by Ali Dean
I’m going through the motions, attending doctor’s appointments, changing out of pajamas into real clothes, showering, eating, speaking, but nothing is changing. Not really. I suppose it’s getting easier to leave the darkness of the bedroom, if only because I’m making it part of my routine again. But the pain is still paralyzing. It doesn’t allow room for any other emotions besides sadness. The therapist we’re seeing, Nancy, asks questions and I answer them. We talk about how I’m feeling, how Jace is feeling, and I guess that’s supposed to help, but even as I attempt to verbalize what’s happening inside of me, I still don’t feel like I’m really living. It’s as if I’ve forgotten how.
At least I’m answering my own phone calls now, responding to emails from Finn. I’d forgotten to pull out of the Chicago half marathon, and I have to get in touch with the race directors at the last minute. Nancy, Jace, and well, everyone, tell me not to look at what the media is saying, but it’s time. Almost two months have passed since we lost the baby, since the news about Monica’s doping came out. She claims that it only started this year, as she was getting older and felt the pressure to keep up with the “younger generation” of distance runners. I’d always felt that instead of the leadership position she could have embraced, Monica was resentful that she wasn’t fifteen years younger, at the beginning of her career. Rather than going with the natural flow of the Newbound team dynamics, she fought it. I don’t know if the doping really did start recently or had been going on for a long while, maybe throughout her career. It’s possible this is just when she finally got caught. To me, it doesn’t matter, but to those women she beat unfairly and stole Olympic team spots or podium finishes from, it’s devastating to wonder what could have been. If she beat them by cheating, she took away potential sponsorships, opportunities to take running careers in a new direction. One place can make a big difference depending on the race.
As I lie on the living room couch, scrolling through the articles about the scandal and the various reactions from runners, some of whom are now retired, there’s a stirring in my belly. It’s a buzzing, and as I let it bubble to the surface, the realization of what’s happening has me sitting up all the way.
Jace turns to look at me from where he’s sitting. My feet are in his lap as he’s watching more football videos, analyzing players on the Stallions, his new team. “What’s up, Pep?”
“I’m reading about Monica Herrick.”
Jace’s face hardens with concern.
“And I’m feeling something.” There’s excitement in my voice, and Jace’s shoulders tighten as he braces himself, clearly confused about where this is going. “I’m angry. And not for myself. I’m angry on behalf of all the runners Monica beat over the years, the people she might have cheated out of money they needed to make a living running, positions on world teams in order to get those sponsorship deals, the chance to stand on an Olympic podium.”
Jace puts down the remote and moves my feet off his lap. He reaches for my laptop and places it on the coffee table, leaning forward so he’s lying across the couch beside me. “You sound really happy about this, though.”
“Jace,” I tell him, urging him to understand, “I’ve felt nothing but sadness and pain for almost two months. The only other feelings have been some empathy I guess for you and Gran, and that’s the reason I started trying in the first place. I hated how sad and helpless I was making you feel.” We’d talked about this with Nancy, acknowledged that without the bond to Jace, the love between us, the motivation to pull through this would be hard to find. But that was more from a deep love, which I guess is more like an innate part of who I am than a separate emotion.
“Anyway,” I continue, “this is the first thing aside from what I feel for you that I’ve felt for anyone else really. The first strong feeling. It’s not connected to my sadness, it’s just my genuine response to what happened. I think that’s a good thing, right?” My voice wavers at the question, as I recognize how ridiculous this sounds.
Jace’s face breaks into a small smile. “Yeah, Pep, it’s a really good thing.”
My body sags in relief at his approval, his understanding that this is a big step. A breakthrough of sorts.
I expect Jace to take advantage of the moment, to put his lips on mine. After all, he’s lying right beside me, the length of his body pressed against mine, our faces inches apart. And it’s been weeks, six to be exact, since we’ve touched in any intimate way. But he doesn’t do that. Instead, he asks if I want to get some fresh air and go for a walk. I’m disappointed, but I get it. He doesn’t want to push. Or maybe it’s only because we’re at Gran’s house, and our roommates could return any minute from their group grocery shopping trip. I still don’t know if they normally all go run errands together, or if they’re doing it to give us privacy, but in any case, I’d rather not have the four of them walk in on us.
We take Dave with us, on the same trail we’ve been walking on nearly every day for the past few weeks. But this time, it’s not obligation that has me at Jace’s side, hand in hand. I didn’t have to force myself to leave the house, shield myself from the sunshine peeking through the trees, the brightness trying to shine on us. Nope, today it feels natural. The sadness is still right there, heavy in my steps, but there’s a tiny bit of hope brewing too. Hope that I will be okay again, that I’ll be me. That maybe I can start living again.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Pepper
I read more about the scandal, and when I find commentary about my own involvement, the feelings really start to flow. At first, people wondered if everyone on Newbound was doping. Jace had arranged to have my blood test results made public, which I know I’d agreed to, though it was all a fog. Those results showed that everything was normal only two days after my half marathon, except, of course, that I was pregnant. Once the entire story of my pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage was revealed, it didn’t eliminate all suspicion, though the general consensus was that I was clean. Some people thought it was too unbelievable that I’d run so fast, qualified for the Olympic Trials, while pregnant. I must have been doping, they said. Those were the same people who said that I had the miscarriage because I was doping. Surprisingly, that accusation didn’t bother me. Probably because it was simply false and the opinion didn’t gain any traction. Especially once it came out that I’d quit the Newbound team weeks before Monica was caught, and I hadn’t known anything about it. Other women on the team, also fighting to clear their names, confirmed that I’d trained almost exclusively on my own and was rarely even in Arizona, where the doping occurred.
In the end, it all felt so out of my control. The opinions of others, I couldn’t help what they said about me. It had always been that way. All I could do was tell the truth, and deal with the haters.
Most of the discussion about me had blown over after a week or two, with the general conclusion being that I hadn’t been involved. I’d been a solid runner for a long time now. Sure, I was transitioning to longer distances and still early in my professional career, but I’d been steady in my growth. There was nothing unusual about my recent performances. Yes, they had been great results, but not out of the ordinary. Yes, I’d been pregnant, but the passing out afterward just went to show I was, indeed, human.
Somehow, reading all the gossip doesn’t hurt as much as I expect. Not because I’m numb to it, though maybe that’s part of it. No, the petty nature of it actually helps me see how unimportant it really is. People will say things about my pregnancy and the miscarriage, but they don’t know shit. They don’t know me.
The truth is, the intense training in the early weeks may have contributed to the miscarriage. Dr. Burch said that’s highly unlikely since everything looked great right after the race, but I cling to that small chance and blame myself. It’s easier than the alternative. That it just happened for no reason at all.
Nancy helped me see that at one of our sessions. She’d asked, point blank, “What if Dr. Burch told you that the miscarriage happened because you ran too
hard? How would that make you feel?”
I couldn’t believe it when she’d asked me that. It took me a few days to be honest with myself about the answer. The truth is, even if I had a clear reason to blame myself, I’d still have to forgive myself. I didn’t even know I was pregnant, and I had no reason to suspect it, aside from a mild upset stomach a week earlier.
I’ve been thinking a lot about forgiveness, and realize I give it so easily to others but not myself.
“I think I’m ready to go running,” I tell Jace. We’re sitting on the back porch, each of us catching up on emails after breakfast. It’s almost July, almost time for Jace to start training with the team again.
Jace’s face lights up, and he’s in his running clothes, vibrating with energy, before I have a chance to think it through. Two months. It’s been two months since I’ve run. I haven’t gone that long since I’d gotten injured in high school. And I’d at least done pool running and cross training during that time.
But it’s a step toward forgiving myself. Even if it hurts and feels off, I need to let myself have this.
As soon as my feet hit pavement, it doesn’t feel off at all. Nope, it’s exactly right. I take a deep breath of mile-high air and smile my first genuine smile in a long time.
We run in silence, and we don’t go far. Well, for me it’s not far. Four miles is Jace’s max, but it’s just enough for me to taste what I’ve been missing. Finally, I’m alive again. My body is rejoicing in the gift I’m finally allowing it to have again, and strangely, I almost sense a repairing of my broken heart happening inside of me. I’ve finally given myself permission to start healing. I’m not just showing up to survive anymore. I actually want to be in the moment, right here with my best friend, the love between us unbreakable.
Jace leads me back a different way through the neighborhood and slows a couple blocks from Shadow Lane. He points to a rundown house on a corner lot with a sign out front.
“It’s for sale.”
I look at the house, note the roof is caving in, and glance at Jace. He chuckles and bites his lip. “We’d raze it and build something new. It’s a great lot. Right against the foothills and around the corner from Shadow Lane.” He shrugs. “I know you probably aren’t ready to start thinking about it yet, but now that I’ll be with the Stallions, we can get our own place.”
When I throw my arms around Jace’s neck, he stumbles back, unprepared for my enthusiasm. “Baby,” I tell him into his neck, “I know you would do anything for me, but why don’t you at least see how the commute goes during pre-season training? You might realize it’s harder than you thought.”
Jace lifts me up off the ground and swings me around. He’s been so careful around me these past few weeks that my body responds immediately to the closeness. Jace tenses when he realizes what’s happening between us, puts me back on my feet and steps backward.
“Wes wants us to check out a house by him too,” Jace tells me. “If we don’t want to deal with building something new, there are lots of other options. But I thought it might be a fun project. Something besides running, and… everything else, for you to enjoy.”
I tilt my head as I watch him. He’s been thinking a lot about this. About me. Us. Our future. I’m ready to start thinking about all these things too, but right now, I just want to be back in his arms. But my husband has thrown up an invisible wall between us. I didn’t know it was possible to be so emotionally connected to someone while being so physically disconnected. The first couple years of marriage, we endured not being as physically close as we wanted because circumstances forced it. Now we have the chance to be together all the time and Jace isn’t touching me.
We walk the couple of blocks home hand in hand. That’s been the extent of physical touch lately. It’s like we’re middle schoolers dating for the first time, not a married couple. He’s been patient with me, I can do the same.
“Yeah, I’m down for at least looking around. Seeing what’s out there. We’ve never house-shopped before. It could be fun.” I squeeze his hand, reassuring him that I’m back now. I’m not so fragile anymore. I’m even excited for the next adventures together.
Jace
I should have known that it would be running that brought Pepper back to me. I knew that it took therapy sessions and time to get to a point where she felt ready to run, but once she was back on the trails, the light in my girl turned back on. She’d been showing up each day, getting through it, and when one day turned into two, and two turned into weeks, then a month passed, I wondered if I’d lost her. Now, she was coming back to me, and I was so fucking relieved. And desperate not to send her back to that dark place she was at before.
Preseason training started and while I went to the stadium, Pepper met up with people to run. She’d even been doing her strength training at local gyms instead of Wes’s basement. News had spread fast that we were in town to stay, and all the local fitness centers were reaching out to Pep hoping she’d make an appearance. I knew she was still hurting, but she was accepting it, trying to go after life again like she used to.
Two weeks into pre-season training, and I was finding my place on the team. No, that wasn’t right – I had a place, sure, but there was tension. There was Frankie, Tanner, Calvin and others who welcomed a change in leadership, were ready to say goodbye to Troy Bremer. On the field, he was as much of an asshole as he was off of it. Every quarterback needed confidence. But Troy was arrogant. It was a wonder he’d led the team for nearly a decade with any success. From what I could tell, he’d earned his position as leader through fear. He’d bullied and belittled others into following him. Funny to think three-hundred-pound grown men could be bullied, but Troy had managed it. Taking his lead, those followers refused to show me any respect, refused to acknowledge I’d joined the team to fill Troy’s shoes when he retired.
It didn’t bother me. Things were already shifting. People respected that I’d dropped my agent and handled the transaction on my own. I wasn’t a rookie anymore, but with only three years under my belt, there weren’t many who would have made such a risky move. I didn’t see it as risky, it just made sense to me, screw the fallout I’d have to deal with, but the guys thought it took balls, and that got me some approval even from Troy’s crew.
I knew it would all shake out and fall into place eventually, and I didn’t really give a shit about Troy’s ego. I was killing it on the field, establishing a solid and steady presence. The team needed that with Troy’s hot head. He’d tried throwing insults my way in an attempt to get me riled or take me down a few pegs, but I saw through him.
I loved the game, but it wasn’t my life. At the end of the day, it was my job. I could tackle people for fun and play competitively, but I didn’t need to be in the NFL to be complete. Troy did, and he knew he was on his way out. I almost felt bad for the dude. If I didn’t have Pepper, I could’ve ended up like him.
She was more important to me than the shifting power dynamics on the Stallions. After practice, I’d go home to her, hear about her day, try to make her smile, talk about houses, eat some good food with crazy old people, walk Dave…
“Yo, Wilder, you listening, man?” Calvin called to me from the other side of the locker alcove.
“Nah man, ready to get home to my wife. I’m done with you fuckers.” I told him the truth. I’d made it clear from day one I was a family man, not into the off-field activities Troy Bremer and his crew got up to.
Calvin laughed and shook his head. He had Leah. He knew how it was. This life was demanding. We had to get our family time when we could. “Don’t I know it, man. We’re goin’ out tomorrow night though. First two weeks of pre-season are done. It’s tradition.”
Frankie walked into our alcove, towel around his waist. He jumped in. “Yeah dude, we’re all going,” he said with a pointed look. “The whole team doesn’t get together like this much, but it’s a thing. You gotta be there.”
I ran a towel through my wet hair and pulled on a pair of sweats. “
Yeah, I hear you. I’ll be there.”
Even if, or especially because, there was a division going on, we were still a team and had to stay a united front. Playing along in a casual setting outside of practice with everyone there, it’d be a chance to smooth over the tension off the field. But I already knew what the scene would be, based on locker room talk from Bremer and his guys. It would be like some of the parties with the Browns. An unspoken rule that no girlfriends, fiancées, or wives would be there. The only women allowed to the private team events weren’t exactly hookers, but they were there for a specific purpose. Entertain, don’t get attached, no strings and no expectations. Let the guys unwind with that simple understanding. It made my blood fucking boil just being in that environment.
“But I’m bringing Pepper. You guys should bring your wives too,” I told Frankie, Calvin, and a few other guys in our alcove. They all turned and looked at me like I’d lost my mind. I probably had. Of all the times to bring Pepper to something like this, she wasn’t in the best state of mind. But I wasn’t putting up with Bremer’s shit for an entire season. Especially since it wasn’t clear he was planning on leaving next season without a push out the door. I hadn’t bothered making a statement like this with the Browns. I knew I’d be leaving the team eventually. But the Stallions? I’d be here for the rest of my career if I could help it. Pepper and I were making this home. If it didn’t work out, I didn’t think I had it in me to trade and move us somewhere else. So I was doing this my way, setting the tone for how I planned to lead the team one day.
I didn’t mean to bring the power shift to a head so quickly. I’d meant to let it ride out for a while, on and off the field. But after Drake, I was tired of letting shit ride. It was time to take control. And I wouldn’t put up with women throwing themselves at me when I had a ring on my finger and a scowl on my face. The other guys, some just married, some with kids at home, they shouldn’t have to put up with that shit either just because a dozen or so of their teammates wanted it.