Chapter 14
MILE FOURTEEN
SKINNED KNEES
My fingers skate over the console until I swipe over the bump dot. With a happy sigh, I push it, turning on the heated seat. Garrett put the bump dot there a few weeks ago to make it easier for me to turn them on myself.
“Is your butt warm enough?” he drawls.
“My butt is perfect. Thank you very much.” I wiggle in my seat.
“Wouldn’t want your bottom to freeze on this frigid sixty-two-degrees December evening.” He backs out of the university’s guest parking lot.
It’s our typical Wednesday night training session.
Except we won’t be at the university’s soccer field due to some holiday market they are having there tonight.
All of which sounds way more fun than training.
It’s okay, though. Garrett will drop me at the market after, so I can meet Kayla and Catherine to wander through the vendor tents and drink hot chocolate.
Meanwhile, we’re hitting a nearby park to train.
We’re up to three miles now. In just over six weeks, I’ve come so far, including jogging most of those three miles.
I am kind of a running badass, or at least on my way to becoming one.
More and more, I’m figuring out my limits, how to push past them, and when to listen to them.
At the moment, my limits are on high alert.
This is the first time we’re training somewhere that isn’t the soccer field.
As we start our power walk along the cement path that cuts through the park, anxiety crackles awake in each nerve ending.
Unlike the soccer field’s track, I don’t know where all the ruts and dips are.
Not to mention, I don’t know my way through this park.
Not like with the university. At Pemberley, I am home.
It’s where I went to undergrad, grad, and where I now work.
I have particular routes I take, and backups for the times I must alternate due to construction or any other factors that may detour me.
Here, I don’t have any of that. It’s just what I can hear, pick up through my limited vision, and Garrett.
That knot may pull tight in my stomach, but I know this is as necessary as the post-run stretching.
It’s not like I get to train on the actual marathon course.
Since it’s made up of a series of streets and a coastal bike path, many of which are active thoroughfares, that wouldn’t be an option.
Not to mention they’re cobbled together in a series of loops that add up to the 26. 2-mile-long course.
In many ways, today is just as important as the endurance and conditioning training I do.
So much of running is about mental endurance.
It’s something I’m coming to realize through discussions in the runner/guide group.
Each runner and guide talks about how so much of this is a mental game.
Today will be the first day I test that.
My focus has thus far been on preparing my physical fitness and building the runner/guide bond with Garrett.
“And it’s all flat?” I ask for the second time as we move down a straightaway.
Gripping my hand tight on the rope, I take in the park’s soundtrack to paint an image of my surroundings. The distant barks of dogs. Muffled music from a small, lit building to our left. The screech of sneakers and slap of a ball against a court’s surface.
“Flat. No steps. No drop-offs, except a small gap around some trees along the left, but we’ll keep right to avoid them,” he explains.
“Okay.” I tug three times on the rope, signaling to him I’m ready to speed up.
We move into a gentle jog along the path. My heart thumps in time with the slap of my shoes against the pavement. Breath steady, I try to focus on my surroundings. Tension spools tight in my muscles as I detect the buzz of bicycles seeming to be getting closer.
“Bikes?” I pull back on the slack.
“Not near us.”
“They sound close.” I furrow my brow.
“They’re not.”
“But—”
“There’s a bike path that runs parallel to our path, but is separated by a grass median.”
I nod, but don’t give any slack. I remain tucked in behind Garrett.
Except for sporadic flashes of dim yellow lighting from random lamps along the path, it’s dark.
We’re just a few days out from Winter Solstice, AKA the shortest day of the year, so it’s to be expected it’s this dark by five o’clock.
Still, the darkness melds with the unfamiliar surroundings and causes worry to prickle my senses.
My interactions with so much of the world is non-visual, but I also use what limited vision I have to help supplement things.
In a world not built for disabled people, we have to use everything we have to navigate it.
So much of that is done with adaptive devices like my white cane, which currently sits in Garrett’s SUV.
I know I have Garrett, but right now my fingers twitch to wrap around my cane’s handle.
“Walk?” Garrett calls out.
Shaking my head, I tug on the rope. “Nope.”
Even if I don’t know the path like the soccer field’s track, certainty hums in my blood that we haven’t gone half a mile yet. As uncomfortable as I am, I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to fail. I just remain tucked up close to Garrett. So close that his elbow nearly collides with me.
“Sorry,” I pant, trying to position myself not on top of him, but close enough to… I don’t know. I don’t want to knock into him, but I don’t want to be far away.
This isn’t an issue when I have my cane. Even if I can’t run with it, I’d feel more comfortable with it. At least with the cane I can trail along the path’s edge to know where I’m going. With the cane, I’d be able to walk away if something happens to Garrett.
Heart racing, I curl my fingers even tighter on the rope. If I keep closing the gap between us, I’ll be on his back. I loosen and then immediately grip the rope in debate, causing a tugging motion.
“Okay,” Garrett says.
“Okay what…” I smack into him.
“Oof,” he grunts, lurching forward.
Without thinking, I wrap my arms around him to both stop my own momentum and his. Only the force of my body makes it worse. Garrett falls to one knee in a lunge-like formation, while I remain pressed against his back, my legs on either side of him, and mortification blazing up my spine.
I cringe. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He groans just a bit.
“You don’t sound okay. Did I hurt you?”
“Yes… I mean yes, I’m okay.” His sigh vibrates in my chest from where I’m pressed against his back. “Just let go of me and stand straight, so I can get up without worrying about you,” he says.
Worrying about me… Nice job, Jensen.
“Sure.” Swallowing thickly, I do as he asks. Mortification not just inflames my cheeks but thickens my throat.
Garrett stands and turns to face me. “Are you okay?” He places his hands on my arms.
“Yeah… Are you?” I tip my head up to him.
“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Why didn’t you stop?”
“Why did you stop?” I arch one eyebrow.
“You tugged on the rope to stop.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Yes you did.”
“I…” I rub at the center of my forehead. “Shit. That wasn’t a tug. I was just trying to find the sweet spot for enough slack to give you space and enough closeness to make me feel comfortable… Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” I motion to him.
“Just a skinned knee.”
“Ouch... I am so sorry.” Guilt swirls in my belly.
None of this would have happened if I’d just been able to relax. If I had just trusted him like I’ve been doing, even if we’re in an unfamiliar spot.
“It’s fine. I’ll survive.”
“Are you sure?” I adjust my glasses, which got a little skewed in the collision with Garrett.
“Yeah.” He rubs at his nape. “Why don’t we call it a night. I’ll take you to your place to change and then drop you back at the university to meet the girls.”
“But we didn’t finish…” I gnaw on the corner of my mouth.
“Yeah… It’s fine. We can just call this one. I should clean my knee anyway.”
“O-kay. Yeah… Makes sense.” I look down at my feet and back up. “I’m really sorry.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
The twist in my abdomen cautions that this is a big deal.
At least, it may become one. If I can’t trust Garrett barely a mile into an unfamiliar path, how am I going to trust him for the 10K and half-marathon we’ll need to run together before I transition to train with Anker?
If I can’t trust Garrett, can I trust Anker?
For the first time, I worry that I can’t do this.
Not because of my physical fitness ability, because I’m learning my body is stronger than I thought.
It’s my heart I worry about.