“No,” I said.
Pride flickered in her face.
“Okay.”
“Be at ten.”
“I will.”
Then she disappeared behind the barrier. The absence was immediate. The race became quieter without her, even though thousands of feet struck the pavement. The middle belonged to me. I kept running.
Miles four through six followed the river. I settled into the pace. The coral shoes felt good. The knee remained quiet. At each mile marker, I checked the watch once. Only once. The run-walk pattern kept the effort controlled. People who had passedme early began slowing. I did not take satisfaction in this. Not significant satisfaction. At mile five, a woman beside me asked whether this was my first half.
“Yes.”
“Mine too.”
She wore a shirt that said MOMS RUN THIS TOWN and had glitter near one eye.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Currently stable.”
She laughed.
“That’s one answer.”
“How do you feel?”
“Like I should’ve used the bathroom again.”
We ran together for half a mile. Then she stopped at a portable toilet. I continued. At mile six, the course climbed gradually into downtown. I heard Dani’s voice. Short steps. Relax hands. Slow is not weak. She was not physically present. The coaching remained. That felt different from dependence. I reached the halfway timing mat. Six point fifty-five miles. The distance number on my watch had never been that high.
A wave of emotion moved through me. I did not cry. This was partly because breathing already required sufficient attention. The next aid station offered water. I walked through it as planned. No guilt. No argument. Progress.
At mile eight, my headphones stopped working. The music cut out during the second chorus of my planned confidence song. I tapped the screen. Nothing. The cable had not disconnected because there was no cable. The battery showed seventy percent. I restarted the app. No sound. A month earlier, this would have felt like a threat to the entire race.
I put the headphones into my belt. The city remained. Footsteps. Breathing. Spectators. Cowbells.
A child shouting, “Go, blue lady!”
I assumed she meant me. I waved. Mile nine became difficult. Not impossible. Different. My legs had moved beyond familiar fatigue into a heavy, repetitive negotiation. The next mile marker seemed too far away. I checked my watch twice. Then three times. Stop. A woman in a purple shirt ran twenty feet ahead. I used her pace. Not to pass. To follow. At nine and a half, she slowed.
I did not. The mile ten marker appeared beneath a cluster of flags. I searched the crowd. Dani was not there. Alarm tightened beneath my ribs. The plan had changed. The barriers made access difficult. She might be farther ahead. She might have been delayed. Logical explanations existed. My body heard only one thing. She was supposed to be there. I reached mile ten. No Dani. The old dream returned.
The empty finish. Everyone gone. I shortened my breath. Not panic. The edge of it. I moved to the side and walked. A volunteer asked if I needed help.
“No. Thank you.”
I named objects. Blue banner. Red cone. White shirt. Gray building. Silver watch. I pressed my feet into the ground. The anxiety eased. Then I heard her.
“Price!”
Dani ran along the spectator side of the barrier, weaving around people. Her hair had come loose from the ponytail. She looked furious with the city.
“I’m here.”
Relief hit so hard it became anger.
