Page 9 of See You at the Finish Line

And thou shall pick up your belt buckle.

The race director takes the megaphone and with it, my nerves amplify to match the sound blaring out at us. The intensity of the crowd reaches a new height as she leads us to our places at the starting line. It’s almost 6:00 a.m., only two minutes until gun time, and a small village could be powered by the energy rolling off this group of runners.

“Repeat after me,” the race director calls. “If I get lost ...”

“If I get lost,” the crowd rumbles.

“Hurt,” she says.

“Hurt,” we repeat.

“Or die.” Am I imagining the small smile playing on her lips?

“Or die,” we mutter, turning to look at each other.

“It’s my own. Damn. Fault!” she finishes. Gotta love a race with a mantra.

“It’s my own damn fault!” we yell back to her.

Chuckles and cheers ripple through the crowd and I look over to catch the woman’s eye. She takes a deep breath, and I know exactly what she’s thinking. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

“Maybe I’ll strike up a conversation with her if I see her out on the course, but chances are I’m never going to see that woman again in my life,” I say under my breath when Caleb catches me staring. He snorts and the gun goes off.

I don’t even know her name.

Starting Line0 mi/ 0 km

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Here we go.

Cheers and claps ring through my ears as two hundred runners set off on this incredible adventure course. The sound of so many loved ones sending us off fuels our racing adrenaline as we try to not sprint out the gate.

Since I started my running journey as a sprinter, this has always been one of the hardest moments for me. Rather than pushing the pedal to the metal and blazing through that starting line, I’ve had to learn to pace myself—to allow the adrenaline to fuel me for longer, to save this pent-up energy for when I need it.

And with four, maybe five, days of racing ahead of me, I’m definitely going to need it.

Headlamps bounce as runners jog down the opening stretch, and cameras flash in the blue light of the early morning. I make my way to the side of the course so Leah and Sadie can get a good picture of me startingmy journey.

“Run for the three of us!” Sadie yells, one hand resting on her tiny little bump. I give her a thumbs-up and make my way down the paved road that leads to the trailhead.

Car horns beep at us as we run down the middle of the road. There’s excited chatter all around me and energy coursing through my veins. Behind us, I can still hear the shouts of spectators and the wonderful citizens of Moab who came out to cheer us on this morning.

The start of a race is intoxicating. It’s thrilling and daunting, the world stretched out in front of me. I feel the potential accomplishment at my fingertips—or more accurately, my toes. There is so much excitement that that first mile flies by, I have to bring myself back down to earth, and focus on the rhythm of my pacing.

“I’m making magic,” I whisper, repeating my mantra to myself as we turn the corner, the trailhead finally in sight. A cheer goes up through the pack as runners pass around high-fives. The woman beside me raises both hands for me to high-ten, putting a huge smile on my face.

Runners are my favourite kind of people.

The three men from earlier sneak up behind me and the blue-eyed one flashes a wide smile.

“Ready?” he asks, coming to run at my side.

“Would you believe me if I said yes?”

He snorts. “Absolutely not.”

---