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

10. Adam

Lockhart H20 33.52 mi/ 54.95 km

It’s my turn to keep subtly pinching myself. I wait for the other shoe to drop. I wait to wake up, to stop dreaming. But here I am, running beside the most perfect woman to ever exist on this planet. Well, perfect for me, anyway.

I’ve learned that she’s clumsy, so I’m not surprised she slipped. She’s also not aware of how clumsy she really is. She’s constantly stubbing her toes and hands on things as we navigate the uneven trail, having to climb more than either of us thought. She may need glasses.

Paige is an open book when it comes to the shenanigans she gets into as a result of her impulsive personality. However, I haven’t been able to get her to talk about anything beneath the surface yet.

Runners could be the most closed-off people in the real world, but if you get them on a trail or a road, all bets are off. We become oversharers and in an ultra-race like this, you may find out someone’s deepest darkest secrets. Paige is giving me lots of great stories, but I’m itching to know her better. I’m not worried, though—there’s still lots of time left in this race, and maybe after.

I’m really hoping there will be an after.

I’ve learned that she’s a terrible gift giver, not that she’s aware of that either. She told me multiple stories of times she thought she found the perfect gift for someone only for it to be a huge flop. Like the penis-shaped mug she got for her future brother-in-law, or the Fifty Shades of Grey book series for her very conservative high school best friend.

After hearing that she gave her mother a puppy as a way to keep her company when Paige moved out, I knew there was no hope for her. A sweet gesture? Yes. But presenting a live animal to an unsuspecting recipient is never a good idea. Paige’s mom agreed the sentiment was nice but expressed vehemently that she had never wanted a pet a day in her life.

That’s how I learned the story of Paige coming to own a 110-pound Newfoundlander. That’s right. She thought it was a great idea to give her mom a puppy that would turn into a giant-ass dog. Paige had named her Q because Moneypenny was too long. A James Bond lover? The perfect woman.

It could be the intense adrenaline of the race talking, but I’m pretty sure I’m in love with this woman, and it will be an honour to put up with her horrible gift giving for the rest of my life.

Only eight more kilometres to go—or, as my new American running partner keeps correcting me, five miles—until the next water station .

Eight kilometres may feel like a lot to some, but it’s practically the 100-metre Olympic sprint for ultramarathoners. Each segment is one step closer to that finish line, and even a “short” segment feels like an accomplishment.

Since it’s a long stretch between Base Camp and the next aid station, they’ve put water refill barrels in between. It’s incredibly helpful because it’s so hot in the desert. Surprising, I know. So damn hot. We’re mostly hiking this stretch, but the time is flying by. The conversation is flowing between us like a lazy river.

Slow and smooth, relaxing.

I try to remember if I’ve ever felt like this around another person and can’t come up with anyone. If it wasn’t so freaking hot, it would be perfect. I would give anything for that morning chill to have lingered a bit longer.

Maybe Mateo is right. I am a baby.

Thinking of Mateo, I hope he’s doing alright. I knew I wouldn’t see him much during the race, but I haven’t even glimpsed him at any aid station since the first one. I definitely won’t now because I had to backtrack. I’m sure he’s fine.

Caleb on the other hand ... I hope he’s okay. He’s pissed that I ditched him, and I’ll definitely hear about it after the race, but I felt like I didn’t have a choice. Maybe we can catch up and the three of us can run together. Is it bad that I don’t want that to happen? I selfishly want Paige all to myself.

“So, Adam James Ashford from Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. Son of Margaret and Thomas Ashford, brother of Liam, Simon, and Isabel. Thirty-year-old physiotherapist, co-owner of Inca, a grey British shorthair cat who you share with your ex, Harper. Lover of Indian food, ice cream, skiing, the snow—” I cut her rambling off with a laugh.

I don’t know why, but I didn’t tell her about my plans to switch careers or my stint as a professional athlete. I had to cut myself some slack—I just met this woman, and although I’m currently planning out the rest of our lives together in my head, we haven’t reached the deep stuff yet.

Maybe in a few hours I’ll tell her.

“Someone has been paying attention. But two can play that game,” I say to steer the conversation away from myself. “Paige Elizabeth Harrison, and not Paige Turner as you tried to convince me was your last name. Daughter of Emily Montgomery and the late Philip Harrison. Sister to Leah Harrison, soon to be married to Ian Diaz. Born in Salt Lake City, lived in Heber City, now in Moab, living with your sister. Massage therapist to pro athletes, looking for a permanent position with a team. Mug collector of all shapes and sizes, owner of the failed gift attempt Q, a big, brown lump of a—”

“Hey!” Paige interrupts my extensive list. “Q is the best thing that has ever happened to me, don’t you dare call her a lump!”

“I mean it in the most loving way possible, I promise,” I reassure her with a smile.

“It’d better be with love! She knows when someone doesn’t like her and will make it nearly impossible to win her over.”

“Are you anticipating I won’t immediately fall in love with your floof?”

“It’s happened before,” she says, her eyes becoming guarded. There’s a story there, but she changes the subject. Looks like both of us have things we’d rather not talk about yet.

She continues, “Oh, I forgot! You’re allergic to seafood, and in the most-vague way possible, you wrecked your knee.” Her eyes flit down to the scar on the front of my leg. Maybe it’s just me and my hopeful thinking, but do her eyes linger on my shorts? My body responds to the possibility, even though I try to stop it.

“You can’t expect me to spill all my secrets right away, can you?”

“A woman can dream,” she says.

I laugh, my heart clenching. Is she dreaming of me?

“Dream away, Paige.”

Her eyes definitely linger as she brings them back up to meet my face. It might be the hot weather, but I think her cheeks are flushed for a totally different reason.

Oh yeah, she looked.

“Not bad for a couple of hours of twenty questions,” she says, clearing her throat.

“I’m pretty sure it’s been more like five hundred questions.”

“Well as long as you’re not getting sick of me—”

I laugh, not even close to being sick of her. “Ask away.”