Chapter 27 The Finish Line
THE FINISH LINE
With one last hamstring stretch, I let out a steadying breath. Straightening, I unwind the rope and hand it to Anker. It’s strange to think how this day both took forever to come and came in the blink of an eye. I’m at the start line of a marathon. I’m about to run a fricking marathon!
While we prepare to start, our people wait at the finish line.
Catherine, Garrett, and our parents are there.
Garrett’s parents and siblings came as well.
I told them they didn’t have to, but just like Kayla, they are here.
The way I cried when she appeared with Catherine at happy hour three nights ago to surprise me, saying, “Like I’d miss it. ”
The thump, thump of my heart as I reflect on the love waiting for me at the finish line quiets the roar of rock music, cheering, and PA announcements swirling around me.
It may be just Anker and me in the sea of thousands of other runners readying to crisscross the streets of Seal Beach, but we’re enveloped by an entire team of people that love us.
You just wanted to be loved. Garrett’s words from months ago echo inside me.
“And I am,” I whisper to myself. A soft smile kicks across my face.
“What?” Anker turns towards me.
“Nothing.” I bat at the air.
“Are you Anker?” A male voice breaks into our little pre-race bubble.
“Yes?” Anker tilts his head. “Sonora,” he says, his breath catching.
“Yeah.” Her entire essence radiates a beaming smile. “Sorry to be a creeper. I showed Elliot your picture, so he could spot you and Jensen for me to wish you good luck. This is my cousin, Elliot.”
“Hi,” Elliot, says.
“Hi. I’m Jensen.” I wave.
“Oh my god! Can we hug?” she asks.
“Totally.” I reach out and fold my arms around her.
As much as I know Sonora is real, it’s still strange to wrap my arms around her. She’s tall, at least six feet, with an athletic frame. And she smells like sweet jasmine.
“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Anker says.
“Yeah…” She shifts. “Kind of a last minute decision. I’m not running, but I wanted to find you both to wish you luck.”
“I thought you were in Portland for a wedding with Micah.”
“Micah,” Elliot groans.
I arch an eyebrow. Someone is not a fan of his cousin’s boyfriend.
She lets out a nervous laugh. “We broke up… At the wedding.”
“I’m sorry.” I try to hide how not sorry I actually am.
My brother may tease that he’s destined to be the loveable single cad to Garrett and my coupling, but I suspect his feelings for Sonora are deep.
Even their failed in-person meet-cute at the New York City marathon, followed by her relationship with Micah, hasn’t dulled his feelings.
Since meeting Sonora on that online blind runners’ group over a year ago, he hasn’t dated anyone.
“I am so sorry, Sonora.” Anker reaches over and squeezes her shoulder.
“How’d you end up here?” A smirk tips my mouth.
“After the breakup, I called Elliot. He works for the airline and got me a flight with a detour in Los Angeles. He lives in Long Beach. He’s here volunteering with the MVP Foundation and dragged me along to cheer you on.”
“How long is your detour in town for?”
“Until tomorrow,” she says.
The laser-like focus of Anker’s attention on Sonora is palpable.
The air around us crackles with the charge between them.
Part of me wants to tap Anker out, so he can run off with Sonora to take up as much time as he can while she’s here, but I know he won’t do that.
Not to mention, we have a marathon to run to ensure the promise of the thing between them becomes something real.
“Let me take you out,” Anker blurts.
“What?” Sonora guffaws. “You’re about to run a marathon.”
“After.”
“I—”
“Runners, two-minute warning,” the announcer booms from somewhere in the distance.
“We should head out to let you all get ready,” Elliot says.
Anker reaches for Sonora’s hand. “May I take you out tonight?”
Brushing her long, dark hair behind her ears, she shifts foot-to-foot. “Meet me at the MVP booth after?”
“Yeah.” Anker grins, releasing Sonora’s hand as she and Elliot begin to walk away.
“The Larsen lore strikes again.” Tossing my hands up, I wiggle and dance beside my brother.
“Looks like someone is a Larsen lore convert.”
“I’m a Sonora and you sitting in the tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, convert,” I sing.
“Stop,” he laughingly groans. “Let’s focus on the 26.2 miles we need to run.”
“Just name your firstborn after me.”
“Talk to your boyfriend. He won naming rights in a poker game.” He hands me one end of our tether.
“Oh god, I forgot… And you have dibs on his kidney.” I shake my head. “Seriously, what kind of poker are you playing?”
With the airhorn’s shrill whine, we take off in a power walk. We’ll remain in the back of the running cluster to keep us safe as we work toward securing a spot hugging the right side of the course.
Chaotic. Loud. Too many people. It’s everything I thought it would be and so much more.
Once we break from the initial cluster of runners and find our spot hugging the right side of the track, we transition from a power walk to a steady jog.
My muscles burn and twitch awake before settling into the run.
A euphoric sensation drips along my veins.
We don’t run 26.2 miles each time we train, but we have done a few practice marathon sessions.
This is so different. One, this one really counts.
Two, despite this being in the city where I live, the twists and turns of the course zigzagging through Seal Beach’s streets are more disorienting than I anticipated.
It’s like looking through a smudged-up pair of glasses.
Some shapes are familiar, while others are distorted.
Three, the kinetic energy that ripples through the race pulses anxiety along my veins.
Our strategy is to toggle between power walking and slow jogs.
Some miles flash by like the snap of fingers.
Others drag on and on—like, now. The once delicious runner’s high is replaced by this overwhelming urge to drop.
My muscles scream to just stop. Each slap of my foot against the pavement pulses a dull ache down my legs.
“Uncle,” I whine, tugging on the rope for him to slow.
“O—kay,” he pants, slowing to a power walk.
Other runners call out, “On your left,” as they breeze past us.
Hands on my waist, I gulp up air. We just passed the fifteen-mile marker, meaning there are 11.
2 more to go. We’re over halfway, which should buoy me, but it taunts.
Pain radiates through every inch of me. All I want is to lay down on and claim the pavement as my new permanent home because once I stop moving, I won’t be able to get back up again.
But you can’t, a quiet voice somewhere inside me says. As distant as the finish line feels, it’s also so close. Not close enough to reach out and touch, but within my grasp. All I have to do is just keep running. Just keep going for what I want.
“It’s your call.” He sucks in a deep breath. “But I know you’ve got this.”
We could stop. There are points along the course for runners to do just that. But I realize I don’t want to. Even if my body protests, my heart isn’t listening.
Whether I run, walk, or am carried piggyback, all that matters is that I finish. My mouth ticks up, thinking of Garrett’s encouragement during our first 10K. Months later, I’m 11.2 miles away from the finish line of my first marathon. Even if I never run another one, I’ll have this.
I grin. “Onward.”
“We got this.” He tugs twice.
We power walk for a few miles before we ramp back into a slow jog. We teeter between power walking and jogging as we make our way through the course. The entire way, Anker and I cheer each other on. When he wants to stop, I nudge him, and vice versa.
“Twenty-six!” he shouts.
The roar from the gathered crowd almost drowns him out.
I can’t believe we’re .2 miles away. I blink rapidly as if waking from a dream.
How is this happening? How did I go from teasing Anker about the Larsen lore to this?
I don’t know if I’m a devout believer, like my brother, but I am no longer a skeptic.
Six years ago, Garrett and I met, but didn’t find each other until the night before Anker was supposed to leave to run a marathon the year he turned thirty.
As much as I want to believe we were on a trajectory to one another, I wonder if the first five years of our relationship were fate’s way of giving us the time and space we needed on our healing journeys.
The day after a marathon, you do a recovery run. It nourishes and aids in your muscles recovery after the exertion, wear, and tear of running 26.2 miles. In so many ways, my relationship with Garrett is reminiscent of that, soothing the ache of what we’ve both been through.
Though maybe the Larsen lore isn’t just about finding the love of your life, but also yourself.
My uncles and father have shared that was the time in their life when the fogginess of their future cleared.
They didn’t just meet their partners, but started on their own personal journeys of happiness.
My dad with the bakery. Uncle Christian became a teacher. Uncle Anders opened a bookshop.
The last ten months may have led me to Garrett, but more importantly, they have led me to myself. I’m stronger. I’m able to push past the boundaries I set for myself. I know what I want, and I’m not scared to let myself have it.
“Finish line!” Anker calls out.
I answer with three quick tugs of the rope, indicating to speed up.
I will not walk across this finish line.
Slack loosened, I steady my breath as much as possible and pick up my pace.
My running shoes slap against the pavement.
The cheers, hoots, and noise makers are a delicious song ringing in my ears.
“Endgame!” Anker’s shout is breathless.
“Yes!” I cry out, tears tumbling from my eyes. I don’t hold them back. They blend with the sweat coating my face.
“We did it!” Anker wraps his arms around me.
Breathless laughter. Tears. Obscenities. It all belts out of us.
“We did it!” I sob. “I did it.”
Even if Anker was with me every step of the way, this is my victory. For so long, I held myself back from the things I wanted. No more. With the trust in the people who love me, including myself, I can cross any finish line.
“So proud of us.” Anker kisses my forehead. “Here comes your man. I’m going to go stretch and then find Sonora.”
“You mean…my future sister-in-law…” I huff breathlessly.
“Smartass.” He balls up the rope and places it in my hands before walking away.
“Baby!” Garrett jogs over and lifts me into his arms. “Look at you, pretty girl. You did it.”
“I did.” I sniffle and wrap my arms around his neck.
“I love you so much.” Garrett presses his lips to my forehead.
“Just think how much you’re going to love me after we run London’s marathon?” I say breathlessly.
“Pretty girl, I plan to fall a little bit more in love with you after each race we run.”
“Good plan.” I press my smirk against his.
The End.