Dead Running (12 page)

I tilted my head to the side and hid my smile. “You give me a holler, I’ll see if I can fit you in.”

His grin widened. He turned and strolled towards the Smith machine.

“Damon?” I called to his back, panicking slightly. “Do you remember my phone number?”

Damon glanced over his shoulder. “Of course.”

“Then why haven’t you called me?”

He laughed, loud. “I’ve been traveling for work. Plus, I’ve been working up the courage.” He winked and turned away.

I watched him pile the Smith machine with forty-five pound plates in dumbfounded silence.
Him
, courage to call
me
? I glanced at my red-hued, make-up free features in the mirror. Dark hair and eyes, slightly upturned nose, rosebud lips that definitely needed lipstick to be noticed. Why would a man like that need courage to call a girl like me?

Focusing on my next set of hammer curls, I shook my head in embarrassment. He was teasing me. Of course. What else could he have said when I put him on the spot like that?

I went through the rest of my biceps and triceps exercises fully aware that Damon was lifting on lower body mere feet away. He didn’t say anything else to me, but every time I glanced his way he’d catch my eye and either smile or wink.

I knew one thing guaranteed. I was going on a run with him and then to dinner. Marathon training definitely had its perks.

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I arrived at the designated spot several minutes early. Two lanky men stood in the church parking lot, each had one ankle propped on the fender of a red pickup truck, leaning into a hamstring stretch. I stood there, shifting my weight from one foot to another and trying to look unassuming. Should I introduce myself? Wait for Damon to show up? Act like I belong and stretch un-warmed muscles?

I paced to keep warm in the early morning chill and searched the street for Damon. I smiled in response to the questioning glances of the men and wondered what in the world I was doing at six a.m. on a Saturday pretending I had a dream of keeping up with seasoned runners. Damon hadn’t even told me how far we were going. How big of a fool would I be before this morning was over?

I hadn’t run outside since Muscle Man and Greasy Beanpole accosted me. Training on a treadmill just wasn’t the same. What if I stunk so bad, literally and figuratively, that Damon cancelled our dinner date tonight?

A silver convertible of some fancy make and model slid into the parking lot. The silver symbol on the front meant Chrysler, I think. I do know it was a beautiful car and the man who climbed out of the driver’s seat put the vehicle to shame.

Damon’s face split into a grin when he saw me. “Cassie.” He strode across the parking lot, taking my hands in his. “You look great.”

I glanced down at my T-shirt and baggy shorts. Again, I wished I’d put makeup on, but I had a strict no make-up during exercise rule. It clogged the pores and looked horrific when you started sweating. “You mean my legs look great, because my face will look a lot better tonight when I fix up a bit.”

His smile widened. “You look great right now. Lucky for me, you don’t need to fix up.” Damon held onto my hand and turned both of us to face his friends. “Joe, Trevor, this is Cassie.”

I reached out to shake each of their hands.

“Nice to meet you,” Trevor said.

“So, you’re running St. George?” Joe asked.

I pumped my eyebrows, rolling onto the balls of my feet. “If I can’t fake a significant injury before then.”

Damon chortled. “Told you she was funny.” He inclined his head towards me. “You ready?”

I exhaled. “Not getting any faster standing here.”

Damon smiled, released my hands, and we took off on a jog through the parking lot.

I stayed close to Damon’s side, listening without comment to their easy banter. The pace wasn’t bad and the scenery was terrificDamon included. Maybe I could handle these early morning runs sabotaging my one opportunity to sleep in.

“Is this your first marathon, Cassie?” Joe asked.

“Yes.”

“But you’ve been doing shorter races,” he stated as if everyone was a regular member of the racing circuit.

“No.” I swallowed then admitted in one breath, “The first race I ever ran was Health Days.”

Damon stared at me. “Are you serious?”

“Um-hmm. I’d never run over three miles until a few weeks ago.”

They all shared a significant glance. I didn’t try to interpret what it meant. “Have you been running together long?” I asked to change the subject.

“Trevor and I did cross-country in high school,” Joe said. “We met Damon at Health Days.”

I glanced at Damon. I’d assumed he was from the valley and these were lifelong friends. We obviously had a lot of acquainting to accomplish. I felt giddy thinking about it.

We weaved through a subdivision and up a winding road towards Green Canyon. Oh, no, hills. Big hills. So far I’d only made a moderate fool of myself. I could hold my own with the flat running and the pace they were setting, but I was not prepared for inclines.

By the time we reached the parking lot at the base of Green Canyon I couldn’t breathe or talk. It was all I could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I looked over at Damon. Could he tell how out of running-shape I was? How could I be such a champ at lifting weights, spin class, and every other form of exercise I chose to do, yet running devastated me?

Damon exchanged a glance with his friends and seconds later Joe and Trevor loped away from us without another word.

I increased my pace. It hurt.

Damon’s fingers brushed my arm. “It’s okay, Cassie. We’ll just let them go ahead a bit and catch us on the downside.”

I glared at him. “You think,” gasp for air, “that I can’t keep up.”

He studied the tree branches waving above our heads. “No, it’s not that.” The jerk wasn’t even breathing hard. “But this is a pretty intense trail run and . . .” His words dangled as I narrowed my eyes.

“I just want a chance to be alone with you,” Damon said, spreading his hands in innocence as he ran effortlessly. He gave me one of his award-winning grins and almost got me.

“Bull crap.” I stayed strong, rising above the effects of his smile. “I’m not,” two long breaths, “letting you miss out.”

I dug deep and followed Joe’s freakishly long legs up the uneven trail. Birds chirped in the leafy canopy above us. I dodged over rocks and logs and kept as close to Joe as I could, without going into anaerobic shock.

Damon’s breath itched at my neck. He stepped so close he clipped my heel. “Cassie, you don’t have to do this.”

“I
am
doing this,” I shot back.

“Cassie, this is a fourteen-mile run, half of it straight uphill.”

Holy schmack, you people are insane
, I wanted to scream, but knew I couldn’t afford the oxygen loss. I kept my mouth closed. Figuratively anyway. In reality it was hanging open as I gasped for air. Fourteen miles! Who brought a beginning runner on a fourteen-mile uphill run? But this wasn’t Damon’s fault. He had no way of knowing how pathetic I was. Why hadn’t he seen through my lies about him not being able to keep up with me?

Damon sighed behind me. “Whenever you’re ready to turn around, let me know.”

I shook my head and concentrated on running. Time and trees blurred as I focused on keeping my legs rotating and staying within sight of Joe’s striated calves. The “Eye of the Tiger” kept playing through my head. Not the entire song, I wasn’t lucid enough to recall more than the chorus.

I was Rocky. I could do this. The
chorus kept coming over and over again. Annoying, but better than the phrase the song was drowning out,
I’m not going to make it. I’m not going to make it.

I tripped on a root that flung itself out of the ground at me. Slamming onto the rocky trail, I had a brief respite from motion. I caught my breath. The ache in my side eased. My head cleared.
Oxygen is a wonderful thing
.

Damon was instantly by my side. He grabbed my elbow and helped me stand. Joe and Trevor either didn’t notice I’d fallen or didn’t care, they kept up their excruciating pace.

I shook Damon off with a muttered, “Thanks,” and did the last thing on earth that I ever wanted to do, forced my legs into action.

“Cassie,” Damon said. “You just fell. Why don’t you take a break? I really don’t care if we take it slow.”

“I care.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Marvelous.”

“You didn’t injure anything?”

“Shut-up,” I said.
Or I’m going to injure you
, I would’ve added if it didn’t hurt so much to talk.

Damon didn’t say anything else, but he stayed within inches of my backside, obviously preparing himself for my next crash.

I wanted to curl up in fetal position and have someone place chocolate on my tongue. I ran instead. My calves screamed in agony. I couldn’t catch a full breath. My stomach churned, preparing itself to spew. My head felt like it was going to explode from the lack of oxygen.

I hate running.

How could I have forgotten how miserable running was? Through all the agony my poor body and mind endured, I kept plodding along. Actually, it felt like racing not plodding. I wondered what kind of a fool I was to think I could keep up with Damon and his friends. A part of me was extremely grateful for Damon’s kindness. Another part wanted to scream at him that he should’ve told me we were running fourteen miles uphill. He was probably just being nice because of the load of guilt he shouldered.

I glanced away from Joe’s rotating legs and checked my surroundings. Still lots of trees, rocks, and canyon walls closing in on us, but nothing signaling that we were nearing the end of the trail. I prayed,
Please let me make it to the top without puking or passing out and I’ll read The Bible more than I read Prevention Magazine
. I figured a little bribery wouldn’t hurt my prayer.

I kept going, one foot in front of the other, the ache remained in my legs but also lodged in my knees, hips, and gut. The only good thing about this run was for the first time in almost two weeks I didn’t have the energy to worry about anything but putting one foot in front of the other.

The worst thing about this run was Damon saw me at the sorriest I’ve been in a long time. How awful did I look? Damon didn’t say anything. The man stayed close behind me in a silent show of support. I decided if I lived through this I could really like the guy. I might have to apologize for telling him to shut-up.

“Bout a half-mile more to the turn around,” Joe called over his shoulder.

Half a mile. I could do that. I could make it. I didn’t know how I was going to crawl back to my car, but that was a worry for another minute. Right now I had to focus on getting my legs to the apex of this blasted hill. Maybe my torturers would actually pause and let me catch a full breath before they kicked my buns again. I did
not
like Damon’s friends.

It was the longest half-mile in recorded history. I thought I would see the finish line around the next bend in the trail, behind the next overgrown tree, over the next rock-covered rise. Half an
hour
must have passed before we cruised off the trail and onto a rutted road framed with poplar trees. A rusty gate stood a hundred yards away.

“Sprint to the gate,” Trevor called out.

Sprint to the . . .what? Were they masochists? Trevor and Joe took off like the Batmobile. Damon stayed by my side. One glance at his concerned face and my pride kicked in triple time. I lifted my legs, pumped my arms, and flew over potholes and hard-packed dirt. I swear the gate grew farther away. I had to occupy my mind with something other than how much this hurt. I started counting down from thirty. Surely it couldn’t take any longer than thirty counts to reach an end to my misery.

30, 29, 28, I promised to never do this to myself again, 26, 25, 24, I tasted bile and prayed harder,
Please, don’t let me throw up.

21, 20, 19, these men were idiots, 16, 15, 14, black spots appeared in my vision, 10, 9, 8, the gate was there, a few more steps, 5, 4, 3, I grabbed the gate, sagged to the ground, and everything went black.

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