See You at the Finish Line (Run, Love, Repeat #1)

3. Paige

Starting Line 5:00 a.m.

Five o’clock in the morning. Two hundred racers mill about, lit only by the light coming from the moon and countless flashlights shining in each other’s crazed faces.

Energy buzzes through our gathering as the race officials do final checks, and men use their infinite penis power to let that final bit of nervous pee out while women squat awkwardly in bushes, praying to the race gods that they don’t soak themselves in the process.

Leah is dropping the car off in the parking lot before she and Sadie meet me here closer to the start time, no doubt taking the time to grab another cup of coffee.

I never drink coffee on race day. It makes me way too jittery. As it is, I bounce from foot to foot, stretching my legs as the intense energy builds inside me.

Runners jog past, smiles on their faces. One races away from the crowd to vomit. We all deal with our nerves in different ways. The crinkling of emergency blankets wrapped around shoulders grates on my nerves, and I try to tune out the irritating noises .

It’s just me and the desert.

Fall is creeping in, so the sounds of crickets chirping in the early hours of the morning are scarce, but if I concentrate hard, I can still hear a few lingering in the distance. It’s not distracting enough.

I always warm up and run the first bit of a race without my headphones, not that headphones are allowed on most ultra trails anyway. I like the feeling of hearing my easy breaths and light footsteps as I embark on a new course.

Unfortunately, none of my usual pre-race rituals are calming my nerves. I wish I had some music. Or an audiobook. Would it be bad to pray for an act of god so the race gets cancelled?

I’m standing off to the side, loosening my stiff shoulder and checking my phone for updates from Leah, when I hear gravel crunch underfoot nearby, alerting me to someone approaching.

“Hey,” a deep male voice says. I look up to see a man standing in front of me, his dark brown hair still messy from sleep, and light blue eyes crinkling at the round edges from his timid smile. Even in the dark, I can make out the bright colour.

“Hi,” I say slowly.

“Sorry to bother you, would you mind taking a picture for us?”

“Sure, no problem,” I say with a smile. It’s not an uncommon request. As a solo racer, I’ve been taking pictures of people since I arrived.

He runs a hand through his unruly hair and rubs the back of his neck. He’s nervous. His tall, muscular body shifts a little. Huh. He doesn’t have the usual physique of an ultra runner. Not that there's a typical physique, ultramarathons attract all body types. People enjoy the slow pacing and eating of delicious food along the way.

“Here’s the thing, we need to use your phone.”

“Why?” I ask slowly, eyes narrowing.

“We forgot ours,” he says with a more confident smile. “Our caravan will bring them to us before the race starts, but they’ll be cutting it close, and we won’t have time when they get here. We’d love a picture at the start of the race.”

“You want me to take them with my phone and text them to you?” I gather.

“That would be great,” he says, relief clear on his face.

“How do I know you’re not a stalker and this is your clever way of getting my phone number?” I say, putting a hand on my hip.

“Then you’d have to give me some credit. I’d be the world’s most dedicated stalker to run this race just for a chance at your number.” He holds his hands out to the sides like he’s selling me the idea, and I try to hold in my smile.

“Well, you could sign up and not actually do the race,” I counter.

“And waste a perfectly good $1200? I don’t think so.”

“So, a stalker who doesn’t think my number is worth that much, huh? I’m flattered,” I say sarcastically.

“What can I say, times are tough. Stalking doesn’t pay the bills like it used to.” He’s funny. I like that.

“A shame really,” I say, shaking my head, trying to keep the smile off my face. When was the last time I had an easy conversation like this with a man?

“It is. So, do a stalker a favour? ”

“Anything for a fan.” I finally let my smile free and he beams at me.

“You’re the best.”

“That’s what you tell all the people you stalk.”

He laughs and leads me over to two other men waiting nearby. They line up, and I take a series of pictures of them at the starting line and then in front of some of the rock formations. It’s dark so the camera flashes. Hopefully it’s good enough.

“Wow, you take your job seriously,” he says as I put my phone down.

“I have to if I want to be your favourite.”

“Mission accomplished.” He’s standing close enough to me now that I can feel the heat coming off of his imposing body.

I shake my head. Now is not the time to be drooling over some guy. “Okay, what’s your number?”

I stand with the three men in a circle as he recites his phone number digit by digit.

“This is hilarious,” his curly-haired friend says.

“What?” I ask without looking up as I select the images to send to the number I entered in my phone.

“This is like one of those holiday-movie meet cutes.”

“Yeah, totally!” the blond one chimes in. “You send him the pictures, and then after the race you guys start texting.”

I chuckle. “Not going to lie, I’d totally watch that.”

The curly-haired man bumps his friend on the arm. “And you finally got out of that relationship so you’re free.” The man who asked me to take their picture blushes.

“Alright, done,” I say with a grin.

“Thank you so much.” He beams at me.

“You’re welcome. Now don’t make me regret giving you my number,” I say, raising my eyebrow.

He chuckles. “I won’t, I promise.”

“Are you here alone?” the blond one asks.

“Unfortunately, yes. My running partner is currently four months pregnant, so she had to defer. I’m flying solo.”

“I’m going to assume this is your first time?”

Wow, those blue eyes are very blue.

“Yup. How about you guys? First time?” I ask the trio.

“It’s his second time.” My stalker jerks a thumb at his curly-haired friend. “He’s trying for the podium this year.”

“Wow. So you’re the craziest of all of us then.”

Curly hair smiles and nods. “You bet.”

“Yeah, and we’re just supporting his crazy ass. You know, give him something to race against,” the blond guy teases.

“Well, enjoy being hardcore. I’m here to not die or get injured.”

Hopefully both.

“You’ll do great!” my stalker cheers.

“Great might be a bit of a reach, but as long as I finish, I’ll be happy.” I look up to see Leah and Sadie making their way over to me. “My support team is here. Have a great race, you guys. It was nice to meet you.”

“You too!” Curly says.

“Hey, maybe I’ll see you at the finish line,” the man with eyes that are too blue calls as I start walking away .

“A bit presumptuous I won’t pass you on the course, don’t you think?”

His grin widens. “Ooooh fighting words!”

I give them a wave and laugh to myself as I hear Curly continue to talk about what a good story it would make if we got together. Green flags. Green flags everywhere.

I jog over to Sadie who has her arms stretched out, tears rolling down her cheeks. She envelops me in a big bear hug. Between her embrace and the oddly hilarious interaction I just had with three strangers, I realize I’m not that nervous anymore.

I’m making magic.