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She finishes her stretch and pops up, spinning to face me. "You'll get a cramp before we've finished the first mile and I'll leave you in my dust. Race over."
Grant walks past both of us and stops a few feet from the start of the trail. "Gather 'round children and put your listening ears on."
"That's what you say when you give a farm tour to pre-schoolers." Clover keeps a good foot of space between us as we join Grant, forcing her to step off the parking lot and sink into the ground layer of dead leaves.
"The pre-schoolers are more mature," Grant says.
I laugh, and Clover glares at me. "He's talking about you too."
"Enough," Grant says. "The first rule of trail-running is to tune out the noise and focus on the trail. So you two need to cutthe bullshit and pretend to like each other long enough to get through these training sessions."
Clover doesn't argue, but her jaw is tight, like she's grinding her teeth. I fight another laugh and try to focus on what Grant is telling us.
"Because of the hilly and obstacle-filled terrain, it's difficult to maintain a steady pace on a trail run. You might want to wear a heart rate monitor and—"
"Got one." Clover holds up her wrist and smirks at me.
I lift my shirt to reveal the monitor banded around my ribs and her smile falls, her gaze warming as she stares at my abs. Totally worth all those hours of crunches and no candy or cake for months on end.
"Can. We. Focus?" Grant asks.
Clover mouths 'I hate you' and turns back to Grant.
I pull my shirt off over my head and tuck it into the back of my shorts, because I'm willing to take whatever advantage I can get here. Grant narrows his eyes at me, but doesn't say anything.
"As I was saying, a heart rate monitor is a good idea. Set a goal for where you want your heart rate to be and stick to it, even if it means walking some of the bigger hills. Zone two is a great goal for a trail race of this length. Especially your first. Today, for sure, I want you to stay in zone two."
"You want us to race in zone two?" Clover asks. "We're not going to win a race at that pace."
To his credit, Grant doesn't sigh or roll his eyes, but I can tell just from his pause before answering that he wants to. "I know all about the competitive Weston spirit, Clover, but you aren't going to win this race. How long do you typically run on a daily basis?"
Clover glances at me, clearly not wanting to reveal too much. "A few miles. Maybe five if I have a day off."
"Right," Grant says. "This race is three times that length over difficult terrain, and we don't have enough time to properly train for it. So stick to zone 2. Keep an eye on your monitor or use perceived exertion. If you can't trash talk and threaten each other, you're working too hard. Work too hard and you'll be more likely to trip and hurt yourself. How do you think Russell is going to feel if you don't finish the race at all?"
"Okay," Clover says. "I get it." She doesn't get it. She's practically vibrating with the need to test herself on this trail. I can see it in the way she's rocking from the balls of her feet to her heels, in the way she's looking at the trail ahead like she's plotting her course.
Good. I hope she doesn't listen, because it'll give me better odds of beating her.
"This isn't the trail we'll be running on race day, but I'd hoped there'd be fewer people out this way." Grant glances at a hiker who strolls past us and starts up the trail. "Clearly, that's not the case. So take your time. There's nothing we can do about the tourists. Just wait for an opening and jog past them. Hopefully, they'll know enough trail etiquette to step to the side."
He looks us over and shakes his head like he doesn't have high hopes for either of us. "Just holler if I get too far ahead or you need a break. We'll pause after the first mile to evaluate and discuss how it went."
"Let's do this." I push my fists together and squeeze to show off my biceps and pecs.
Clover glances over, looking me up and down. "That tattoo is idiotic."
"Jokes on you," I say. "'Cause that's what I was going for."
It's not. I had given no thought to what I wanted inked on my body for eternity. I like the beach so I picked a palm tree to be tattooed onto my biceps. Despite all the razzing I've taken over the years, I've grown to love it.
"Good topic," Grant says as he turns and starts jogging up the trail. "Name your tattoos and why you got them."
Clover follows him. "I don't have any tattoos. There's nothing I like enough to engrave on my flesh."
"If you want to find out about my other tattoos, you'll have to buy me dinner first," I say as I take up the rear. The end of the line is a good place for me. I've been out jogging every morning this week and riding the stationary bike in the evenings to build my endurance and cardio capacity, but the results have been less than edifying.
I'd rather Clover not have a front-row seat to me turning purple and nearly dying.
