My entries—health, routine, convenient timing—earned comments such as Too vague and Avoidance through scheduling remains avoidance. Physical therapists should not be allowed emotional vocabulary.
On Tuesday morning, I ran five easy, stable miles before meeting Amy. I had disclosed the distance the night before and admitted I did not yet know what it was for. She disliked the answer and accepted the disclosure. That was new. The city was cool before sunrise. I followed the river path, turned at the footbridge, and returned to the meeting point near Lake Park. Amy arrived wearing the blue top and coral shoes. She carried less than she used to. One belt. One backup gel. No printed weather report. I felt proud enough to become annoying.
“Where’s your expedition equipment?”
“At home.”
“Who are you?”
“The route is saved on my phone.”
“Growth.”
She looked at my shirt.
“You are already sweating.”
“Five miles. As disclosed.”
Her grip tightened on the strap of her hydration vest.
“You ran five miles before a fourteen-mile support run.”
“I’m joining the first eight and meeting you later by bike.”
“That creates thirteen total.”
“Arithmetic.”
“Rose approved?”
“Yes. Honestly.”
“What was the run for?”
I stared. She smiled slightly.
“Rose showed me the question.”
“Medical confidentiality is dead.”
“She asked me whether I noticed a pattern in your answers.”
“Traitor.”
“What was it for?”
“To run.”
“That is circular.”
“I wanted miles before the city woke up.”
Morning traffic had not begun. In the quiet, the answer sounded thinner than I intended.
“Why?”
I held the answer. Because I wanted to feel strong before standing beside her. Because her fourteen frightened me more than my thirteen. Because the marathon route crossed our path today, and I had known for a week.
