Page 78 of For the Record
He nodded. “Be careful. Don’t push yourself too far, and take a break if you need to.”
My smile grew wider. He was such a dad without even realizing it.
“I love you,” I whispered up to him, and he shook his head at me, pinching one of my cheeks. “I love you, little squatter.”
Calla stepped up behind Adam, her fiancé hot on her trail. “Good luck, Rach!” she shouted, two hands around her mouth despite the fact that I was three feet away.
Behind her were Marigold and Layla, holding up signs that said Run, Rachel, Run! with a Forrest Gump figure on one side. Layla’s had a cute hand-drawn Yoda on there that said May the course be with you in a cute Star Wars font. I loved them all so much. And they were mine, technically speaking. My sisters-in-law. But prior to that, they were the best girlfriends I could have ever asked for. I smiled at them softly with a head tilt. I still felt a twinge of guilt over never telling them about Adam before. But that would change soon too. We were supposed to meet up for a girls’ day on Monday as a celebration of me, hopefully, not being dead. I would catch them up on everything then. After that, all circles of my life would finally be put back together again. My little mosaic of a life. Broken here, shattered there, but put back together by the most wonderful glue, making the prettiest art around me.
“Thank you guys so much, really.” I gave them each a hug, then gave Adam one more kiss before taking my spot toward the far end of the line, since I knew my boundaries.
Marigold whistled and Layla shouted between her hands. Adam’s lips twisted in a smile at his family before he looked back at me.
The guy at the front with an orange flare gun raised his arm as the crowd counted down. I looked down the crowd to the side, my eyes instantly catching on my tattooed husband in a black tee with a small smile on his face.
He mouthed, “You’ve got this.”
And that was all the encouragement I needed.
Bang. We were off, diving into the water.
Twenty-seven felt like an awfully young age to die from exhaustion, but I wouldn’t put it past me either. I’d made it out of the swimming portion now, although I was currently the very—and I do mean very—last person in this race. There were a couple of women in front of me, one who was quite pregnant and the other who was at least eighty. So that was that. But somehow, I was still alive. That felt like a win.
I ripped off my wetsuit, leaving me in my one-piece running suit as I slipped on my race belt for the biking portion. The bike with my number on it was up and ready at its station beside me as I started grabbing my helmet and glasses. The glasses were a last-minute addition that Adam forced on me, but now that I felt the wind, I got it.
“Come on, Rach!” I heard one of the girls shout, but I didn’t up to see which one.
If I timed this right, I could use the time on my bike to make up the time I’d lost on the swimming portion. I was fairly good on a bike, and the running itself couldn’t be too much, right?
I tossed one leg over the seat as my hands gripped the handles, squeezing tightly around them. Unlocking the brakes, I took off to catch up with the people in my far view, my feet hooking to the pedals.
“You’ve got it, Stevie!” a husky voice shouted loud and proud behind me, and I smiled down at the bars in front of me. Oh, he was so going to get any kind of sourdough treat he wanted after this. Well, after I didn’t feel like my lungs were being squeezed out by an evil giant.
My bike and I cut through the wind, the supportive shouts around me slowly dwindling as I began leaving that crowd behind and heading down the path through the streets of Philly.
Two miles in, and the muscles in my legs were already beginning to heat up, this deep, dull burning sensation that started at the root of my calves and was slowly creeping up. But that didn’t matter. I was still going. I’d gotten the worst part over with, surely. Swimming was done, and now the biking and the running were just…cherries on top. Sure. My legs continued pushing as I worked to catch up to the other racers, my newest goal simply being don’t come in last. Foo Fighters “Monkey Wrench” began to play in my ears, and I smiled to myself, looking down at my feet pedaling.
I was wrong. About swimming being the hardest part. Maybe the breathing in the swim section, sure. But keeping up pace on the bike’s incredibly thin tires, which I still wasn’t entirely used to, as well as trying to focus on how I was going to do my next transition was at least twice as difficult. We were reaching the end of the biking portion. The paved road was surrounded by temporary walls with rows of people—family, friends, loved ones, volunteers holding signs and shouting individual’s names. I hadn’t seen Adam and the rest of my people in a few miles. I assumed they were rushing to the next viewing spot after the transition.
The once somewhat narrow path was now becoming wider as we reached the area to hang our bikes up and transition into the running portion—the last portion. Rows of bikes were hung up before me, their handlebars caught on these metal stations labeled with each contestant’s name and their correct shoes and running materials.
Swinging one leg around the side, I hopped off my bike a little too harshly, considering my knees buckled at the movement. My calves were wobbly blobs of Jell-O and the soles of my feet ached a deep, red-hot pain. But my arms settled over the bike as I pushed it down the alphabetical lineup, all the way to the Ws. The Ws. Because I was a Wells now.
I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage to finish this race, not with the ache in my calves and the acidic burn that was building up in my muscles. But I had to do it. This was about much more than me proving to myself that I could. Although, selfishly, I was extremely excited to take a picture and post that I did it to look back on for years to come. Regardless, it was for my dad. The training, the race, the shortened breath, and sore muscles—all of it was dedicated to him. With that, and the thought of giving Adam the sweatiest hug after this, I kept pushing forward. My sign finally came into view. The familiarity of my running shoes almost made me sigh in relief.
I hooked my bike up, making sure the wheel was positioned to not knock over any of the other bikes. Breathe. Adam’s voice rang in my mind. Slow down on transitions. There is no need to rush putting on your shoes or stretching. My chest rose as I breathed deeply in through my nose and out of my mouth. I closed my eyes, turning my neck from side to side to pop it. Then I grabbed my socks and shoes and quickly, although not too quickly, changed into them. I shook out my shoulders, bouncing and stretching a little before putting in the earbuds I had stashed in my running shoes and started my running fast, kicking ass playlist.
The comfort of my socks no longer being pooled with sweat, mixed with the feeling of being entirely free from a bike—just me and my legs here to finish up this race—was euphoric. I never in my life thought I would say Thank God, I only have to run three miles. And yet there I was. My neck craned, searching for my own people down the rows of spectators cheering on each person approaching with their bike. I would do absurd things to hear Marigold’s whistles or hear Layla shout nice butt, Rachy-poo like she swore she was going to. But my eyes couldn’t find them in the sea of mixed-up people holding signs for their loved ones.
I stretched my legs, pulling one with my foot touching my butt and then swapping, all while attempting to steady my breathing. I shoved down any possible disappointment that I hadn’t seen Adam or the others since the last transition. It wasn’t like they could run the entire thing with me. Plus, who knows? Maybe I’d passed them without realizing. I did have my AirPods volume turned up pretty high.
Feeling ready, I shook out my shoulders and began in a slow jog with two other women right beside me. I smiled—attempted one, anyway; it may have come out looking more like I was going to throw up—at both of them, and we steadied our pace together to keep pushing through to the steady track ahead of us. That was one thing I had noticed about this race so far. The people around me that seemed to do this kind of torture for fun all encouraged each other as if this was a group effort.
It almost reminded me of being on a road trip and you and three other cars are all matching speeds down the interstate. Though you might not even make eye contact with them, you still felt like they’re your buddies for those couple of hours. Until one of them betrays the pack and veers off to their assigned exit.
I kept their pace as long as I could. They were both a little older than me but had running bodies. Tight calves, smaller thighs than mine, toned stomach muscles shining underneath their tight crop tops. I wasn’t in their league in the slightest. But they hung around for about a mile when I knew they could have taken off without me at any moment. The encouragement was definitely helpful for as long as I could keep up. But whereas they were saving their energy by going at my pace, I was using all of it to keep up with theirs. Each step was getting harder. Blood pounded in my ears, my breath becoming louder and louder over my music. My throat begged for water despite the fact that I’d chugged down two cups from the volunteers about three minutes prior.
My body ached for rest, for a couch to magically appear to fall back on with a giant glass of water in my hand while an Adam-shaped figure rubbed my feet. My joints, mostly my knees, begged for me to stop, my chest filling with this icy-hot pain that somehow felt like all of my organs were shutting down. Everything in me screamed to stop then and there.