“Easy enough to discuss dinosaurs.”
The corner of her mouth betrayed her. Lola had spent twenty minutes testing her knowledge after yoga.
“Ready?” I asked.
Amy surveyed the trail, inhaled, and nodded. “Yes.”
We started walking.
The first two miles were almost perfect. Amy settled into the run-walk pattern without racing anyone, kept her shoulders low, and spoke in complete sentences while explaining why brachiosaurus and diplodocus were not interchangeable. At the marina, she checked her watch twice and admitted the pace was slower than projected. She did not speed up. I considered that worth a gold star. Amy saw the sticker sheet in my pocket and began the next interval four seconds early to escape it.
At mile three, we stopped near a water fountain. Amy rated the effort six, reported no pain, and chose to continue without hesitation. I had planned an optional turnaround if her form deteriorated. She did not know that; she would have treated it as a test.
“Halfway,” I said.
Amy looked down the trail. The next section curved away from the lake and climbed gradually through a park.
“That is a hill.”
“It is.”
“The route description said gentle incline.”
“That’s a gentle incline.”
“It continues for half a mile.”
“Gentle things can be persistent.”
“Is that another dating metaphor?”
“It is now.”
We began climbing. The pace slowed. Amy’s breathing changed. I stayed beside her.
“Short steps. Easy effort. Relax your hands.”
“Your fists disagree.”
She opened them. At the next walk break, she took a deeper breath.
“This is not gentle.”
“Now you’re learning.”
She smiled despite the effort. Mile four arrived near the top. The satisfaction on her face lasted until she realized two miles remained. That was the danger point. Long runs did not become difficult only because of distance. They became difficult when the mind stopped experiencing the distance as progress and began experiencing it as accumulation. Four miles meant she had completed more than ever before. Four miles also meant another two. Amy looked at the watch.
“Do not calculate.”
“I am aware two miles is one-third of the total.”
“Same problem.”
She resumed running. Her stride had tightened. I gave her one interval before speaking.
“Effort?”
“Seven.”
