Page 39 of See You at the Finish Line

I know how much she loved running, and how important it was to her. Maybe that’s how I can make it up to her. I can get her back into running and that will get us on more than small-talking terms. Maybe she’ll open up to me like she did during the ultra.

There’s a whole lot of maybes in there, but I have to try. Mateo is right. With her here, there’s no way I’m going to be able to get her out of my head—might as well lean right into my obsession.

It’s Sunday. I’m supposedto be curled up in bed with a book and my coffee. That was my plan. It’s my plan every Sunday and has been for two years ever since my weekends no longer involved long runs. It’s the day I let myself completely veg out and do nothing. I pick out two to three books I may want to read so I have some options, and the only time I get up is to pee and replenish my food. It’s wonderful.

I was really looking forward to it after the workweek from hell. Make that weeks. Not because I don’t love the job. I do—I love the job so much that I’m pretty sure the universe is punishing me for something I did in a previous life. Dangling this opportunity in front of me and then throwinghimin my path.

Instead of relaxing, my legs are in the air as a sweaty man presses me into a mat, stretching me much farther than I thought possible. Finding myself in a hot yoga class was definitely not on my itinerary for a relaxing Sunday.

Why am I here? My sister decided that on Sundays we would do something together even though we’re a country apart. She’s picked out activities for the foreseeable future for us to do at the same timeevery week. So far we’ve had pedicures, picnics, and in a big surprise I wasn’t expecting, we played pickleball.

If I wasn’t currently being forced into a pretzel, I’d be impressed at the level of organizational skill it takes to plan international bonding experiences.

“There you go. Do you feel that?” the instructor says as he defies all laws of gravity to help me get into this position.

“Mm-hmm,” I say, beads of sweat dripping down my forehead and back. I hate that I’ll have to tell Leah I like it. I actuallylikehot yoga. When you live in the desert, hot yoga is just yoga outside, but with the rain and the cold starting to creep in, this class feels like home. It’s nice to feel that dry heat suffocate me.

Maybe I need more therapy. I make a mental note to bring it up to Jane at our next session.

We finish the class with a meditation exercise. I think the series of deep oms is going to feel stupid, but the sound resonates in my soul and brings unexpected tears to my eyes. I wipe them away before anyone can see.

As we leave the hot room, thanking the instructor as we go, we’re handed an ice-cold face cloth that feels heavenly against my flushed skin. I sit outside the classroom, eyes closed, and breathe in the cool air, feeling like I did when I was a kid and my mom finally let us inside and into the air conditioning after playing soccer outside in the mid-July Utah summers.

A chill runs up my spine as I think of her handing me a popsicle, and the tears that fell earlier are followed by a few more.

“You okay?” a quiet voice asks from beside me. I open my eyes to see a woman around my age. Her round face looks genuinely concerned, sweaty forehead plastered with pieces of bone-straight black hair that have escaped her messy bun.

“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting to feel emotional,” I tell her honestly, surprising myself.

“I know what you mean. I’ve been coming here for years and I’m still surprised at how ...” She trails off and slumps beside me. I know what she means. Everything. HoweverythingI feel right now. A little too open and vulnerable for my liking.

“Yeah,” I say, mirroring her movements.

“Are you new to the gym?” she asks.

“I’m new to Vancouver.”

“Oh, welcome! I was born and raised here, but my parents moved from China after they got married.”

I chuckle at her burst of brightness. “Thanks. China is farther than Utah, so I bet their adjustment was a little different than mine.”

She laughs. “Just a little. I’m Shay.”

“Paige.” I take her hand and give it a shake.

“Will I see you next Sunday?”

“Are you the yoga welcoming committee?” I ask, my stomach sinking a bit thinking maybe she does this with everyone.

“No, just looking for a yoga buddy who struggles as much as I do.” She laughs and stands up, giving me a small wave. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You too. And yes, I’ll be here next week.” I hadn’t been planning on it. Hopefully it doesn’t wreck any of Leah’s future Sunday plans.I tried to tell her that yoga is the sort of thing people do as a regular activity, but she was convinced once would be enough and we could move on to other hobbies.

I’ve lost track of how many hobbies she has, but even with my constant harassment, running has never been, and will never be, one of them. Maybe if it was, I wouldn’t have given it up. But that’s not on her, that’s on me.

My phone buzzes in my pocket bringing a smile to my face as I pull it out. Thinking of, it’s the devil herself.

I answer the phone as usual, without any sort of greeting. “You sadist.”

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