Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
I made my way through the crowd of runners, submersing myself in the current of green bibs flowing toward the green banner. I spotted Jack near the starting line and snaked my way toward him.
“Mary!” Jack’s eyes did a double take when he saw me wearing the green bib. “I didn’t realize you were so hard core.”
“My core is always hard,” I replied. I wasn’t sure what exactly that was supposed to mean, and based on his confused expression, I don’t think Jack did either. Before he could put too much thought into it, I said, “Although it has been awhile since I ran a 5k.” Awhile, as in never.
Jack frowned. “The Family Fun Run is the 5k. Us green bibs are doing the fifteen.”
“Fifteen?”
“Fifteen,” Jack nodded.
“Fifteen, what exactly?” I asked, once again expecting an answer I would not like.
“Fifteen K,” Jack explained. For a moment, I held onto a sliver of hope that the “K” in this nightmare scenario stood for “Kahula” shots. Or Krispy Kreme donuts. Alas, it did not stand for either.
I took a deep breath, trying to maintain my slipping grasp on my sanity. “And remind me again how many miles that is?”
“Nine point three two,” Jack said, a bit too enthusiastically for my taste.
“Nine miles?”
“Nine point three two.” Jack must have seen the look of terror on my face because he waved his hand in the air as if running nine point three two miles was the equivalent of a leisurely stroll through the park.
Without even attempting to be subtle, Jack looked me up, down, and all over. I could have sworn his eyes even paused on my spandex wrapped hips. “Somebody in as good a shape as you are, it’ll be a piece of cake.” I would have given my left ovary for a chance to sit down and eat a piece of cake at that moment, instead of running nine miles. Whoops, sorry, nine point three two.
When I was a kid, my dad would take me to one of those fancy art house movie theaters, the Enzian, off Highway 17-92. It was the kind of place that hosted Avant Garde festivals and showed documentaries about foreign directors, and you could have a glass of Chardonnay while watching movies with subtitles.
My dad loved serious movies. Films, as he called them. I think he thought if he made me watch enough of them, his appreciation would rub off. It didn’t. One day we went to see Chariots of Fire . It’s a movie about two guys who ran on the beach a lot. And then, against all odds, they win a gold medal at the Olympics or something. I think it won a bunch of Academy awards.
Anyway, my dad loved it. Maybe because it was so freaking long, he had enough time to drink three glasses of Chardonnay. I, on the other hand, was bored out of my mind. I couldn’t have told you any of the details about the movie five minutes after we got out of the theatre. The whole thing went in one side of my brain and right out the other.
Except for the music. The music I remembered. The music I never forgot. There was a scene where the two dudes were running along the beach. In slow motion. Not that they were actually running slowly. I mean, the special effects made it seem that way.
As they were running and jumping along the edge of the water, the music was playing in the background. Legs pumping through the sand. Feet splashing in the water. The music was timed perfectly with every step. Cymbals crashed at the end when they raised their hands in triumph.
That same music started playing in my head as I lined up with the other runners.
Buuum Baaah. Buuum Baaahhhhhh
The synthesizer started thrumming a slow steady beat.
Tap tappa tap tap. Tap tappa tap tap
The snare drum tap danced in rhythm, pushing the pace.
Doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo
Then came the piano. Plucking the melody like it was tiptoeing through a field of tulips, hop scotching up and down the scale.
The memories of the music fueled me. Inspired me. Like those runners in that film, I too could rise up and overcome the hurdles life threw at me. Stick my middle finger in the face of fate. Poke the Universe in the eye and emerge victorious. I was invincible, as long as I had a dramatic soundtrack playing behind me.
A race official wielding a megaphone and fondling an air horn positioned himself about twenty yards from the line.
Jack crouched beside me, back arched like a jungle cat. His leg muscles were as taut as steel beams. The man was a god among men. No wonder Kelsey was shaking her ass and wagging her tits in the sponsor tent. No wonder Ashley Griffin and her thugs crawled out of their holes to volunteer. No wonder Janet had been smitten with Jack. And I was determined to smite her smit.
Uninvited, an image of Gary popped into my head. Staring after me. Standing there in his purple bib. Like a lost little puppy left out in the rain. I felt guilty for not turning around and going back to explain it to him. Tell him it was nothing personal, just part of the bigger plan.
I looked back up to find Jack smiling at me. He gave me a thumbs up. “Good luck Mary.”
“Yeah,” I said. “You too.”
“One minute runners! One minute!” The guy with the megaphone raised his air horn, thumb poised on the trigger.
The race was about to begin.
I stuffed all that guilt and doubt back down into the pit of my stomach. I had made the right choice. Gary was a big boy. He could take care of himself. And if he couldn’t? Well, it sounded like Karen was more than willing to help him out.
“Thirty seconds!” the race official slurred through the bullhorn, his voice mangled by the third rate amplification. He probably found the bullhorn on a clearance rack at Big Lots.
I knew I would never win that race. The other runners were younger, stronger, and probably didn’t have brand new running shoes that were already giving them blisters.
But I didn’t have to win. All I had to do was finish. Even if I had to crawl across that finish line on bruised, bloodied stumps. If I could finish, Jack would notice. If I finished, no, when I finished, Jack would be impressed.
“On your mark,” squealed the bullhorn.
As the runners jostled for position at the starting line, the rest of the world fell silent. Like the scene in the movie, everyone moved in slow motion. Toes sliding up to the white chalk line. Bodies leaning forward. Every nerve in my body was tingling, ready to leap into action. Every one of my senses was on high alert.
“Get set!”
The image of Jack’s face when he saw me wearing the green bib came to mind. It was a look of wonder. It was a look of respect. Jack must have seen something in me he had never seen before. For the first time, Jack had seen a glimpse of who I really was. A woman who was determined. A woman who was brave. A woman who was strong. Perhaps the ‘Queen of the Geeks’ from high school was not so geeky after all.
All I had to do was finish.
All I had to do was finish.
All I had to do was finish.
BBBBWWWWWWAAAAAAAA!!!!!
Big, bold, and brassy, the blast of the air horn shattered the morning still. The snakes all jumped. Wild boars fled in terror. Somewhere, an alligator pooped its pants.
The runners surged forward like a horde of Southern Baptists at a Cracker Barrel after Sunday morning church. I tracked Jack weaving through the masses, surging toward the vanguard. I kept pace with him for a good three minutes. Okay, three seconds.
As runners passed me on all sides, I saw Jack pulling away from the masses, joining the fastest runners out in front. Sweat poured down my forehead, stinging my eyes. I couldn’t help but blink, and when I opened my eyes again, Jack was gone. He slipped over the horizon and vanished in a cloud of dust.
It didn’t take long for the breath in my lungs to feel like it was on fire. My heart pounded like a jackhammer. My knees felt like they got hit with a jackhammer and my leg muscles felt like they were disintegrating under my skin. I channeled all my focus on putting one foot in front of the other, the soundtrack of Chariots of Fire still playing in my head.
Kilometer one was anguish.
Kilometer two was agony.
Kilometer three was “what the hell are you doing are you insane?”
Despite the pain, I soldiered on. Determined, I decided my mind would simply overpower my weak, useless body through sheer force of will.
By kilometer four, I had found a rhythm, my body in the zone. The rhythm I had found was Step, oh my God, ouch. Step, oh my God, ouch. Step, oh my God, ouch. The zone was the WTHAYDYGTKUA zone. The ‘what the hell are you doing, you’re going to kill us all zone’. Like that red area on the pressure meter in the main control room of a nuclear power plant, the quivering needle slipping over the line from the orange section to the red, seconds away from apocalyptic Armageddon.
By kilometer five, my heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to dislodge from my chest. Then take off, turn around, and go get some ice cream. My lungs were a puddle of kerosene jelly that had been lit on fire with a blowtorch, then thrown into an erupting volcano.
I made it further than I should have. For someone whose primary sources of exercise were an occasional yoga class, playing pickleball with senior citizens, and a dedicated regimen of fork lifts. Forks laden with ranch drenched fried pickles. Up and down from plate to mouth.
I never saw the gopher tortoise hole. Probably because my eyes were blinded by the sweat and the tears. I didn’t feel it when my ankle rolled. Probably because the bottom half of my body was numbed by pain. What I felt was the ground, rushing up to meet me when I tipped forward and face planted on the trail. Jagged-edge gravel tore into my knees and elbows. A random twig stabbed me in the thigh.
It took everything I had left just to roll over. Staring up into the cloudless sky, I had a moment of clarity. This was my penance. A punishment for my sins. What kind of person covets their best friend’s boyfriend? What kind of person tricks a somewhat clumsy but otherwise innocent man into helping her with her sinister schemes? I deserved the pain and the suffering that had befallen me. For all the evil I had wrought, in thought, word, and deed.
Somehow, I made it to my feet, taking a moment to let the waves of pain subside. Everything hurt. My left knee was bleeding. My elbows were the color of strawberries. I tried to walk, but as soon as I stepped down, my right ankle throbbed. I tried hopping, but only made it two hops before I fell back down on the ground. I considered crawling, but as soon as I put any weight on my hands, the gravel tore into my palms. Unable to walk, alone and defeated, I did the only thing I could do.
I sat in the dirt and cried.
The Universe was right to put me back in my place. There in the dirt. Beaten. Bruised. Bloodied. I had gotten exactly what was coming for me. Justice had been served. I sat there for I don’t know how long. Waiting for the snakes or the boars or the alligators to come along and put me out of my misery.
“Mary?” The voice sounded faint, like it came from a dream. Turning my head, I saw Jack jogging down the trail toward me. “Mary!” He rushed to my side. As soon as he saw my bloodied knees and swollen ankle, he sprang into “doctor mode.” Delicate fingers traced over my injuries. Tender hands attended to my wounds.
I reached out to touch his arm just to make sure he was real. “Jack? What are you doing here?”
“Janet didn’t see you at the finish line, so she asked me to come find you.”
“You ran all the way back to find me?”
“I took a shortcut across the field.” Jack’s eyes got wide as he examined my foot. “Your ankle’s the size of a grapefruit.” More like a small watermelon.
Jack cupped my damaged foot in his hands, fingers gently probing. “We need to get your leg elevated and get you some ice. Here.” Jack guided my body backward, so I was laying down, his hand supporting the back of my sweaty head.
Once I was prone, nimble fingers untied my shoelaces. Strong hands tugged off my shoe. Sliding his hands down my calf, Jack carefully pulled my sock loose and my red throbbing foot burst free. It felt like a root canal with a migraine.
“Yikes,” Jack said, poised over my foot like he was disarming a bomb that was about to go off. “Does this hurt?” Jack prodded the eggplant colored lump that was once my foot.
“I don’t think so.”
“How about this?” Jack gave me another good poking.
“Nope.”
“This?”
He could have smashed my foot with a hammer, and I wouldn’t have noticed. “I can’t feel a thing.”
Jack studied my Frankenstein foot a moment longer. “I don’t think it’s broken. But you shouldn’t put any weight on it.”
Then Jack took a deep breath. His face got serious. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.” Jack put on the expression I imagined he would use when he had to deliver a traumatic diagnosis, like ‘I’m sorry, you’re having triplets’ or ‘the tests came back positive for herpes.’
“What is it?” I asked.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you finish the race.”
“What? Oh, no!” On the outside, I was a woman who was having triplets and had herpes. On the inside, I was a woman who had just won a lifetime subscription to the ice cream of the month club.
Jack stood up and extended his hands. “Here.” I grabbed onto him and he pulled me to my feet.
Once I was stable, balancing on my one good foot, Jack asked, “How much do you weigh?”
“What?” I had to hop a bit to get my balance. “Why do you need to know my weight?”
“I’m trying to decide if I should carry you over my shoulder or have you climb up on my back.”
“You want to carry me?” Normally, I would have been happy to climb on Jack’s back and his front, for that matter. But then the logistics of what he proposed sank in.
“One thirty? One thirty-five?” I wish.
I stuck my fists on my hips. “Don’t you think that’s a little personal?”
“It’s okay Mary, I’m a doctor.”
“Does that line usually work for you?” I asked.
“Actually, it does. But a woman’s weight isn’t usually what I’m asking for when I say it.”
My face flushed the same color as my ankle. “It doesn’t matter what my weight is,” I said, eager to shift the conversation. “You don’t have to carry me, because I’m going to finish this race.”
I took a few steps down the path to prove my point. The first step was torture. The second step was torment. The third step was listening to a Justin Bieber concert without a Q-Tip to stab out your eardrums.
“Mary, don’t be ridiculous. Here.” Before I knew what was happening, Jack scooped me up in his arms, pulling me in close to his chest. It was like snuggling up to a brick wall. His pectorals were even harder than they looked. It was hot outside, but the heat of the sun was nothing compared to the inferno that was slowing burning up inside me. Parts of me I didn’t even know still existed started getting all warm and fuzzy.
But as Jack held me close, I realized with sudden clarity that my entire body was covered in dirt and dripping with sweat. Surely I smelled like a middle school boys’ locker room. Jack, on the other hand, didn’t smell like sweat at all, despite having just run nine point three two miles. In fact, he smelled like vanilla and cherries. Almost like … no, he must have gone over to the Family Fun Run festivities for a sundae.
Jack shifted my body in his arms, and I could feel the bulge of his biceps against my hip. He angled me toward him, so my face was close to his.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.” I was better than okay. Curled up in Jack’s arms, my head was naturally positioned to stare right into his luscious pink lips. Wait? What?
“Are you wearing lipstick?” Jack’s lips were smeared with a pink pastel substance.
“Huh?” Jack looked confused.
“It looks like …” Realization set in. “Did Janet kiss you?” I remembered that one of Janet’s volunteer duties was to hand out medals to the winners. She had told me she was going to give Jack a kiss if he won.
Jack touched his lips, coming away with a smear of pink on his fingertips. “Yeah, that was Janet,” Jack answered. “What can I say? Your friend can’t keep her hands off me, I guess.” Jack wiped the rest of the lipstick away with the back of his hand. So much for Janet’s GenZ inspired thirty day friendship only plan.
The heat building inside of me instantly went cold. Like a bucket of ice cold water tossed in my face.
The moment was further ruined when we saw the cloud of dust on the horizon. Moving fast. Moving toward us. A golf cart materialized out of the cloud, charging down the trail. It slid to a halt, kicking up gravel.
Ashley Griffin jumped out. “Jack!”
“Ashley, what are you doing here?” Jack dropped me like a sack of potatoes. I barely had time to get my feet under me, hopping on my one good foot.
“I saw you run off before the medal ceremony and I got worried.” Ashley’s eyes sliced toward me. “Everything okay?”
“I’m fine,” Jack said. “But Mary hurt her ankle pretty bad.”
“Oh no. That’s terrible, I’m so sorry.” Her voice dripped with something that was definitely not sympathy. She turned to Jack. “Do you need a ride back?” Then to me Ashley added, “Sorry Mary, there are only enough seats for two.”
Jack took a moment to validate the golf cart’s seating capacity, then said to Ashley, “You’re going to have to take her back to the sponsor tent. Help her get some ice on it and find something to wrap it with in the first aid kit.”
For once in our lives, both Ashley and I could agree on something, loathing the idea of sharing a ride together in a golf cart. Not to mention, the thought of Ashley getting anywhere near my ankle made my stomach turn. I had to think quick.
Then it came to me. Whenever Purrfect wanted something, a back rub, more tuna casserole, a seat on my lap so she could shove her butt in my face, she would make her eyes all big and watery, then stick out her bottom lip. Like an orphan begging for scraps on Christmas morning, in the middle of a blizzard. Please sir, may I have another cat treat? I made that same face at Jack.
“What’s wrong?” Jack frowned, his voice deepening with concern. I may have overdone it just a tad.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I replied. I made my eyes bigger and jutted out my bottom lip a bit more.
“Are you having a seizure?”
“No, it’s just, well, I’d really feel better if you took me back in the golf cart,” I told Jack. “You know, since you’re a doctor.”
Ashley opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say anything, Jack said, “Yeah, I suppose that makes sense.” Jack turned toward Ashley. “You’re okay if I drive her back, right?” Ashley’s face did not look like she was okay with that plan. Not at all.
“But like I said, there’s only room for two,” Ashley stammered.
Jack pointed across the park. “It’s not that far to the finish line if you cut across the field. Just watch out for the fire ants.”
Ashley looked like she was about to vomit.
“Come on, Mary, I’ll get you fixed up good as new.” Jack offered me his arm, escorting me to the golf cart, his hand supporting the small of my back. My hand in his hand, he helped me into the seat. When I looked over at Ashley, her eyes were daggers made of ice.
Jack climbed into the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition. He must have pressed down on the accelerator a little too hard, because the tires spun in the gravel, bathing Ashley in a cloud of dust.
As we took off, Jack driving me toward the finish line, I turned around in my chair and waved. Even through the thick cloud of dust, I could clearly make out Ashley flicking me off.
* * *
When we got to the volunteer tent, Jack wrapped my ankle super tight with tape from the first aid kit, then drove me to my car in his golf cart. Along the way, we passed the finish line for the Family Fun Run. I spotted Gary and Kyle eating ice cream, and Janet was there, too. They were all talking and laughing. Gary must have dribbled ice cream down his face because I saw Janet dab his chin with her napkin.
Once we got to my car, Jack helped me slide behind the steering wheel, letting me wrap my arms around his shoulders.
“I’ll call you later,” said Jack. “Check in and see how you’re doing. If you need anything, and I mean anything , you just let me know.” I briefly considered asking him to drive me home and tuck me into bed, and make me a margarita, and then a chocolate sundae, but thought that might be pushing it.