Page 67 of Get Me to the Starting Line
“Okay, I want to do it right. Restart your watch.”
“Really? You just complained about the distance.”
“Yes, do you have a problem with that?”
With spending more time with her? No. With running a full 5k after I’ve already done about ten this morning? Maybe.
“Alright, Harrison, let’s see what you’ve got.” I reset my watch and away we go.
Wesettleintothepace Julien sets. I swear it’s a little faster than normal, but not much. I’ve never cared before to keep track of our pace or the distance, but today I have the urge to check.
“How fast are we going?”
“Seven and a half minutes per kilometre.”
I sigh. “In American?”
Julien thinks for a moment. “I think it would be twelve minutes per mile.”
I deflate. That seems pretty slow. And we’re going faster than we usually do. I can tell because we’re barely a few minutes in and I’m already dying. Why did I do this to myself? A small voice whispers in the back of my mind I can stop.
Maybe I should stop. It’s not like I signed up for a race. There’s no medal. This is hard, and if I want the hard to stop being so hard, I can stop. I don’t have to keep going.
But I don’t stop. I don’t stop when Julien tells me we passed one kilometre and my body already feels exhausted.
Something keeps me going and the more I think about it, the less I can get a handle on what it is. One foot moves in front of the other. The distance passes. It doesn’t get any easier, but I think about quitting a little less with each step.
My breathing is getting shorter, and I know I’ve slowed down. Slowed down but haven’t stopped.
I can’t stop.
“That’s halfway. How’re you feeling?” Julien asks. We’ve been silent this whole time, and if I’m doing my math right, that’s got to be twenty minutes of silence. Not a record, but still.
“So great, fabulous, I can do this forever,” I wheeze.
The giant chuckles, and the sound gives me life. But the life is short-lived because my brain heard “halfway” and decided it was done. Finished. No more.
“These Nikes lied to me,” I whine, fighting to keep going.
“What?”
I swear that’s his favourite word.
“They said to just do it, but I can’t. I can’t do it.” My body is screaming. But still, there’s one thing that’s battling all of it back, keeping me going.
“Yes, you can. And they aren’t telling you you can do it, they’re saying just do it.”
“You know what I meant,” I whine, my hand coming to my side as my feet keep shuffling forward of their own accord.
I thought he was planning on being a jackass. He’s being so sweet, and between that and the memories of last night, myhead is not where it should be. Instead of on the path, it’s in my apartment, up against the door.
On the bed.
Ugh, not the time. Thinking about sex is moving the blood to parts of my body where it’s not needed right now. I inhale and try to focus on my breathing. In for four counts, out for four counts.
Oh god, I can’t breathe that slow right now.
Maybe three counts will be better.
