“You mean hours in the wilderness?”
“In the wilderness.” She waved her arm to take in the trees around them. “But also in the cold and snow.”
“I grew up in the snow. Michigan. Joined the Nordic team in middle school. Went to state in high school. My first Olympic dream was the Cross-Country 50K.”
She glanced in his direction. “Really? I didn’t realize. I guess I should have, considering what the biathlon is.”
“Yeah. My big dream was to medal in the 50K.”
Steph did the math in her head—50K was just over thirty miles. It wasn’t as far as he’d need to go for an ultramarathon, but not too shabby. “But you ended up doing the biathlon?”
“Yeah. In high school, I went to state for the seven and a half kilometers. Placed first in my senior year. In college, I moved up to 15 and 20Ks. I was ranked well.” He paused.
She glanced in his direction to see him staring straight ahead, his jaw tight.
“And?” she prompted.
“After college is when I set my sights on the 50K at the Olympics. I was training year-round. Had a coach who thought I could do it. Life was good.”
“Why’d you switch to the biathlon?”
His pause was longer this time, and when he spoke, his tone held a note she couldn’t quite decipher.
“It wasn’t really one thing, more like a lot of little things. My coach made me realize that, even if I made the Olympic team, I’d never medal. Norway dominates the sport, and with the times they put out, I wasn’t even close. Well, I was close, but not close enough. He was the one who suggested I switch to the biathlon. I used to shoot skeet with my dad. Hunted geese and ducks. Deer. I tried it. Loved it. And I was hooked.”
“Until your injury.”
They walked in silence for many minutes, Steph mentally berating herself for being so blunt about how his Olympic dreams ended.
I should say something to smooth things over, she thought.Why? You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, she countered to herself.
Eventually, Jack said, “So you were going to tell me about the food you brought.”
“You really are obsessed with food.”
“I still have my high metabolism, I guess.” He shrugged.
“I used to have a running partner, and he had a rule that when out on a long run, we never discussed food until the last five kilometers.”
“That sounds like a terrible rule. I’ve been thinking about the food I have in my bag since we left the parking lot.”
“That food in your bag is going to be frozen.”
Jack stopped in the middle of the road. “Ugh, you’re right. I didn’t even think about that.”
Steph stopped next to him. “I have my first snacks under my jacket.” She unzipped her layers enough to show him. She had little round cheeses tucked against her torso, a homemade protein shake in a leakproof container, a bag of mixed nuts, a bag of dried fruit, and a third bag with pretzels.
“Everything freezes if you let it get cold enough. Cheese gets hard as a rock. Gels turn to concrete, so I never bring those.” She rezipped. “Body heat helps, but some stuff might still get a little chewy. Did you not carry food when you were skiing?”
He shook his head. “During training, some. But usually, my coach kept me fed, and during events, we’re taken care of at the feed stations by someone handing us a carb drink.Besides, the Lycra race suit doesn’t leave much space for tucking in snacks.” Jack wagged his eyebrows at her.
She barely held in her laugh as she tried not to picture him in his racing suit. She’d seen the videos and knew he was right. The form-fitting uniform left little room for anything as it sculpted to his muscular frame.
“I guess I should move a few things to my jacket?”
“Probably a good idea.”
He knelt next to his sled and took a few things from his backpack. He awkwardly tucked a dry bag under his arm as he tried to undo his zipper.
