Chapter 17 Mile Seventeen #3
My limited vision, combined with the dulling of my hearing due to the wall of noise surrounding me, causes my breath to come in rapid spurts.
My grip tightens on the rope, keeping me close to Garrett as we start with a slow jog.
Our group of runners remains clustered together as we move down the course, which is lined with cheering onlookers on each side.
“To the right,” Garrett calls out and tugs the rope, guiding me to the course’s far side.
It’s our race strategy. We’ll remain tucked up to the side to avoid groups of runners that tend to dominate the central paths. It also ensures that we only deal with runners on one side of us to keep everyone safe.
The quieting course—outside the slap of sneakers against pavement—allows me to settle into the run.
The gentle burn of my muscles awakening, the steadying rhythm of my heartbeat, and the even cadence of my breath.
It’s the slow climb into the runner’s high that I’ve just started experiencing over the last few weeks.
The initial ache coursing through your body makes you think you can’t do this, until euphoria washes it away with this weightless sensation.
Each time I run, it envelops me around mile two, so with us just passing the first mile marker, I know I’m almost there.
“One down.” Garrett’s shout is muffled by the crash of cheers and noisemakers as we pass the first mile marker.
The hoots and whistles simmer from a roar to a hum the further along the course we go. Besides the periodic runners zipping past with call outs of “On your left,” it’s almost as if it’s just us.
As my body relaxes into the pace of our run and the course’s hummed soundtrack, I loosen the slack just a bit.
I remain close to Garrett, but without the death grip hold on my rope.
We fall into an easy pattern of me tightening and then loosening the slack each time we pass cheering crowds at the different markers, or an expected change in the terrain.
For the most part, we run on paved streets with no curbs or drop-offs outside of random ruts that Garrett calls out and guides us around.
By the time we hit the fourth mile, my legs burn.
This is the furthest I’ve run with Garrett without slowing to a power walk.
Muscle memory seems to protest that I should slow down.
Teeth gritted, I push just a little harder.
It’s a tug of war inside me. My heart wanting one thing, and my body another.
“Walk?” Garrett calls, his breath heavy.
“Nope,” I pant out.
His only response is two gentle tugs on the rope.
We continue in silence. My breath is now unsteady, but my fingers are still gripping tight as we run beneath what I assume are trees that convert sunshine into shadow.
With it comes a momentary sense of discombobulation.
For runners, like Sonora, who are totally blind, this isn’t as much of an issue.
They’re not as impacted by sudden light changes as those with some usable vision.
The glare-to-shadow fluctuation disorients, but also hurts.
My eyes sting and, if prolonged, it can cause migraines.
My hat helps with the glare but intensifies the shadows when passing beneath trees or overhangs.
Despite the distraction by the change in lighting, my body is crying out to slow down.
We’re so close to the fifth mile marker.
The increasing volume of the spectators as we move close makes me feel as if I could just reach out and take hold of the fifth mile marker.
After that, it’s only another 1.2. I’m so close.
“Walk?” Garrett booms over the roaring crowd.
“N—n—no,” I stammer through my gasping breaths.
“Jensen.” Somehow, my name comes out both a scold and a plea.
“Garrett.” My brow puckers.
I know he’s worried. The tether telegraphs so much between us. The slowing of my pace, followed by the forced pushes, are all told with each tug or tightened slack. It doesn’t allow me to hide how I’m struggling.
“It’s okay,” he says.
“Mile six,” is all I say.
“We’ll still get there…” he pants, “…whether we run or walk a bit.”
I know he’s right. My body knows he’s right. I just wanted to run this entire thing. I know I won’t be able to run the entire marathon, but I wanted this. I wanted this victory lap.
“Three miles,” he puffs out.
My face scrunches. “What?”
“I only jogged…three miles of my first…10K.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” His reply is slightly strangled.
It’s hard to imagine Garrett struggling with this. Like Anker, he’s run for years. Just as nervousness about this surged in both of us, this is another thing we share. We’ve both started somewhere and had to be okay with that.
Nodding, I start to slow my pace. “Okay.”
He tugs twice on the rope. “Okay.”
We slow to a brisk walk. Relief sighs through my muscles. I loosen the tension on the rope but remain a step behind him.
“I wanted to run the whole thing,” I say, emotion thick in my throat.
“I know.”
“It’s not failing, because I’m doing this, but…”
“You’d only fail if you stopped. You didn’t stop. You’re still doing this. Run. Walk. Piggyback. All that matters is you crossing the finish line, and you’re doing that.”
My lips curl. “Piggyback?”
“If you think your back is strong enough,” he quips, looking back over his shoulder at me.
A breathless laugh sprints out of me. “You need a new joke.”
“Still made you laugh.” He twists his head forward.
“Thank you,” I say, gratitude nestling deep in my chest.
He may worry. He may encourage. He never says to stop. Though, I imagine that’s the hardest thing for my protective friend. Instead, he shared just another piece of himself and allowed me to come to my own decision.
“You’re a good service human.”
“Thank you,” he says with a little tug of the rope that somehow feels as if he squeezes my hand in his. “Mile six we run, okay?”
“Okay.”
With the increasing level of cheers, we increase our pace.
From everything I know, the last leg of this race will be loud on top of loud.
The entire course is flanked by spectators cheering on runners with an array of noisemakers.
The heavy beat of rock music and booming voice of an announcer calling out end times for different runners, which are transmitted from the little tags we wear, greets us.
“Finish line!” Garrett yells.
“Congrats, Runner 1530, for finishing their first 10K race,” the announcer says, eliciting loud hoots and cheers.
“That’s me!” My shout is breathy as I realize I’m Runner 1530.
“Sure is!” Garrett laughs as he starts slowing our pace until we eventually walk.
I did it! Tears gather in my eyes, but I blink them away. This moment is too sweet for me to cry, which is why I’ll probably cry at some point. Right now, I’m just going to let this high ride.
Chest heaving, mouth pulled up into a large grin, and heart feeling as if it will burst, we slow to a stop. “I did it!” My squeal is breathless.
Without thinking, I jump in the air and Garrett catches me. Lifting me into his arms, I circle his nape and my legs fold around his waist. Not one bit of me questions how natural this feels.
“You did it!” He leans away, allowing me to take in the shit-eating grin visible from below his cap’s brim.
“We did it.”
“That we did,” he breathes, his mouth inches from mine.
This should be weird. I’m still tethered to him by the rope. Not to mention, he has a vise-like grip on my backside, and my legs are wrapped tight around him. The intensity of his gaze on me thrums within me. We’re connected in so many ways, but one.
Reminiscent of wildfire threatening to consume everything in its path, desire burns inside me to claim him. The charge arcs between us like a dare. Just a few inches and my lips could meet his, sealing us together.
I trace my fingers along his jawline, delighting in the rasp of his stubble. His low groan and fingers’ kneading into my ass urge me on. I trail my finger slowly to his mouth, tracing its outline.
“Jensen.” He nuzzles his nose against mine. It’s slow and gentle, as if testing the water’s temperature before diving in.
“Garrett.” I lick my lips.
“Jensen,” he repeats my name like I am both the thing he wants, and the only one who can give it to him. His hot breath teases against my lips, sending a shudder up my spine.
“Garrett.” I cradle his face to anchor myself to my target.
That fire within me destroys any resolve to stay away. I don’t want to think about all the reasons this is a bad idea. I don’t want to think about tomorrow. I just want this moment, and if that’s all I have of him, I’ll take it.
“Sorry to interrupt.” A high-pitched female voice chuckles. “But we need to move folks along as we have more runners coming. There are far better places to stare longingly into each other’s eyes than the finish line.”
“Sorry,” Garrett says, placing me on the ground.
“We weren’t staring longingly,” I mumble, even though that’s exactly what we were doing.
Garrett’s arms. A place I should not have been. No matter how good it felt pressed up against him, the heat of his body my own personal Garrett Snuggie. I blame the runner’s high for the momentary breach in judgment.
“Sure,” she sasses. “Here’s your medals. Make sure to use hashtag Cupid Course on all social media posts.” She places the medal around my neck and then around Garrett’s before she scoots off.
I trace the medal and then look up at Garrett. “I didn’t know we got medals.”
“All the participants do for finishing.”
We stand there awkwardly for a moment, just looking at each other.
We both start. Me with his name and he with “We…”
“Sorry.” I wince and then gesture at him. “Go on.”
“I…” He coughs and then shifts. “We should get moving. Like she said, other runners are coming in. Plus, everyone is waiting.”