“Briefly.”
Dani’s brows lifted. The nighttime panic had lasted longer than briefly, but Rose had asked about readiness. I had returned to sleep. I did not feel impaired.
“Anxiety dream,” I added. “Resolved.”
Rose marked her clipboard.
“Good. If the knee pain changes your gait, stop. Not negotiate. Stop.”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I will stop.”
Dani touched my elbow.
“Thank you.”
The shuttle doors opened. We climbed aboard. The starting area occupied a broad avenue near the river. Music played from speakers. Inflatable arches marked the corrals. The air smelled like wet pavement, coffee, and nervous bodies. My bib felt enormous against the blue top. 1847. Evidence. Daniwalked beside me through the crowd. She carried my spare layer and nothing else. I had reduced the running belt to approved contents. One gel.
Identification. Tissues. Blister patch. No printed route. Personal growth was not always dramatic. Sometimes it was leaving paper at a hotel. We reached my corral. A sign displayed the expected finish range. Runners bounced lightly, stretched, and checked watches. Ten miles remained my longest run. Miguel’s plan was not to pretend otherwise: run three minutes, walk one minute from the first mile, no time goal, and stop for knee pain that changed my gait or remained after a walk interval. My pulse moved too quickly. Dani saw.
“Look at me.”
I did.
“What’s the first goal?”
“Start calmly.”
“Second?”
“Hold the planned effort.”
“Third?”
“Fuel before I feel depleted.”
“Fourth?”
“Listen to my body.”
“Fifth?”
I had added this privately.
“Finish honestly.”
Dani smiled.
“That one.”
A loud announcement came from the start line. Ten minutes. My stomach tightened.
“Do you have the gels?” Dani asked.
“Yes.”
