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“I guess.” I shrug, scooping the beans into the burr grinder.
The year I added a marathon to my list, the entire office had decided to participate in the annual LA Marathon, including Matt and Veronica, and I didn’t want to be the odd one out. I’d even joined Veronica for a few practice runs, which wound up being my undoing. She found fault with everything I did, from my gait to my posture to the way I sipped my water bottle. She’d even picked apart my running outfit, which—gasp!—wasn’t Lululemon, to her great horror.
“Quincy,” Ethan says with concern. “You can’t run a marathon without training first.”
“Why not? I don’t want to win or anything. I just need to finish.”
“But if you don’t train and prepare your body properly, you might injure yourself.”
I lean against the counter, considering his words. He’s a runner, so he must know what he’s talking about. But he’s also the protective older brother type and is probably being overly cautious. “Thanks, but you don’t need to worry. I’ll be fine.”
“Run with me this morning. We’ll go two miles, and if you feel fine by the time we finish, I’ll stop bugging you about it.”
“Only two miles?”
“Yep. Compared to a marathon, two miles should be a piece of cake.”
“Okay, fine.” I release a heavy sigh, resigning myself to having my coffee afterward. “I guess a couples miles won’t kill me.”
As I lag behind Ethan several minutes later, I’m ready to eat my words. There’s a stabbing pain in my side, and my lungs are no longer transporting oxygen to the rest of my body. And not to be overdramatic, but I’m fairly certain I’m about to die.
“How’s it going?” Ethan calls over his shoulder.
“Delightful,” I grunt, shooting daggers at his back. The man doesn’t even have the decency to break a sweat. “How much farther?” The question barely makes it past my labored wheezing, and I’m pretty sure the extra effort to speak just depleted my remaining oxygen because I’m starting to feel light-headed.
“About a mile.”
His words sound like a death sentence, and I don’t think I’ll last another few feet, let alone an entire mile. “Okay, you’ve made your point,” I gasp, creating a puff of white in the frigid air. “If I’m going to run a marathon, I need to train.”
He jogs backward until we’re running side by side. “Good thing you have the best trainer in New York.”
“You must really like torturing people.”
“Nah, just you.” He flashes me a heart-stopping grin, and I stumble over my own feet.
His hand juts out to catch me, and I try to ignore the quiver in my stomach when his gloved fingers wrap around my arm.
“First lesson: slow down. You’re pushing yourself too hard. It’s okay to start at an easier pace.” He leads by example, and I adjust my stride to match his, immediately feeling some relief.
“Now,” he continues, “try to steady your breath. Inhale deeply, hold for a few seconds, then exhale in a controlled release.”
I try to do as he says. The first few breaths are still onerous and ragged, but eventually, I find a rhythm and notice some of the cramping subside.
“Lastly,” he says, “keep your chest high and look around you. Focus on the environment rather than the weight of your feet or the strain in your muscles.”
For the first time, I take in my surroundings, and I’m stunned by what I see. Early morning light hangs like a golden halo over the snow-dappled trees, and mist rises off the frosted ground, lending an otherworldly aura to the picturesque scenery. I’ve seen Central Park before, but never like this. And never so devoid of people, so peaceful, so quiet. It’s devastatingly lovely, like a wintry paradise made for two, and my heart swells with wonder at how such an unexpected oasis could exist in a bustling metropolis like Manhattan.
For a moment, I’ve forgotten all about the ache in my side and the lead weights I’m convinced someone hid in my shoes, and I’m reminded why I fell in love with New York City all those years ago, why I’d wanted to move here with Brynn. The wordmagicalmay sound cliché, but there’s an undeniable truth to the description. New York ignites your imagination; makes you believe anything is possible. At least, it did once….
Perhaps, after all this time, I could learn to love this city again. But as we round a corner, and a familiar landmark comes into view, my heart stops.
The iconic Gapstow Bridge looms ahead, hauntingly beautiful. The stalwart stone arch stretches across the hazy pond, a rustic contrast to the ritzy Midtown Manhattan skyline beyond. Although it’s traditionally recognized as a popular spot for proposals, my experience with the most romantic location in Central Park couldn’t be more opposite.
It isn’t until Ethan glances over his shoulder and asks, “Are you okay?” that I realize I’ve stopped moving.
“Uh-huh.” I nod slowly, my thoughts a tangled web of unwelcome memories.
There are many moments you can run from in life—embarrassments, regrets, and failures—but others cling to you forever, seeping into your very being, becoming a transformative part of your soul.
