I’d tell it to push, and it would just kind of disobey.
The rookie had a real advantage over me here. Not only did he have two working ankles, he also had big guy shoulders. I was strong for awoman, but his shoulders were twice the size of mine. There really was no way I could beat him up the rope. But I wasn’t giving up.
The rookie and I were neck and neck when I gave up on my legs and just started climbing arms only, hand over hand, letting everything else dangle below me. It was harder, and slower, but it was my only option, and the truth is he beat me to the top. But then, in his haste to drop back to the ground and head for the finish line, he dropped too fast. He hit the ground hard and fell on his side. I dropped fast, too—rope-burning my palms as I went—but I never lost control. I landed on one foot, just as he was getting back up, and I took off running, ignoring the searing pain shooting from my ankle all the way to my hip, and crossing the finish line a good two seconds before him.
Here was the weirdest thing about winning that race. There was no cheering, no hugs, no high fives. There was just me, and my throbbing, angry ankle, as I collapsed on the ground, and a whole crew of firefighters surrounded me in disbelief, admiration, and maybe even a little respect.
“Does it hurt?” Six-Pack asked.
It hurt like hell. “Nope,” I said.
“We’re going to need a medic,” Case called out, and all the guys raised their hands to volunteer.
“Let me guess,” I said. “You’re going to make the rookie do it.”
They did.
Six-Pack and Case lifted my arms around their shoulders and helped me limp back to the station. Tiny went off to find me a set of crutches.
Had I solved all my stalker problems?
Maybe not.
But I’d impressed the guys. I’d maimed myself to do it, but I’d impressed them.
And even better: Nobody had been willing to bet against me.
It felt pretty good to hear that.
“You wouldn’t really have resigned, would you?” Case called out.
“I would have,” I said, dead serious.
“I wouldn’t have accepted it,” the captain said.
“Maybe not this week,” I said, reminding him of the choice he still had to make.
Back inside, the guys were back to their rowdy selves, already retelling the tale, and imagining how it would have gone if Case had been my competition, hooting wildly at the idea of his round body trying to hoist its way over the hurdles.
Owen tended to my ankle.
As the guys got louder, my little corner with Owen seemed to get quieter.
I watched his hands wrapping cold packs around my ankle. They were pretty scraped up.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Fine,” he said. “Youokay?”
“Totally fine,” I said.
The rookie smiled. “That was unbelievably amazing, by the way. How did you learn to do all that?”
I shrugged. “YouTube.”
As I watched him work, my brain kept circling back to one moment during the course. The moment when he’d fallen at the bottom of the rope. Something about the way he’d fallen seemed strange to me.
“Why did you fall at the bottom of the rope?” I asked then, quietly.
