Page 131 of Be Your Anything
He’s already upset at me for putting off surfing for two weeks to do a little training for this event. I don’t need him breathing down my neck any more than he already is.
I jog around a bit, getting my muscles warmed up, and then head into the ocean, splashing myself with the cool water so it isn’t so startling when we go running down the shore in a few minutes.
“You know you’re crazy, right?” Wyatt asks me when I return to our spot on the beach to get a last drink of water.
I grin at him and suck back a gulp. “I thought anything I could come up with to convince her was worth it. Isn’t that what you said?”
He laughs. “It is, but I didn’t think you’d need to swim two miles in choppy ocean water and not drown between hundreds of other swimmers in order to prove your love.”
“I’m not proving mylove,” I say, taking the pair of goggles he has in his hand. “I’m proving I’m worthy ofhers.”
Wyatt rolls his eyes.
“Hey, man, make that face all you want, but I know how you treat my sister—you’re a fucking sap for her.”
He narrows his eyes at me and I laugh again.
“I gotta line up. I’ll see you at the end.”
He slaps his hand against mine and then tugs me in for a quick hug. “I’ll see you at the end.”
I line up with the few hundred other contestants, all of us in our blue sponsored swim caps with our number written on our arms. And then we wait the final moments before the gun goes off.
When it does, the people around me take off like a shot, many of them interested in completing the race within a certain time, or maybe even hoping to win.
Me? I just want to finish.
I’m a strong swimmer, for sure. You have to be as a surfer, or you risk something dangerous happening. We build up the endurance in the constant slog of swimming out to catch waves, over and over and over again. We actually swim more than we surf. But that doesn’t mean I’m a swimmer, or that I’ve ever competed in a race before.
I’m just hoping I don’t get a crazy calf cramp or something and drown while everyone swims around me.
I run into the water, the race starting at the north side of the Manhattan Beach Pier. I’ve been told by a few friends who have done this before that the hardest part is actually getting around the pier first, that it saps you of the most energy. So I take my time. Long strokes. Steady breathing.
And I only really open up for a full swim once I get out to the rough water, to the long stretch between the two piers.
It’s exhausting. At one point, I take a look to see how far I am, certain I have to be close to finishing, and I’m devastated to see I’m barely halfway.
I push. And I push. And I stroke. I give myself a break here and there, floating on my back and pushing through the water like a mermaid. It’s fucking hard—way harder than I thought it would be. But it feels so amazing to finish.
When I finally get to the point where my feet can touch the ground as I’m reaching the end on the south side of the Hermosa Beach Pier, it feels like I’ve gained a hundred pounds. My muscles struggle to hold me up, and I have to work hard to tug through the last bit of water and then jog slowly up the beach to cross through the arch of colorful balloons.
As soon as I get through, my exhausted body becomes the least of my concerns, and my eyes start searching the crowd, wondering if I’ll be left to stand here alone or if I’ll see Lennon running towards me.
It’s Wyatt I see first, holding my towel and bag of clothes to change into, along with a water bottle.
I trudge towards him, wishing I was able to collapse and catch my breath for a minute but already beginning to feel the focus of cameras and attention on me.
“Do you know if she’s here?” I ask, taking the proffered bottle of water.
He doesn’t say anything, and I feel my stomach start to tilt.
I take a swig, my eyes continuing to do a search, scanning the crowd for people. No, not for people—for one person, the only one who matters. But I don’t see her, and…
My gaze swings back to the left, to the chestnut hair and white bathing suit. The hazel eyes and the big smile.
Lennon’s walking in my direction, bobbing and weaving through the crowd, her attention never straying from mine.
I shove the bottle back into Wyatt’s hands and then move her way, knowing my tired muscles won’t get me to her much faster than if I stood still but wanting to give it my best effort anyway.
