Page 46 of Revved up & Ready

I, on the other hand, wheeze, “Thanks,” wiping sweat from my forehead with a sweaty arm.It’s ineffective.

On our fourth lap, I have to slow to a walk for a while to catch my breath. Bea graciously joins me, and Devon calls out that I’m amazing as she flies past.

By lap six, my legs hurt all over, and I’m questioning how much I really want this.

By lap seven, I’m wondering howanyonecould possibly want this.

At the start of lap eight, Devon finishes her run and joins us in the walk-jog we’ve settled into. She and Bea launch into a conversation about work—Bea works for Devon at her interior design business, and they’re in the middle of interviewing designers to add to their team.

I can’t do this.

I have to do this.

I want to quit.

What if I quit?

I hate everything.

They apologize for not including me in the conversation, but all I can do is breathe heavily at them, marveling that they’re able to talk at all. My throat burns. My legs ache. My feet hurt. There’s a constant stream of sunscreen and sweat dripping into my eyes.Who’s fucking idea was this?

Lap nine comes.

Amazingly, so does lapten.

We reach the end, and I collapse onto the grass. “How—do you—do this?” I ask, panting between words.

Devon tosses me a water bottle, and I sit up just enough to gulp some down. “I’ve been doing this my whole life,” she says. “I run every single day. You didamazingfor your first time.”

“You deal with this throat-burning sensation every day?” I ask, bewildered.

“Oh, I totally forgot about that part,” she says, almost wistfully.Psycho. “If you stick with it, the throat-burning eventually stops.”

“No way,” I huff out.

“No, she’s right,” Bea says, offering me a hand.

“I don’t want to get up. Ever,” I say.

“Alright,” she says, lying down beside me on the grass. “We can stretch right here.”

I follow her lead, leaning into a hamstring stretch. “Okay,this partfeels good,” I admit.

Devon joins us on the ground too, following the same stretching routine. “You should probably take a couple of rest days before we meet up again, but go for walks if you can. What’s your schedule like on Wednesday?” she asks.

Now that my breathing is back to normal, Ialmostfeel like I had a good time running. I look between my friends, theirhopeful faces encouraging me, and muster the words to commit to another run. “I could be here by four-thirty.”

“Perfect,” Devon chirps.

I’ve always admired her drive. She’s passionate about her business, her friends, her boyfriend, running—everything.She knows what she wants and how to get it.I’ve never felt that kind of fire about anything, which is why I started my list. I want to spend more of my life on things that light me up, but first, I have to find them.

After stretching, Devon and I get into her car for the short ride home. “I am really proud of you,” she says as she pulls out of the parking lot.

“I’m hardly the first person who’s ever run two and a half miles,” I wave her off. “I didn’t even run the whole thing.”

“That’s not the point,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m proud of you for how many new things you’re trying. It seems like every day you are experiencing something new.Youwanted your life to change, andyouare making it happen. You are very impressive that way.”

I want to argue, to point out that I’m not that impressive, but I look over at her. The subtle smile on her face shows she means it. Even if I’m not proud of myself, or don’t think she should be,she is. I can’t shoot her down. It’d be rude.

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