway around I see her.
Rolling slowly towards me on her bike.
She casually raises a hand and waves.
"Where the hell have you been?" I wince at the bite in my voice. Chastising her will help nothing but it’s the worry in my chest speaking.
"Hello to you too, Coach." The use of my nickname laced with sass pricks my nerves. "I got a flat so I had to fix it." She says as she rolls to stop in front of me. "I'm not that late."
"Over fifteen minutes." I inform her and I continue before I can think better of it. "Are you taking this seriously? I took you on because I thought you'd be dedicated to improving yourself."
"I'm fifteen minutes late because of a flat tire." She delivers the sentence with no emotion. It sends chills down my spine. "I fixed it myself and you don't think I'm dedicated? Seriously. Fuck off Miguel." She stands over her bike.
"Why didn’t you text me an update?"
"Because I thought I could make up most of the time."
"So you’ve burned yourself out just getting here?" Does she not understand how endurance training works?
"I might have pushed it a little but I’m fine. Test me Coach, ride me."
I would give anything.
But I ignore my lust addled brain and barrel forward in my attempt to be the influence she needs.
"You want a test? You want me to ride you?" I see the heat flare in her eyes. "Then show me you respect me. Show me you respect the process. The sport."
"Fine! What do you want me to do?” She throws her hands out wide as she balances on her bike saddle.
"Communicate with me. Show up ready. With the right equipment."
"I am!" She yells back. A part of me loves the fire in her tone. The other part of me wants her to understand she can’t speak to me that way. "I'm out here giving literally everything to this. I have nothing without it anyway. I'm doing the best with what I've got."
Darker clouds roll in, punctuating her statement.
She's breathing heavily from her outburst and after seeing her nearly freeze to death the heat in her angry stare is welcome even if I’d rather her simply submit to my plan.
The fact remains, fire is something I can work with.
Defeat I can’t.
"Listen," she says as she clips her foot into a pedal. "I don't know what kind of savior complex or misplaced anger issues you’re dealing with but they’re not my problem. I’m going to ride before the rain comes."
She maneuvers her bike to point in the direction she came.
It isn’t a savior complex or misplaced anger.
It’s concern.
For Laney’s health and wellbeing.
Concern she’ll let her life spiral out of control like mine did before I subscribed to the routine of training for endurance races.
Concern I could have helped her, could have guided her, and didn’t get the chance.
"Wait, stop." I reach out and grab her arm at the elbow. She steadies herself and unclips a shoe before turning to me.
"What Miguel?"
"I’m sorry." I mutter.
"Okay." She elongates the word expecting more of an answer from me.
"I usually train alone." I start, keeping my eyes focused on where my thumb rests along the creamy skin of her arm.
"Same."
"And, I umm, have trouble when things don’t go according to plan."
"I can see that." She states flatly.
"And, when you were late I was worried." I chance a look up at her and am rewarded with a hit of her gaze on mine.
"I’ll try to be better about updating you on my whereabouts." Laney drolls the statement like a scolded child.
I scoff, feeling how out of line I was. There’s a deeper truth behind my reaction. "It’s not just that."
"What else is it Miguel?"
I look into her stormy blue eyes, pleading for her to understand me before I have to say the words out loud.
She waits.
So do I.
"Miguel?" She studies me with a curious look. "Just tell me."
"My life before I started running was…chaotic." That’s putting it lightly.
"Your favorite word to describe me? I have a hard time believing this to be true."
"Trust me, chaotic is the kindest word to use." I can feel my palm getting clammy and I want to drop it from her arm. But losing the connection to her would feel worse so I don’t.
"Okay, so?"
"Well, the routine, the process of training and improving, learning how to maximize my results for endurance races became my life. I exerted dominance over myself and settled for nothing less than perfection."
"Well, it worked. You’re a TP World Champion."
"Yeah..."
She continues her thought. "Which is why I want you to help me." Her perfect lips curl into a soft smile. "But you have to give me the space to do things my way."
"You also need to respect my process." The urge to cross my arms to keep even a flimsy wall between us pricks at my muscles.
"Fine." She agrees. "But no more hissy fits."
"I can’t make that promise," I whisper as I let my thumb brush along her soft skin on the inside of her arm one last time. Her skin is warm, but still cooler than mine. Little goosebumps raise on her bicep with each pass and the desire to touch her everywhere flashes like lightning through my body. My next words are whispered on the shallow breaths I’ve sustained myself on for this conversation. "I question my very sanity around you."
Laney responds with a sharp gasp of air. The sound, the image of her slightly parted lips, the pure excitement in her eyes will keep me up at night.
With an unspoken agreement we decide to break the charged moment between us. She squares her shoulders and I let my hand fall back to my side.
"So, we’re good?" She asks tentatively.
"Yeah, we’re good. Are you ready?"
"Readier than you are." She nods to my bike that is leaning against the back of a bench a few yards behind us. Her smile is flirtatious so I’ll let both of us off the hook and lean into ease and surface level connection.
"Alright, that’s enough sass out of you. I’m the coach. I’m in charge."
Her eyes flick down over my body before snapping back up to my face.
"Yes sir." Her words cause a stir in my lycra. Laney has no idea what she could unlock in me. Fuck, just imagine the ways I could train her outside of the sport.
I clear my throat, a signal to clear my head, and turn to my bike.
"I want to test your fitness on the bike. Next week we’ll start our brick training when we stack disciplines on top of each other." I tell her as I swing my leg over the seat. "Today it’s an easy pedal to warm up, and then transition into some intervals."
"Works for me." She says as she pulls behind me.
Free from her in my direct line of sight, I let my mind reel as my feet find a comfortable cadence.
I wasn’t lying when I said chaotic was the nicest way to describe my life before recovery.
I’m not ready to reveal my entire sordid history to Laney.
She’s too pure, too innocent to be dragged down by my past.
For years I have avoided media attention because I didn’t want my achievements to be in relation to the before times. I didn’t want it marring my reputation. A few of my closest racing buddies know but it took years to open up to them.
As far as I know, no one else on the circuit right now has a drug misuse past. Most of them grew up in athletics before becoming an elite triathlete.
But I know for a fact my strict routine, my regimented training schedule, and my calculated diet is an advantage.
Laney has natural ability, natural determination, and with the right guidance from me she’ll excel.
I can’t possibly know what she’s thinking of me as she follows me along the gently winding path. Tall natural marsh grasses and wildflowers fill the strip of land between the trail and Lake Michigan.
The juxtaposition of pristine meadows leading to the lake to my left and the urban landscape to my right is like being trapped between two worlds.