Breathe, Annie, Breathe
Page 21
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Matt makes us stretch and drink another cup of water before heading onto the trail. I start the run easy and gradually increase my speed as I go along. Having cool weather in June is weird, but I’m grateful for the breeze. I’m also grateful I took a few ibuprofen before the run started. I’ve found my legs don’t hurt as badly when I take it.
When I hit the 4.5-mile marker, Matt’s assistant Bridget passes me lemon Gatorade without asking. After three months of training, she knows my preferred flavor. “Are you feeling okay, Annie?”
I work to get my breathing under control. “Yeah.”
“Good. Get going.”
“I’m not allowed to rest while I have my d-drink?”
She smiles. “Nope. Matt wants you to learn how to run and carry a cup at the same time. You’ll be doing that during the race. Just throw the cup away when you see a trash can.”
Grumbling, I hop back on the trail, finish the drink, and toss my paper cup. Check my watch. Think about my foot placement. Swing my arms. Breathe, breathe, breathe.
This is the first time we’ve run this route, the Cumberland Bicentennial Trail. When I told Mom where today’s session was, she said, “I’ve heard the spring dogwoods over there are beautiful.” My mother does know a lot about plants even though she has a black thumb. And she was right about how gorgeous this trail is: pink and white flowers are everywhere. It’s like Valentine’s Day exploded.
Soon I don’t have anything else to concentrate on. So I think about the real reason today’s run is freaking me out. I haven’t seen Jeremiah yet. And he didn’t call.
After last week’s run, after we hooked up, Jeremiah waited for me by my car. My thoughts were jumbled like multicolored gumballs in a jar, but I was coherent enough to give him my phone number when he asked for it. He gazed around the parking lot before punching the number into his cell. Was he looking to make sure Matt didn’t notice? His brother was dead serious about Jeremiah not hooking up with his clients. But he did it anyway.
At the time, I figured he was interested, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but it turns out it didn’t matter. Why ask for a girl’s number if you aren’t going to use it? Did he ask because he felt some sort of obligation? Or because he felt guilty? Did his brother find out and get pissed? Is that why he didn’t call? I’m pissed at myself for caring. I’m not sure why I do. Probably to give myself a reason not to feel so skanky.
“Gah!” I say to myself.
“What’s up?” a voice says. I nearly say the corny joke Kyle always said in response to What’s up?
Helicopters! he’d blurt.
When I turn to find Liza jogging up next to me, I’m really glad I didn’t say Helicopters!
“Did you hurt yourself?” she asks.
“Nah. Just talking to myself.”
She laughs and nods. “Running definitely gives you lots of time alone with your thoughts. I’m sure I’ll be talking to myself soon.”
For the past three months, I’ve had a hard time maintaining the same pace as other people on my team. Either they’re too slow for me or I’m too slow for them, but today Liza and I manage to stay together for several minutes. It would be nice if I had company for today’s final four miles. It would be nice if I didn’t have to run the entire marathon alone.
“How old are you?” Liza asks.
“Eighteen.”
“You seem older,” she says, looking me over. “You’re very mature.”
“Oh yeah?”
“My older sister has a couple of teen girls. I went to their house for Mother’s Day and my nieces giggled for an hour about absolutely nothing.”
When I went shopping at the Galleria with the girls a few weeks ago, we ate a snack at the cookie store, where Vanessa and Savannah giggled for like ten straight minutes about these cookies with Justin Bieber’s face on them. I still don’t know what was so funny about that.
“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” I ask.
“Thirty-two,” she says with a sigh.
“You seem younger.” That makes her smile. She’s very glamorous, with brown curls, full lips, and fancy sunglasses specifically for running. I wanted a pair of those, but I had to decide between them and gas for my car.
“So why are you running a marathon?” Liza asks. “You’re the youngest person on our team by a long shot.”
I look at her sideways and pull a deep breath. The only person who knows why I’m here is Matt—Coach Woods told him—and I want to keep it that way. When I don’t say anything, I guess she takes a hint because she changes the subject.
When I hit the 4.5-mile marker, Matt’s assistant Bridget passes me lemon Gatorade without asking. After three months of training, she knows my preferred flavor. “Are you feeling okay, Annie?”
I work to get my breathing under control. “Yeah.”
“Good. Get going.”
“I’m not allowed to rest while I have my d-drink?”
She smiles. “Nope. Matt wants you to learn how to run and carry a cup at the same time. You’ll be doing that during the race. Just throw the cup away when you see a trash can.”
Grumbling, I hop back on the trail, finish the drink, and toss my paper cup. Check my watch. Think about my foot placement. Swing my arms. Breathe, breathe, breathe.
This is the first time we’ve run this route, the Cumberland Bicentennial Trail. When I told Mom where today’s session was, she said, “I’ve heard the spring dogwoods over there are beautiful.” My mother does know a lot about plants even though she has a black thumb. And she was right about how gorgeous this trail is: pink and white flowers are everywhere. It’s like Valentine’s Day exploded.
Soon I don’t have anything else to concentrate on. So I think about the real reason today’s run is freaking me out. I haven’t seen Jeremiah yet. And he didn’t call.
After last week’s run, after we hooked up, Jeremiah waited for me by my car. My thoughts were jumbled like multicolored gumballs in a jar, but I was coherent enough to give him my phone number when he asked for it. He gazed around the parking lot before punching the number into his cell. Was he looking to make sure Matt didn’t notice? His brother was dead serious about Jeremiah not hooking up with his clients. But he did it anyway.
At the time, I figured he was interested, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but it turns out it didn’t matter. Why ask for a girl’s number if you aren’t going to use it? Did he ask because he felt some sort of obligation? Or because he felt guilty? Did his brother find out and get pissed? Is that why he didn’t call? I’m pissed at myself for caring. I’m not sure why I do. Probably to give myself a reason not to feel so skanky.
“Gah!” I say to myself.
“What’s up?” a voice says. I nearly say the corny joke Kyle always said in response to What’s up?
Helicopters! he’d blurt.
When I turn to find Liza jogging up next to me, I’m really glad I didn’t say Helicopters!
“Did you hurt yourself?” she asks.
“Nah. Just talking to myself.”
She laughs and nods. “Running definitely gives you lots of time alone with your thoughts. I’m sure I’ll be talking to myself soon.”
For the past three months, I’ve had a hard time maintaining the same pace as other people on my team. Either they’re too slow for me or I’m too slow for them, but today Liza and I manage to stay together for several minutes. It would be nice if I had company for today’s final four miles. It would be nice if I didn’t have to run the entire marathon alone.
“How old are you?” Liza asks.
“Eighteen.”
“You seem older,” she says, looking me over. “You’re very mature.”
“Oh yeah?”
“My older sister has a couple of teen girls. I went to their house for Mother’s Day and my nieces giggled for an hour about absolutely nothing.”
When I went shopping at the Galleria with the girls a few weeks ago, we ate a snack at the cookie store, where Vanessa and Savannah giggled for like ten straight minutes about these cookies with Justin Bieber’s face on them. I still don’t know what was so funny about that.
“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” I ask.
“Thirty-two,” she says with a sigh.
“You seem younger.” That makes her smile. She’s very glamorous, with brown curls, full lips, and fancy sunglasses specifically for running. I wanted a pair of those, but I had to decide between them and gas for my car.
“So why are you running a marathon?” Liza asks. “You’re the youngest person on our team by a long shot.”
I look at her sideways and pull a deep breath. The only person who knows why I’m here is Matt—Coach Woods told him—and I want to keep it that way. When I don’t say anything, I guess she takes a hint because she changes the subject.
