Rose deferred to the medical captain, who checked my orientation against the written threshold.
“Approved to walk to the curb with escort. Reassessment there.”
Amy looked toward the course ahead. Her own clock continued. Her own body cooled while we stood.
“You should go,” I said again.
This time, I spoke clearly. Amy faced me.
“Do you want me to?”
The honest answer was selfish.
“No.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“Then no.”
No manipulation or hiding. She got the truth and accepted it.
“I will walk to the curb with you.”
“Your race.”
“My choice.”
The medical captain watched both of us, then said, “Walk only. Rose will reassess at the opposite side.”
Amy moved beside me. Not touching. Close enough. We began. One step. Another. The intersection opened around us. My body shook. Panic five. Then six. I kept walking. Amy matched me. At the center, the old memory surged. I stopped. She stopped. No pulling. No instruction.
“Dani,” she said.
“I am sorry.”
The apology came without plan. For the registration. The lies. The public hurt. The way love had become another place I tried to control the outcome. Amy’s face broke. Not forgiveness. Not yet.
“I know,” she said.
The same answer I had received at the breakup. This time, it did not end the conversation. I took another step. Then another. We reached the far curb. Panic four. I turned toward Rose. She had followed several yards behind.
“Reassess,” she said.
I checked. Knee two. Breathing controlled. Orientation clear. Judgment uncertain but present. The finish waited just over four miles ahead. Amy waited beside me. Her own race still alive.
The medical captain asked, “Continue or withdraw?”
The choice belonged to me, but permission to remain on the closed course did not. Amy did not nod, encourage, or choose. Good. The course waited beyond the card in my hand. Stopping safely completes the decision. Continuing safely could too.
“I want to continue,” I said.
Rose remained neutral. The captain asked, “Plan?”
“Walk until panic three. Resume two-one intervals. Stop if it rises to seven again.”
“Knee?” Rose asked.
“Report at three.”
