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Chapter Eight
Hannah
Pulling the box out of the backseat of my car, I moaned. I’d learned that Brett had been serious when enrolling me in his boot camp. Yesterday, he’d awakened me in the same manner, but I’d managed to report on time, with socks and shoes on my feet. I’d grinned a bit seeing the look of disbelief cross his face knowing that he’d not have a reason to give me either an incentive or order me to my knees. We’d run a mile and a half and it hadn’t been any easier than the day before.
Today, I had stolen the need for ungodly pot banging by setting my alarm for 5:25 a.m., only to learn that weekdays’ rise and shine was at 5:00! After dragging myself through two miles, Brett praising me the entire way, I’d forgone a shower, dropping back into bed the moment he left for work. What had shocked me was that, once prone, all I could think about was all the stuff I had to do.
Now, at eight o’clock, I was lugging the box of t-shirts up Stephanie’s sidewalk.
“Hi! Come in!” Stephanie said, opening the door with a big smile. “I’ve got coffee and muffins.”
I really didn’t deserve her cheerful greeting or the offer of food, but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Thanks, and I want to say I’m so sorry about being such a…” Man, the truth hurt sometimes, but I plowed ahead. “A bitch.”
“No, no, I understand. You’ve always had such high expectations, and if you didn’t like the shirts, I wasn’t going to complain.”
Now I felt even worse. “No, I was definitely out of line. You did a great job. I just have a bit of trouble letting go.” Taking a seat at her kitchen table, looking around her spotless, gleaming kitchen, the aroma of freshly baked muffins in the air, I shook my head. “Though how you managed to get them done so fast, keep a house so neat it could be in a magazine, and bake is beyond me.”
Stephanie laughed and brought over a mug of coffee and the plate of muffins. Sliding into her chair, she spooned some sugar and poured some cream into her own cup before answering. “I’ve been an army brat my whole life. I grew up with schedules practically covering every hour of the day.” She picked a muffin off the plate. “I always swore I’d marry some laidback dude who couldn’t care less about housework or schedules, but, what can I say? I fell in love with Gary and he’s just as strict as my folks if not more so.”
“Still, your house looks amazing and these muffins are incredible,” I said, taking another bite and practically moaning, which had nothing to do with sore muscles.
“Thanks! So, did you keep out a shirt for yourself?”
“Um, no, why?”
She cocked her head. “I thought that chairing the committee meant you would be joining the team in the run.”
“Team?” I asked, never once having considered actually participating other than advertising the event.
“Sure. All of us are going to run. Won’t you consider it? We’d love to have you, and it will be fun.”
I could feel every muscle in my body urging me to say hell no, but I realized that, other than being with women on various committees, I hadn’t really made any close friends. “Well, Brett and I have started running every day, but I’m warning you, by the time we get home, I feel like I’m going to either die or puke.”
“That’s all right. I’m sure we’ll be doing more walking than running. How many kilometers are y’all running?”
“Um, no idea about kilometers, but every day he’s been increasing the distance. This morning it was two miles.”
She laughed. “Then you’re almost there! Five kilometers is only a little over three miles.”
“It is?” I asked, never bothering with anything other than miles, inches, or yards.
“Yup. Hey, at the rate you’re training, you might want to consider entering the Mudder Run. You get sponsors to donate so much money per mile or event conquered and the money goes to support our wounded soldiers. Gary and I are going to do it. He’s done them before, and I’ve watched but never entered one. But, it looks like a blast!”
“How far is that run?”
“Anywhere from ten to twelve miles, but it’s not just a run. You get to climb ropes, walk across beams, scale walls, swing from rings, and crawl under and through stuff. Granted, you’ll be exhausted when it’s over, but it’s for such a good cause.”
I couldn’t argue with that, but knew I was in no shape to enter—not without looking like a total loser. Still, something about the excitement she showed was compelling. “I can’t climb a rope to save my life.”
“You can join me to train if you want. I’m not very good, but I can probably give you a couple of tips. And, to be honest, it would make training a lot less boring if I know that we are encouraging each other.”
“When is this… what did you call it?”
“Mudder Run.”
“Is that named after some veteran?” I asked, finishing my muffin and telling myself I did not need another one.
She laughed again. “No, it’s because of the mud.” Evidently seeing the confusion on my face, she continued. “Every obstacle is surrounded by dirt and mud. Half the fun is trying to get through it without losing your shoes. Oh, don’t wear really good ones as you’re supposed to leave them at the finish line. They are cleaned and donated as well.”
