“What?”
“That allows only two and a half hours for check-in, room assignment, packet verification, race preparation, and transit.”
“That is enough.”
“For ordinary travelers.”
“You are ordinary travelers.”
Amy gave me a warning look. I took her suitcase.
“Do not encourage them,” she said.
“I’m carrying your bag.”
“I can carry it.”
“I know.”
“You always say that.”
“I like consistency.”
The bus doors opened. Tessa had come to see us off despite working a night shift. She hugged Amy, then looked at me.
“Bring her back with all toenails.”
“I’ll try.”
“No. Promise.”
Amy stepped in.
“Toenail loss is not entirely preventable.”
Tessa pointed at her.
“You stay out of this.”
Rose loaded a small medical bag into the luggage compartment. She was traveling as the event’s physical therapy support. “Sleep tonight.”
“I plan to.”
“The honest answer?”
“Yes.”
“No secret miles.”
“I am not running the half.”
“You brought shoes.”
“I work at a fitness event.”
Rose remained unconvinced. For months, I had maintained twenty-two to twenty-six miles a week in fragments: client miles, easy five- and six-mile runs, and no single run longer than eight. Over the past month, Rose had consolidated some of that volume into disclosed six- and eight-mile runs instead of letting me hide inside short sessions. It was a real aerobic base. It was not marathon readiness. I had told Amy I was considering another marathon and that Rose was supervising the return. Nothing about the mileage was secret. I still avoided deciding what I wanted it to become.
The bus ride lasted two hours. Blake assigned seats for promotional purposes. Amy and I sat together near the middle. A sponsor camera recorded our departure. Amy held my hand for the first five minutes. Level One. Public. Allowed. The camera moved away. Our hands remained joined. Amy noticed me notice.
