I'd managed to say no to two of them.
Two out of three wasn't too bad.
If only I'd been strong enough to say no to the most exhausting request.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I might not have found the strength to refuse Amanda, but I had more than enough strength to run. The next hour passed without incident, and I ate my second gel of the race and tried to get my head around being able to run for two hours straight. Not so many months ago I hadn't been able to even imagine it, and now here I was running a marathon, and feeling good no less. Incredible.
Even saying no to the gel guy and the portapotty woman was incredible for me. Yes, I felt guilty about them both, but I'd drawn my boundaries and hadn't caved in. For someone who hadn't been able to refuse anyone anything, I'd changed a lot in the last few months. I wasn't where I wanted to be, but I was making good progress.
Enjoying that realization, I cruised along for a while until a quick glance at my watch showed that only was I at a good pace I was only half a kilometer away from the halfway mark.
Halfway done the marathon! I couldn't believe it. My first-ever twenty-one-kilometer run had been unbearably tiring, but today while I was understandably feeling some fatigue I wasn't even close to being exhausted.
In fact, I could probably pick up my pace. Andrew had strongly recommended I do the first half of the race a little slower than I thought I could so I could save my energy to have a great finish, but I was even a bit slower than that would require.
I trotted on at a slightly faster clip, looking around me and for the first time taking in the scenery. This part of the course traveled the road beside the path that Andrew and I had been running twice a week for months, and the familiarity of my surroundings relaxed me even more. Sure, I still had a long way to go, but I felt too good to worry about it. Andrew and Jeanine had talked about how great I'd probably feel at some point in the race, and I'd clearly hit that point.
Up ahead I saw the pace mat that would signal the halfway mark and couldn't resist sprinting a little to reach it. Jeanine had said she loved stepping onto those pace mats because they meant she'd reached a milestone in the race and because crossing one sent a text message to anyone who'd registered online to see her split times. I hadn't registered for them, since Andrew had suggested I'd be better off focusing on my own race, but he had registered for both me and Jeanine because he wanted to know how we were doing. He'd know I'd reached the halfway mark, and I felt warm and fuzzy knowing he'd be proud of me.
Several people had gathered a few meters before the pace mat, cheering the runners on, and I burst out laughing at the signs they held, which said "Worst parade ever" and "Run faster, someone's chasing you" and "Nice legs!". I waved and called, "Those are great!", and they grinned and thanked me and clapped for me. I felt like we were all in the race together somehow, and I liked it.
A race volunteer stood beside the mat, and to my surprise he was none other than Pencil, who I'd seen training on several occasions since the first time I saw him sparring with Andrew.
He smiled, clearly recognizing me too, and I smiled back and frantically tried to remember his real name. I couldn't bring myself to call the poor guy Pencil.
"Paul!" I said in relief as I neared him, then added, "I'm halfway done!" in the same tone.
"You are," he said, holding out a hand for a high five. "Good stuff. Carry on."
I slapped his hand then threw my arms in the air like I'd reached the finish line. We both laughed, then I did indeed carry on, past the mat and off to complete the second half of my race.
I'd never felt so good.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
There was still almost nobody running near me, and I liked that. I could see three people running together up ahead, and I'd heard faint cheering as someone else crossed the pace mat a few minutes after me, but mostly I had my own space in which to cruise along at my happy pace. Up to twenty-two kilometers now and still feeling wonderful.
I glanced down at my t-shirt and again felt so touched Andrew had bought them for us to wear. He'd been adorable when he gave them to us, and--
"Hey, happy pace!"
I registered the anger in the voice, and the fact I'd heard the voice before, and an icy shiver swept me, contrasting uncomfortably with the sweat on my skin.
"Thanks to you, I'm way behind where I should be," the portapotty woman said as she reached me. "Ten minutes back to my car and ten back to the race. I'd have been way ahead of you by now, if you hadn't been such a bitch."
I couldn't think of anything to say.
Sadly, that wasn't her problem. She passed me, after shooting me a vicious glare, and called, "Next time don't be so selfish," over her shoulder. Then she called me a bitch again for good measure and took off.
On the road in front of me, I saw a gel packet that had been dropped and stepped on, all its contents crushed onto the pavement. Portapotty woman had stepped on my happiness and good feelings, and I didn't think I'd be able to scrape them up and get them back any more than I could have stuffed that gel back into its packet.
I kept running at the same pace but the life was out of it and out of me too. I'd carried that woman with me for nearly the whole first hour but I'd eventually been able to leave her by the side of the road and enjoy my race. Now she was back and I didn't know how to put her down again.
What I hated most was feeling bad even though I knew her request had been unreasonable. Everyone in the bathroom line had needed to use the facilities, and her need didn't deserve to be prioritized above anyone else's. Plus, how was it my fault that she hadn't left her things in her car before lining up? But knowing all that didn't stop me feeling like a monster, like the bitch she'd called me, for not giving in.
I'd really thought I'd been building up my strength, my ability to set boundaries and keep them set, over the time I'd been building up my ability to run. I'd had some small successes, like protecting my Oreos from Brandon, and I had managed to say no to the portapotty woman which I might not have been able to do before. But if I was going to feel awful for saying no, what was the point? Might as well say yes and feel taken advantage of, like I had with Amanda and the after-the-race moving, than say no and feel like a monster.
I sighed. I wanted to enjoy my race, feel the pleasure of running at my happy pace, but it wasn't happy any more and neither was I.
*****
Not long after I took my third gel, unbelievably loud chanting and laughing pulled me out of my funk. I realized I was at what the race literature had called a "must-see cheering section", complete with at least fifty screaming people and a guy in a grizzly bear costume dancing carefully with some poor woman who had an enormous running shoe built around her like the world's weirdest barrel.
Under normal circumstances, I'd have laughed, or at least been amused. I didn't even react. My get-up-and-go had wandered off and was probably sitting on a curb somewhere back on the course muttering to itself, my poor legs were throbbing and my knees felt like they were being stabbed and even my hip joints complained though they never had before, and if my willpower had been a battery it would have been reading 'critically low'.
"Go for it, Megan!"
I looked over, startled for a second before remembering that my race bib bore my name.
A woman on the sidelines wearing an "I only run for the goodie bag" t-shirt and a pink headband with sparkly purple antennae waved and said again, "Go for it, Megan! You're almost there!"
I glanced at the marker up ahead. Thirty kilometers down. Twelve point two to go. This was kind of the definition of not almost there.
"Megan, Megan, rah rah rah!"
Since there wasn't anyone else near me, and maybe also because I looked as pathetic as I felt, the whole group took me on as a personal project and shouted encouragement and waved at me, and the grizzly man called, "Run or I'll claw ya!" which I assumed was supposed to be helpful.
Though they were ridiculously cheesy, they also cheered m
e, and I managed to smile at them and found myself running a little faster in their presence. All too soon, though, I'd left them behind, and though they kept yelling for a while after I'd passed them they eventually stopped and I was left with no noise but the sound of my feet on the pavement and my harsh breathing and an inner voice saying some not-so-encouraging things.
In two kilometers, I'd reach the longest run I'd ever done, and I'd still have the last ten point two to go. I hurt now, more than I remembered hurting during my thirty-two-kilometer runs, and I couldn't imagine running for well over another hour.
I also couldn't stop thinking about the man who'd wanted my gels. Even though I knew he hadn't had a right to my race food, I still felt terrible that he might not be able to finish his race because of me. Had he had to quit?
A guy on a bike pulled up beside me. "Doing okay?"
I looked over, and the truth fell from me. "I don't know."
He gave me a sympathetic smile. "Sounds about right. Anything hurt?"
"Everything."
"That also sounds about right."
I made a noise that I'd intended to be a laugh but which came out far more like a sob.
"It's okay," he said, then took a quick glance at my race bib before saying, "Megan. It's okay, Megan. It's supposed to hurt."
There was a little more humor in my laugh this time. "It is?"
"For sure. Or else everyone would do it. Anything worth doing takes a little effort. Or a lot. This your first marathon?"
I nodded.
"When you cross that line," he said, emphasizing the 'when', "you'll know it's all been worth it. Just keep those feet moving. I like to think, 'Still breathing, gotta keep running'. It helps me. Give it a shot, maybe."
"Thanks."
He smiled and pulled away, and I saw "Medical Staff" written across the back of his t-shirt. Did I look so bad that the medic had felt the need to check me out?
I took a few deep breaths, then a long swig of Gatorade, and began chanting, "Still breathing, gotta keep running" to myself, letting the words fall into rhythm with my feet.
It did distract me a bit, but it didn't feel right.
"Find your happy pace, find your happy pace," I muttered, and found that worked much better. Not only because it didn't have such a 'suffer through a death march' feel to it, but also because it made me think of Andrew. Sweet, adorable Andrew.
I tried chanting that to myself but the fear that I'd accidentally say it out loud sent me back to 'find your happy pace'.
I kept my feet moving, and tried to stay focused on the race and my mantra, but as I neared the thirty-one kilometer mark I just couldn't keep myself in the present, couldn't keep feeling the awful heaviness of my legs and the "stomped on by an elephant" feeling of my feet any longer, not to mention how awful I felt emotionally. So I let my body keep plodding along and escaped into memories of Andrew's warm hand in mine.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I couldn't stay lost in those memories, though, much as I wanted to. My body hurt so much, and its complaints and the occasional cheers from people on the sidelines kept popping me back to the present. Eventually, I decided that if I was actually going to do the stupid race I might as well live it, and see if I could enjoy it.
Even with the pain and my emotional state, I did begin to enjoy the race again, at least a little. I smiled at the people on the sidelines, making myself do it at first and then finding it easier as their enthusiastic responses made me feel better. I took my fourth gel a few minutes early, and that helped too, giving me a jolt of energy.
I even found myself laughing out loud when I saw a guy wearing a t-shirt that said, "In case of emergency, put your head between your knees and kiss your butt goodbye".
"Like it?" He took hold of the front of the shirt and fluttered it at me.
"I do, but I don't think I could bend over that far at the moment. Or ever, probably."
He laughed. "Then I guess you'll have to keep running."
"Guess so!"
We did an awkward fist bump and I passed him, committing the words of his shirt to memory so I could share them with Andrew and Jeanine later.
Jeanine. I wished I had her strength and confident attitude. With her obsession with fairness she probably helped people less than maybe she should, but she at least wouldn't be spending her race berating herself for giving too much.
Why was it so hard to find the right balance between giving and taking?
Was that actually the issue? No, it was more about giving and not giving. I was able to take help when needed. Andrew could attest to that since he'd helped me keep going through many a training run. But when someone needed help I couldn't keep from giving it to them, even when I didn't want to. Even when they didn't deserve it and wouldn't appreciate it.
Maybe someday I would talk to Jeanine about it. She'd probably be able to give me some guidance. If she was willing to, of course.
When I turned a corner, I saw a runner maybe twenty feet ahead of me, walking slowly, her shoulders slumped. She wore a red t-shirt, the back soaked with sweat, and a brown ponytail drooped from a hole in her running hat.
She looked awfully familiar. Like I'd seen her ahead of me on the track on many occasions. Like I'd seen her walking away from me with Andrew before the race began. But we were approaching the thirty-two-kilometer marker, four hours into the race, and since Jeanine was aiming for a four-thirty finish she should have been way ahead of me.
When I got closer, though, there was no question. "Jeanine," I said when I was a few feet behind her.
She turned. Her face was nearly as red as her lucky shirt and to my horror when she saw me she burst into tears.
Without thinking I slowed to a walk too. "What's wrong? What happened?"
She scrubbed the tears from her face. "Oh, Megan. I'm such an idiot."
"No, you're not. Come on, run with me."
She shook her head. "I can't. I just can't."
"Of course you--"
"I'm lucky I got this far!"
Her rage confused me. "Why? You've been training so hard."
She slanted her eyes toward me, then sighed and shook her head.
"Oh," I said, feeling stupid. "I thought... didn't you say..."
"I said I did all my runs, yeah. I did do some of them. But..." She sighed again. "Once the theater rehearsals really kicked in, I didn't have time for the long ones. I never made it past twenty-five k."
"Oh," I said again. "Oh, dear."
She didn't seem to care what I said, clearly wanting to confess everything. "I really am an idiot. I figured I could just run it because I've done it before and I was determined to make it happen. But being determined isn't enough. You have to practice and train and be able to handle the pounding and--" Her renewed sobs cut her off, but before I could speak she added through her tears, "It really hurts."
"I know. My feet and my legs are on fire."
She sniffled and tried to pull herself together. "It's not worth fighting any more. Let's just walk to the end, okay?"
Ten more kilometers? Yes, I was in pain, but I didn't want to walk it all. That wasn't remotely my happy pace.
I took a breath to say so, and she said, "I told myself to walk fifty more steps and if I didn't feel better I could quit. You found me at forty-three."
My poor pounding heart sank. If I left her behind she wouldn't be able to finish the race.
*****
We plodded along together in silence, the only sounds my still-labored breathing and the last remnants of her sobs. She didn't seem to notice when we passed the thirty-two-kilometer marker, but I did. I was now in brand-new territory. I should have been running further than I'd ever run before. But instead I was walking.
Part of me wanted to take off and leave her behind. She hadn't done her training. I had, and yet my race was now going down the tubes because of her. I hated it.
But I also hated the idea of leaving her. I couldn't even imagine how I'd do it. Say, "Sorr
y, but I'm out of here?" Beg her to set me free? Point out something on the sidelines and run away while she was distracted? No matter how I did it, I'd feel horrible.
That was the bottom line. I felt horrible not doing my race and I'd feel horrible leaving her to suffer and maybe to quit hers.
As we walked, though, my legs began to ease just a little. They were still aching and felt like they weighed a thousand pounds each, but they'd felt more like two thousand pounds when I was running so I greatly appreciated even such a slight reduction in pain.
Maybe, just maybe, this was a good idea. After all, I'd be helping Amanda later and I'd need energy for that. Using it all on the race might be a mistake.
As the thought hit me I felt sick. Was I seriously considering giving up my race plans so I could help Amanda and Jeanine through the messes that were their own faults?
Yes, I was. I'd never been so tired, and my brain kept flicking from thought to thought without being able to stay focused for more than a moment, and whenever it flicked to the idea of running again it immediately bounced off and landed on the thought that lifting boxes later would be easier if I walked now.
Easier physically, of course, but even more it would be far easier emotionally. No need to say no, no need to be selfish, to be a bean counter, to fight against what everyone expected of me.
I didn't have the energy to do any of that.
Just keep walking. It's the right pace.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Jeanine began to rally not long after we met up, no doubt relieved not to be dragging herself along alone, but as she became happier I found myself getting steadily sadder.
And angrier.
She hadn't asked me if I'd walk with her. She'd just assumed I would. Even knowing how hard I'd trained and how much time I'd spent running with Andrew, she'd figured I would put aside my race plan to take care of her.
And I'd done it. She hadn't even needed to ask, I'd just done it.
Figuring if I'd ever need a special boost during the race this was the time, I ripped open the special chocolate-caffeine gel Andrew had given me and swallowed it, willing myself to feel the super-charged energy he had promised.
Toronto Collection Volume 2 (Toronto Series #6-9) Page 65