Page 22 of See You at the Finish Line

“It’s refreshing to hear you compliment me, but can you please answer my question?” Adam asks as we try to conserve our energy.

The cliffside we’re currently clinging to may as well be an oven with the way we’re being roasted. With no shelter or protection from the sun’s glare, this is one of the hardest parts of an ultra. The unrelenting elements make every runner second-guess all of their life choices. Including ever getting into running in the first place. One of the many lows that make the highs worth it. I’ve lived here my whole life, and I’m still not used to the heat. Maybe I would do better if I moved somewhere colder ...

I let the thought trail off, not wanting to get my hopes up. My mind has a way of running ahead of itself, making impulsive decisions, and getting way too invested way too quickly. I should have learned my lesson by now, but I haven’t—I’m still a perpetual optimist.

Or I’m delusional, as Leah would say.

“Didn’t you ask me what hell feels like? Because I’m pretty sure that was your answer.”

Adam laughs at my joke and I love the sound, even though I wasn’t entirely joking.

“You should get your hearing checked because what I asked was, ‘What team would you like to work for?’”

“Sounds about the same to me,” I shoot back, enjoying our banter.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t see how you made that jump.”

“It’s the heat,” I say, climbing over rocks. I see the trail in the distance and send a prayer up to my dad, thanking him for the hope of a flat path soon.

“A likely story.”

“Honestly though, what did you ask me?” I ask, tripping over a rock.

Adam’s hand flies out, grabbing onto my hip. His hand slips under my shirt a fraction, allowing his hot, gritty skin to burn the soft flesh of my stomach. Right at that moment I realize how big his hands are. An involuntary shudder runs down my spine at the contact.

You’d think I’d be too gross to be turned on, but you’d be wrong. I flush with the added heat of his touch, and his fingers flex, gripping me as I steady myself.

I do not feel steadied. Not at all.

Adam removes his hand too quickly and shakes his head. “What’s your dream team?”

“Oh yeah.” I cough, clearing the thoughts seeping into my mind about those strong hands and how capable they would be. “Right now I’m working for our basketball team, but if I had my way, I’d work for the NHL.”

“Hockey?” He sounds genuinely surprised, and I catch the delight flitting across his face. Maybe he loves hockey too.

“Yeah, I don’t know what it is ... Fast-paced, incredible skill and control, women being aggressive and badass. Big sexy men with sticks. What’s not to love?”

I can’t read the look on his face, but I almost trip again and have to focus on where my feet are landing.

“What’s stopping you, then?”

“Since there isn’t a team close to Utah I’d have to relocate. I don’t want to leave my sister and my mom.”

“You know, Vancouver has a pretty amazing hockey team, if I do say so myself.”

“You don’t say?”

“And it just so happens that I know a few people on the staff.”

Of course. He’s perfect. “Do you work for the NHL?”

“No, but I know some people in the industry,” he says, his eyes casting off into the distance. His answer is vague, and his tone does not invite further questions. That’s alright, I have stuff I don’t want to talk about with a complete stranger either.

Although, Adam doesn’t feel like a stranger anymore.

Our conversation dies down as the heat comes to a crest. We can barely move, let alone interrogate each other. But the silence is nice and comfortable. Maybe because he’s seeing the very base version ofme, I feel at ease around him, like I don’t have to live up to some high standard. I can just be me.

The hours disappear behind us as we make our way up, down, and around the trail. When we can’t take any more of the climbing heat, the sun as high as it will be today, we vow to stop at the next sheltered spot we can find that isn’t just a shadow under a cactus.

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