Her next breath stopped.
“Real,” she repeated.
“With boundaries.”
“Obviously.”
“We move slowly.”
“Painfully.”
“We do not make decisions based on cameras or challenge scoring.”
“Agreed.”
“We continue telling the truth.”
“Agreed.”
I studied her.
“The mileage.”
She stopped moving. “What mileage?”
There. A small hesitation. Not the old lie. A new edge.
“Your mileage,” I said. “You have been running before some sessions.”
Dani looked down.
“I’ve added distance.”
“How much?”
“Six to eight miles once or twice a week.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know what it meant.”
The answer gave me no category to evaluate. I disliked that more than I disliked uncertainty itself.
“Does it mean you are training for a marathon?”
“No.”
“Does it mean you want to?”
“I don’t know.”
I waited. She exhaled.
“I wanted to feel like a runner again without making it a promise.”
I believed it.
“Then say that.”
