“Can I?”
It hurt because I had earned it.
“Yes.”
“You hid the knee pain.”
“I will not repeat that mistake.”
She took a breath. “Okay.”
We sat for one additional breath. Then her alarm restarted. I threw a pillow at the phone. Dani laughed.
Race morning operated like an airport designed entirely around bananas. Runners filled the hotel lobby wearing plastic ponchos, hydration belts, compression sleeves, and expressions ranging from delighted to medically concerned. Volunteers distributed fruit near the exit. A sponsor table offered coffee to people who had been specifically instructed not to experiment with caffeine intake. Blake moved through the crowd wearing the orange travel jacket and whistle.
“Couples assemble by shuttle group!”
“The race is individual,” I said as we approached.
“The experience is partnered.”
“That is not the same.”
“It is for content.”
Dani took one coffee cup from the sponsor table and smelled it. I removed it from her hand.
“You are not racing.”
“Emotional caffeine.”
“You had coffee in the room.”
“That was functional.”
I placed the cup back. Rose stood beside the lobby doors with her medical bag. She looked at my legs.
“Pain?”
“No.”
“Stiffness?”
“Normal.”
“Sleep?”
I glanced at Dani. Dani studied the ceiling.
“Adequate,” I said.
Rose’s eyes narrowed.
“Define adequate.”
“Six hours and fourteen minutes.”
“Interrupted?”
