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

4. Adam

Starting Line 5:45 a.m.

“Okay, but like how cool of a story would that be?” Mateo asks as the woman with the ponytail and blue shorts runs over to her friends. I do not check out her ass as she runs away.

I do. I do check out her ass.

She’s a runner, obviously—she wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t. Runners don’t always have nice asses, but she’s got a great one from what I can see in the dim morning light.

“Yeah, you do this race sort of together and then at the end, we go out for drinks,” Caleb says, more excited about the idea than I would’ve expected. “You get to talking ...”

“And a year later you’re married,” Mateo finishes.

“A year?” I question.

He smiles at me. “It is Utah. You never know.”

“I don’t even know if she’s single. She could live on the other side of the world.”

“Dude, that’d be so cool! Nothing is keeping you in Vancouver, you could literally move anywhere,” Caleb says, whacking my arm .

“The US is riddled with athletes. I’m sure you could open up a clinic or find an opening with a team anywhere you go,” Mateo says with a contemplative look on his face. I know that if he had his phone on him he’d already be looking for physiotherapy jobs or assistant coaching positions all over the world. He’s been encouraging me for years to switch careers again. I like my job, it’s fulfilling, but I know now that it’s not my calling.

No one knows yet, but I’ve already started the process of earning my coaching certifications. I’ve also started coaching at the minor level to build up my experience on the other side of the bench. Even though my stint in the NHL was short, just making it there has given me a lot of credibility, especially in my hometown.

I haven’t built up the courage to talk to my family about it. The inevitable lecture from my dad is not something I want to deal with. Ever. He was proud of me, and facing his disappointment again, even at age thirty, is not on my list of fun things to do.

But I need more ... Well, just more . More passion, more adrenaline, more involvement with the sport I love.

When I was two and barely walking (I was a late bloomer), my mom put me in skating lessons. I could skate before I could run and have never looked back. Except for that one year Caleb dared me to do figure skating instead of hockey, and I was stubborn enough to actually consider it.

My parents put their foot down after one week of lessons. I crashed onto the ice so many times, I wound up with a concussion and a broken wrist. They didn’t realize figure skating could be just as dangerous as hockey .

Mateo thought I would make a great coach one day, and I’m not going to lie, once the seed was planted, that idea took root, and I haven’t been able to think of anything else since.

“Okay, before you guys plan out my entire future with a random woman at the start of a race, maybe you should stop talking so loudly. I’m pretty sure she can still hear you.”

Sure enough, the three of us look over to see her give a little eyebrow raise and a shake of her head. I smile apologetically before she turns back to her friends. Busted.

Mateo and Caleb move in closer and drop their voices.

“Adam, you could do a lot worse,” Mateo whispers.

“She’s hot,” Caleb agrees.

“Aaaand you have the same interests. How long did you try to get Harper into running? She never even did a single race with you.”

I sigh. He has a point. Five years of dating and Harper wouldn’t even consider running with me. Which would’ve been fine except for the fact that she never came out to cheer me on either. Running has become such a big part of who I am—it saved my life, for Christ’s sake. She thought I was always choosing training over her. Maybe she had a point, but since it’s one of my only outlets, I needed it more and more near the end of our relationship.

It would be nice to be with someone who’s clearly as crazy as I am. Plus, Caleb is right, she’s fucking hot. And funny. But probably married.

I should be focusing on the start of this race, but all I can think about are those sparkling brown eyes.

Sparkling brown eyes? Who the hell am I? I shake my head .

The race director and assistants stand at the head of the group and gather the runners—all two hundred or so of us—for a picture. It’s still a bit dark so flashes go off to capture all of us in our bundled-up glory. Many of us can’t stand still as the adrenaline courses through our bodies, anticipation gaining the closer we get to beginning this adventure. The woman who took our picture sways from side to side, bouncing a little on each foot as she shifts her weight. She’s nervous too.

I bring my attention back to the race director as one of her assistants reads out the various rules and instructions, including, of course, the Ten Commandments of the Moab 240.

Thou shalt not litter.

Thou shalt not threaten other Moabites.

Thou shalt not block others from passing.

Thou shalt not follow Moses. He tends to get lost in the desert.

Thou shall use CalTopo and listen to St. Phil.

Thou shall drink plenty of water.

Thou shall rest before DNFing.

Thou shall battle through tough times.

Thou shall finish your endurance run.

And thou shall pick up your belt buckle.

The race director takes the megaphone and with it, my nerves amplify to match the sound blaring out at us. The intensity of the crowd reaches a new height as she leads us to our places at the starting line. It’s almost 6:00 a.m., only two minutes until gun time, and a small village could be powered by the energy rolling off this group of runners.

“Repeat after me,” the race director calls. “If I get lost ...”

“If I get lost,” the crowd rumbles.

“Hurt,” she says.

“Hurt,” we repeat.

“Or die.” Am I imagining the small smile playing on her lips?

“Or die,” we mutter, turning to look at each other.

“It’s my own. Damn. Fault!” she finishes. Gotta love a race with a mantra.

“It’s my own damn fault!” we yell back to her.

Chuckles and cheers ripple through the crowd and I look over to catch the woman’s eye. She takes a deep breath, and I know exactly what she’s thinking. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

“Maybe I’ll strike up a conversation with her if I see her out on the course, but chances are I’m never going to see that woman again in my life,” I say under my breath when Caleb catches me staring. He snorts and the gun goes off.

I don’t even know her name.