Running from Love: A Story for Runners and Lovers (35 page)

“Wow. So you caught this whole thing?”

“No. I turned it on after she told him there was no point in seeing him again. I wanted to see what he’d say back.”

Jude winced on behalf of his sex. Still, if he’d been in Blanca’s place he would have been tempted to do the same thing. The whole conversation was too good to miss.

“So what happened after he told her to follow her heart, not her bank account?” Ana asked breathlessly.

“She said, ‘thanks for the advice, I plan to take it,’ and hung up.” Blanca snapped her fingers. “Just like that.”

“Was she devastated?” Ana asked.

“Just the opposite. You should have seen her. She was on fire—like she’d been set free or something.”

“His advice was totally right.”

“It’s funny how someone who’s a creep can sometimes give you the best advice,” Blanca mused.

Jude thought of Missy.

“Yeah, why does the universe play those kinds of tricks sometimes?” Ana asked.

“Who knows? The fact is, she was happy he turned up again because it gave her a chance to realize what a wussy scumbag he was.”

“She didn’t really use those words did she?” Jude broke in, hoping Farrah hadn’t worded things exactly like that.

“Nah. You know what I mean.”

“So why wasn’t she at the workout tonight?” Ana asked.

Jude leaned in to catch every word.

“She left yesterday for California to spend Christmas with her brother and Dad,” Blanca said. “You know her Mom’s dead,” she added, lowering her voice.

“It’s tough not having a Mom around at Christmastime,” Ana commented.

Jude’s throat tightened.

“It’s tough not having a Mom around anytime,” Blanca agreed, looking serious for the first time since she sat down.

“Here’s to moms,” Jude joined in.

They all clinked glasses and cheered. He needed to change the subject fast.

“When’s Farrah coming back?” he asked, he hoped casually.

“She’ll be back before new year’s.”

“Good. Is she doing the Midnight Run in the Park?” Ana asked, referring to Central Park.

“Yup. Said she’s pumped. Got her resolutions figured out, one of them already in the bag.”

“You mean getting over Ballet Boy?”

“Yes. And one other thing.”

“What is it?”

“She wouldn’t say. Just gave me a look and went all mystery girl on me.”

Jude’s insides turned to Jell-O thinking of how well Farrah did mystery girl. She’d turned into one first on the banks of the Hudson then the Mianus River. He wanted to look out over the Hudson with her at every moment of the day and night. Preferably on her apartment balcony. If only he could win her back.

Blanca turned to Jude. “Oh yeah, I forgot. How’s your book going?”

“My book? Did Farrah tell you about my book?” His heart leaped to think she had talked about him to her friends.

“No. Some woman from Greenwich came down to help out on marathon day. She said you were writing some book with a funny title.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Like
How to Marry Rich
or something?” Blanca sniggered.

“It’s
Stories of Successful People
,” Jude replied, trying to keep a straight face.

“Bull, it is. She said it was something else. Oh yeah. Now I remember:
How to Marry Money.
Good one!” She sniggered, Ana joining her.

“Who said that? Who was it who told you that?” he asked, mortified.

“Uh—I think her name was Linda or something. Nice girl. Said she had a friend you’d interviewed.”

He had no idea who Linda was. But he didn’t doubt she was a friend of Missy’s.

“Did she—uh—was Farrah around when she was telling you this?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“Oh yeah. She was right there,” Blanca said cheerfully.

His heart fell into his shoes. So that was how Farrah had discovered the real name of his book project. “What else did Linda say about me?”

“I don’t really remember.” She turned to Ana. “Do you?”

“Her friend told her you gave her a personal training session.” Ana smiled slyly. “She said you were pretty cute or something—oh yeah. Built. She told her you were built.”

Jude raged inwardly. Missy had done her evil work.

“So what happened with you and Farrah anyway? I heard you went out a few times, then nothing,” Blanca said. Both women’s eyes turned to Jude’s, beaming into him with X-ray vision.

Never in his life had he ever felt more put on the spot. Sweat broke out all over his body, including his forehead. He needed to think fast, except that he couldn’t think at all. Then he remembered an old tactic from journalism class: To dodge a question, ask another.

“Could you do me a favor, ladies?”

“What’s that?” Blanca asked, looking surprised.

“Pray for me.”

“What do you mean?” Ana asked.

“To get my new year’s resolution.” Judging by their sympathetic expressions, he’d scored one for the metrosexual approach: enlisting the ladies’ support.

“Anything to do with Fairfoe?” Blanca asked, her eyes twinkling.

“Let’s toast her,” Jude said.

They held their glasses high.

“To Farrah breaking through on the downhill slope,” Blanca began.

“To Farrah getting over that wuss,” Ana continued.

“To Farrah,” Jude finished.

They clinked glasses and drank.

F
OURTEEN

T
he first four kilometers of the 5K course for the San Diego Boxing Day race had been flat as a pancake. Farrah’s brother Sean was a strong runner and had kept up with her for most of the race. But now he was now slightly ahead. It was time to rectify the situation.

Cruising by her buff fellow runners, she marveled at what a fit population lived in her brother’s hometown of the past five years. Since their mother had died, Sean had moved from northern California to San Diego for his first job. Two years older than she, he had been loving yet competitive when they were children. After their mother had gone, they had buried the hatchet in their grief.

“Can’t catch me? What’s the matter with you?’ he called over his shoulder. His teasing tone reminded her of Jude. Wistfully, she thought about their runs on Wave Hill. She’d enjoyed the trash-talking as well as the sheer physicality of Jude’s presence beside her. Running together had been such a simple pleasure. Why did life outside of running have to be so complicated?

“Just letting you tire yourself out,” she yelled back. Playfully, she bounced in her running shoes for a stride or two, her spirits light.

In a minute, the course began to slope downhill. Sean’s back looked even further away. If she didn’t catch him now, it would be too late. It was time to put on the Fairfoe surge, but she’d never before surged on a downhill slope. Her last race, the Jingle Bell Trot, had been the first time ever that she’d even managed to maintain her pace running down a hill.

She clenched her teeth then unclenched them. Flying downhill meant relaxing, not tensing up. What did she have to fear?

As she let herself go, she thought about all the things she’d feared at the start of that year—loneliness, fear of failure at her job, fear of dating again after having her heart broken.

She wasn’t so afraid anymore. She’d finally found out what had happened in her relationship gone wrong, and when Will had tried to right it again, it had been a new Farrah who’d figured out it wasn’t meant to be righted. With self-knowledge came the closure she needed, followed by the certainty that it was time to move on.

Leaning forward she told her body to move on from behaving like the old Farrah. It wasn’t her anymore. She realized the trick was to keep the forward momentum going so she didn’t trip. She needed to work with her own momentum, not against it. Head down, she imagined herself a running machine. Almost crouching, she kept her body low to the ground, arms tight at her sides and feet farther apart than usual for added stability.

In a minute, she found herself passing fellow runners, many of whom looked fierce. This was no middle-of-the-road bunch of weekend warriors. She was up against serious competition.

Surprised, she realized she was pulling up alongside Sean.

Time for the Fairfoe surge.

“You go, girl” he yelled as she began to pull ahead.

“Catch me,” she called back. Not that she wanted him to beat her, but she wanted to encourage him the way he’d encouraged her.

“Here I come,” he roared behind her. She struggled to stay out ahead. Meanwhile, a woman in front of her in purple and black caught her eye. She was fleet, taller than Farrah with a tight, controlled stride; evidently a seasoned runner.

Farrah began to make a move on her, breathing heavily to psyche her out. It was a trick she’d learned from Blanca, who was a master at psyching out just about anyone. As she approached, the woman shifted to the left, directly in front of Farrah, blocking her way.

Not a nice move.

But another runner even further to their left was passing his opponent on the right. His head down in concentration, Farrah watched as he moved into the space the woman in purple was headed toward. It looked as if he hadn’t seen her.

“Oomph,” the woman cried out as the male runner barged into her from behind. Thrown off her stride, she stumbled two steps then fell.

Farrah passed her, triumphant. Sean was now coming up on her right, apparently unaware of what happened.

She could stay ahead of him if she tried. But the image of the woman on the ground behind her wouldn’t let her go.

Her brother moved out in front of her. Someone else passing the fallen runner would stop, wouldn’t they?

“You’re gonna lose to me,” he taunted.

She wasn’t going to lose to him or to anyone. She was going to win. Her own way.

Slowing down, she circled back.

The woman was still down. No one had stopped to help.

“Are you okay?’ Farrah asked, bending down.

“That asshole ran into me.”

“I know. I don’t think he knew you were there.”

“I was blocking you.”

“I know.”

“So why are you stopping? Don’t stop for me. I tried to block you. Go.”

“I’m not stopping for you.”

“What are you doing then?’

“I’m stopping for someone else.”

The woman gave her a look as if to say “are you crazy?”

Farrah reached down and put her hand under her elbow. “Here. Can you get up?”

“I don’t know.” The woman winced. “Ouch.” Leaning heavily on Farrah’s arm, she struggled to her feet, runners passing on both sides.

“Anything twisted?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Try to put weight on it.”

The woman took a step, clutching at Farrah’s arm. Farrah grabbed her as she gingerly took another step.

“I think I’m okay,” the female runner said tentatively.

“Let’s get over to the side.”

They hobbled over to the far right side, out of the path of oncoming runners. With every step she took, the woman in purple clutched at Farrah.

“You can go. I’ll take it slow and walk to the finish,” she said bravely.

“We’ll walk together,” Farrah told her.

“Why are you doing this for me? You were probably on track to place.”

“I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for someone else.”

“Who?”

“For me. And for another runner I know who stopped for me once when I fell in a trail race.”

“Were you in her way?”

“It was a he. I was behind, trying to pass him.”

“So he stopped for you even though you were trying to take him?’

“Yes.”

“What a good guy.”

“Yes.”

“And now you just did the same thing.”

“Sort of.”

“What goes round comes round,” the woman remarked.

“I thought that only applied to bad things that happen.”

The woman in purple shook her head.

“Nope. It’s like karma. When someone does you a good deed, it gives you the strength inside to do someone else a good deed down the road.”

“Exactly. That’s what happened,” Farrah said, although it didn’t feel like strength inside that Jude had given her; more like a hot, electric tingle every time she thought about him.

“Did you ever see that guy again?”

Farrah felt the blush flame on her face.

“I went out with him a few times.”

“So was your first impression right?”

“My first impression?”

“That he was a good guy.”

“Oh. That.” Her heart panged as she thought of how to answer. “It got complicated.”

“Everything gets complicated. After you date anyone once or twice, things gets complicated. Trust me.”

Farrah laughed. The woman was good company as well as a good athlete. She couldn’t believe she had wanted to make her eat her dust only minutes earlier.

“He had all these women hanging around him. It bothered me.”

“Were they hanging around him or was he pursuing them?’

“Uh—
they
were actually pursuing
him.
Or, at least, sponsoring him for a charity race we were doing.”

“If he’s as good a guy as he sounds, no wonder women were hanging around. There aren’t that many great guys out there. If he was going after you and not them, why’d you let him go?’

“He—uh—he was staying at the house of one of the—uh—sponsors.”

“Yeah? So what?”

“She was really attractive.”

“And single?’

“No. Married.”

“So why was he staying at her house?”

“I don’t really know. I just found out he was there, and I got mad.”

“Don’t you think you need to find out what the whole story was first before you just go dumping a really good guy? What was the real problem? Not so cute?’

“No. I mean yes, he’s very cute.” Not so much cute as manly, Farrah thought, her face again flaming.

“You owe him an explanation.”

“He owes me one.”

“Then give him a chance to explain. Is he running this race?”

“No. I’m from New York. He’s in Connecticut, Greenwich.”

“My sister-in-law’s from there. So he was staying with some friends who sponsored him for a charity race. And because you felt threatened by the wife, you dumped him? Sounds like he has nice friends.”

“I don’t trust them.”