Chapter 43 Grace
Grace
Igive Johnson a light kiss on the lips when I wake up Thursday in his bed. Our bed, as he’s called it the last few days.
All our “fun” times in the bedroom are on hold for a little while longer until he’s cleared for such activities. But he says he doesn’t care what day of the week it is anymore, he just wants me in “our bed.” I’m ready for the same.
It’s been two and a half months, maybe too fast for some, but it feels right for us. My drawer in his bathroom has evolved into a drawer in his dresser, and I even have some clothes hanging in his closet.
He mumbles in his sleep, and I don’t want to rouse him, so I tiptoe out into the kitchen. Pam is there, pouring herself coffee.
“How is he?” she asks.
“Still asleep,” I confirm. “But his headache wasn’t that bad last night. Hopefully that’s a good sign for the day.”
“I’ll check on him in a little bit. You headed out for a run soon?”
“Just class.” I pour some water into the electric kettle so I can make my chai. “I’m doing something cool later though. The Tolliver track team is holding a mock meet during their afternoon practice, and I’m going to join as a ‘competitor.’”
Pam’s face lights up. “That sounds fun, Grace.”
“Also, I hope to hear about that job today.” My interview with Milo had been at the beginning of the week, and he said he expected to get back to me within a couple of days. I’d given her and Lainie the scoop on the opportunity during dinner Monday.
“Oh, I’ll be praying,” Pam says.
“Thanks, I’m hopeful. Also, I think Johnson will remember this, but I won’t be back until close to six-thirty because of the track practice.”
“No worries, we’ll be here. I’m excited to hear how it goes.”
The mock meet may be fun for me, but when I arrive that afternoon, everyone has serious expressions on their faces, even Coach Shelley. I get it—this is a key part of their preparation for the rest of the season.
Jasmine is stretching, and as I head towards her, she smiles at me at least. “Hi, Grace.”
“Hey, feeling good?”
“Yes, and please, push me today. I want to feel the full-blown ‘meet environment’.”
“You got it.” I look around and see several other middle distance runners on the team. “How is this going to work? Is each event happening one at a time?”
“For the sprints, yes. We’ll do the middle distance events at the same time, including the 1500 runners all the way to Adeba.” A standout at the 10000 meters, Adeba is hoping for a big senior season, or so I’ve learned in prior chats with Jasmine.
“Okay, perfect. I might keep running once you’re done, if that’s okay? Slower, of course,” I say with a chuckle. “I want to get a full workout in.” She’ll be doing a competitive 5000 meters, but that’s still a lot less than the normal eight to ten miles I run most days.
“No problem.” She nods. “I’ll be busy going over my splits.”
A few minutes later, Shelley gets everyone’s attention in our group, and we head down to the starting line.
Jasmine and I don’t speak again as we both dive down into our individual pre-race mental routines.
For me, it’s a rediscovery. I haven’t been in this position in a track meet since the NCAA indoor finals my senior year.
And unlike my road races, I know people are going to pay at least a little attention to how I do.
But instead of being self-conscious about that fact, my adrenaline is pumping, the way it did in high school and college competitions. My mind clicks through my goals for the run, which are primarily helping Jasmine and not falling behind her.
An assistant coach holds a stop watch in her hand and gives us a countdown. We get into a set position.
“GO!”
We clip off the line, spread out across the lanes, but quickly position ourselves in lane one in succession. Any other lane means you’re running extra meters during the course of a race.
I keep my eyes focused on the track ahead. Since people are running different distances, our natural paces break up the group organically. The two 1500 meter runners go ahead of us, and Adeba is slightly slower.
Soon it’s only Jasmine and I. We don’t speak. This is not a time for gabbing. I tunnel down deeper into my mental well.
My brain starts sending the simple rapid-fire messages that mark my competitive runs.
One-two-three-four. Stay in step with Jasmine. Breathe. One-two-three-four. Fifty meters to next 400. Breathe.
Over and over, we round the 400 meter loop. As we hit the end of each lap, the assistant coach yells out our splits and direction to Jasmine. She’s nailing the tempo, so it’s largely messages like “keep on form” and “good job.”
Once we reach the half-way point though, the assistant coach yells out, “pick up the pace now,” and Jasmine accelerates a notch.
I check down my body to make sure I’m able to sustain Jasmine’s speed, but everything feels good. My breathing is not pressed beyond typical race conditions, and my legs are loose.
I still got it. I celebrate that for a split second then lock back in.
Now it’s crunch time for Jasmine, and by extension, me. The laps pass by, and each loop she incrementally increases our speed. The goal is to peak the last lap while maintaining the fastest pace our bodies allow with the increasing output of energy.
The last lap comes. Here we go. Jasmine clips up the speed again. It’s not as fast as a straight 400 meter race, but we’re now pushing our bodies to their full potential.
And when she kicks up to a sprint for the last 150 meters, I already know we’ve hit a great time.
“Yes,” Jasmine says under her breath, as the assistant coach calls out the exact number. It's a solid place from which she can work towards automatically qualifying for the NCAA outdoor championships, and she’ll be faster as competition season heats up.
“Great job,” I huff out. She begins to slow down into a cool down lap.
We don’t speak more because our breathing is regulating from the last hard push. As we round the final corner of the cool down lap, I point ahead like I’m going to keep going as I’d told her earlier. She nods and peels off, letting me claim lane one.
My senses come back in full form, and I notice that during our cool down lap, Adeba passed us, having gone slower from the beginning since she’s running a longer distance. Now she’s about ten seconds ahead of me.
Let’s play this out.
I step up my speed, subtly, but enough to catch up with her. The splits are still at a pace comfortable to me, and she’s not pushing as hard as she will at the end yet.
Once I’m about five strides behind her, I let myself settle into her cadence, and stay at that distance apart from her.
I can feel my brain swimming with intrigue, threatening to take away my focus. Can you keep up with her? You’re not a 10000 meter runner.
Except, I tell myself, you’ve been putting in more training miles than you ever did in college.
Laps began passing by again, and as the assistant coach starts yelling Adeba’s splits, I notice the other ladies stepping up to watch us.
With six laps to go, Adeba escalates her speed more aggressively, and I expect her to continue incremental increases through the last laps.
Maybe because of that, at five laps to go, my body goes through a spell of fatigue, and I have to ground down mentally.
I’m not stopping. I’m not stopping.
Because I’ve been tired like this in a million races over the years, my mind is able to win the battle with my body. It takes another lap and a half, but the fatigue fades from my awareness.
With three laps to go, Shelley is there by the assistant coach when the splits are read.
With two laps to go, something shifts. My legs feel like there’s more in them than this speed, and my mind starts nudging me to go faster.
I resist because this is about Adeba, not me.
But—whoa—this is a surprise.
As we swing through the last lap, I have an unexpected level of reserve left in my tank. Adeba begins picking up the pace again as expected, but I catch up with her, swinging into lane two.
She clocks me with a slight shift of her head, then ignores me, concentrating on herself.
Unlike running with Jasmine, this feels more like a competition in the final meters. We both enter into a kick the last 100 meters…
And I finish ahead by a half-foot.
We start a cool down lap, and this time I mean it. My body is fully depleted of energy, and my brain has turned off the go-mode.
“Thanks for letting me join you,” I get out to her once we finish the lap, still rasping a bit.
She smiles at me. “I loved it. I didn’t know you ran the 10000 meters.”
I didn’t either.
After a second cool down lap, we stop where the team is gathered. Shelley immediately goes to Adeba and starts encouraging her, talking about her pacing shifts. Jasmine comes up to me, now rested.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe you did that,” she says. “That was a great time.”
I half-chuckle, then chug some water. “Me either. But it was fun to try.”
I begin stretching, and Jasmine keeps chattering at me while I do my post-run routine for a few minutes.
“Grace.” I turn around, and it’s Shelley. She has an unreadable expression on her face.
“Grace Battle, I’m going to need you to come to my office next week.”
Her tone’s warm like always, but also directive, leaving me no options but to nod yes. She technically has no authority over me, but apparently that doesn’t matter at the moment.
“Huh,” Jasmine says as Coach walks off. “I wonder what she wants to talk to you about.”
Me too.
I give Jasmine a farewell hug and we make plans on our next morning run, before I say casual goodbyes to the other ladies I recognize.
And then I walk to my car, ready for the drive home to Johnson’s.
Only, as I start the car, I see a call coming in. From Milo.