Page 97 of See You at the Finish Line

“I know.”

There’s a crowd of people around us probably listening to our conversation, but I don’t care. I’m solely focused on Paige.

“Do you have your phone?”

She raises her hand, shaking her phone at me. Her attitude is cute.

“And it’s on?” I raise my brows, which earns me an eye-roll.

“Yes, Coach, it’s on.”

I cough. I’m going to need her to call me that again later, with fewer people around.

“Good. Now if at any point you feel scared or nervous, all you have to do is look at your phone for reassurance. And if that doesn’t work and you need a break, we’ll stop.”

She sucks in a deep breath and releases it slowly. “Okay,” she says, resigned to her fate.

The cheering around me floods my eardrums and I feel the pull of adrenaline. It’s not only the race this time—it’s Paige too. I know this will be hard for her and I wish I could take it all away. But the only way to face her fears, to overcome her PTSD, is by staring down her triggers and surviving them.

We’ve been in Utah for two weeks taking care of Levi. Leah is coming home from the hospital tomorrow, but she’ll still need help. We went shopping for some stuff yesterday and I had to talk Paige out of getting her sister a welcome home present, considering the present she had in mind was a cemetery plot.

What am I going to do with this woman?

Thankfully she listened when I told her that while it’s funny to talk about, someone who just had a near-death experience might not appreciate the humour in receiving a final resting place as a present. Or an urn. Or a gift certificate to a funeral home. I didn’t even know they did that.

She got Leah her favourite junk food instead. I like to think I’m having a positive effect, not only on her life, but also on the lives of people she buys presents for.

Paige’s therapist told her that last time she took too much time off from running, so maybe doing another race soonis a good idea. Running on her own proved to be too challenging for her, and even running with me wasn’t enough.

The distraction of a race, the adrenaline and competition of being surrounded by other runners are good. When she came home—not home, Leah’s house—and told me about her appointment, I signed us up for this 10k within the hour, giving us five days to prepare.

“Racers, on your mark, get set, go!” The race announcer shoots a gun and off we go. I laugh at the simple phrase, having not heard it since I ran cross country in high school.

We start at a nice easy pace. The goal of this race is to get through without a panic attack, or at least as few as possible, managing them as they come. Paige checked in on every person she knew before starting, but I can see when she begins to spiral. It’s only been two minutes but her breathing is getting heavier.

“Phone,” I tell her and the fact that she doesn’t argue is a testament to how she’s doing. She looks at the screen and is relieved to see nothing there.

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “I can do this.”

“Yes, you can!” I give a little arm pump, doing my best impression of a cheerleader, which earns me one of those earth-shattering smiles and an infectious laugh.

As we pass the mile marks, she checks her phone less and less frequently. It’s an easy pace for the first five kilometres and then I notice Paige ever so slightly pulling forward. I match her pace, and she shoots me a smile before taking off. I chase her as we weave around other racers.

The only time she slows is to check her phone.

At the five-mile mark, she gets a text and stops abruptly, making the runners behind her curse and swerve around us. I pull her to the side of the road so we’re not blocking anyone.

“What is it?” I say, feeling my own dread start to rise. Second-hand panic, who knew?

A breath of relief whooshes out of her, followed by an epic eye roll. “It’s okay, it's just Leah.” She shows me the text.

Seeester

Sunday 8:37 a.m.

just checking in

seeing if I can give you a heart attack

---