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

23. Paige

“How good was it?” Shay whispers from her downward dog on the mat beside me.

The lady on her other side glares as we raise one leg into the air. Sweat drips down my face and into my eyes, and my arms are shaking. Hot yoga is kicking my ass today.

It’s probably because I stayed up way too late into the night rereading Adam’s emails. His last email of the night only included three little words.

Bring it on.

Oh, I fully plan to. I’m invested now, and he’s going to have to eat his words.

I’ve kept Shay updated on Nate and the dates we’ve been on. I had just reached the part where he took me back to his place: chrome, industrial, grey, no plants. Huge red flags .

But the instructor started the class and hot yoga—any yoga class, really—is not the place to have a conversation, hence the lady giving us dirty looks.

Now that I’ve been coming for the last month, Shay and I have become friends. We hang out after class now and even exchanged phone numbers. It’s very exciting. The relationship has a lot of promise and it feels good.

Making friends as an adult is hard. Since Maxim fired one of the recruits unexpectedly, I’m nervous that my probationary period is a little more precarious than I thought.

I may not be staying in Vancouver very long. That makes making friends a little tricky, especially when it comes to the permanent staff at the arena since I don’t officially have the job yet.

I think about the last two days, not knowing how I feel about them. Friday night was good, and it was fun getting to know Nate, but when I got to his apartment I couldn’t do it.

For starters, when I excused myself to use the bathroom, I came back out and there he was, naked on the couch, like some kind of sitcom skit. It was such a big shock I felt the rose-coloured glasses slip.

He felt icky.

And then there was the penis. For a big, giant-ass hockey player, I’d been expecting a little more ... Well, a little more , if you know what I mean. Nothing that couldn’t do the trick—I’ve worked with less—but seeing him there ... My libido dried right up.

I wait until the end of our class when we’re sitting in our favourite breakfast spot (I now have a favourite breakfast spot!) to continue telling Shay about it.

“So there wasn’t enough to get the job done?” She laughs at her joke before taking a long drink from her smoothie.

“You could say that. I mean, it’s fine if he knows how to use it, but I couldn’t get myself there. There was no ...” I make a gesture with my hands, trying to find the words for what I mean.

“Magic?” Shay offers.

The word tugs at my heartstrings, stirring the memory of my old running mantra. “Yes, magic. Spark.”

“Mmm, spark. We need the spark.”

“We do need the spark.” I’m glad she gets it.

“Are you going to see him again?”

“I don’t know. It seems kind of wrong to lead him on.”

“Better let the guy down easy,” Shay says around a mouthful of food.

“Damn. It’s been so long since I’ve had to dump anyone.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Probably a bad thing?”

I haven’t had a real relationship in two years. Just a string of guys like Nate who seem great at first but end up not doing it for me.

I do not think about Adam’s emails.

“So, what about you?” I ask, needing the conversation to switch from my abysmal love life to hers.

“What about me? I’m a Chinese woman in Canada with parents born to think that no one I choose is good enough for me. ”

“Fair enough. I haven’t known you for very long, but I agree with your parents. You’re too good for the women here.”

“I know, I’m pretty awesome.”

“Now that I can agree with.”

We finish our breakfast and go our separate ways, making plans to meet for dinner that night. When I get back to my apartment, Q is whining in her crate.

I stay strong, not letting her manipulate me into changing my mind as I kneel in front of her.

“I’m sorry, baby, I know it’s so mean of me to come home and not let you out, but I’ve got to go on a run.”

Just saying the words makes my pores sweat as I go through the motions of getting ready. Muscle memory takes over and before I know it, I’m tying up my laces.

I’ll need to tell my therapist I completely dissociated from this. She’ll love getting to the bottom of why.

We both know why.

I put my earbuds in and scroll through my phone, looking for my favourite feminine-rage running playlist, letting the loud beats of the first song sink into my body. And then I take a deep big-girl breath and silence my phone’s notifications, putting it on Do Not Disturb.

Hopefully that will help. Or make it worse. Who knows?

I lean down to give Q a treat and scratch her head before taking a step out into my hallway. There, I did it. I left my apartment. I may have dissociated while getting ready, but I am fully present and aware of every step I take to get outside .

The cool air of fall does nothing to stop the sweat already trickling down my back. My heart rate is probably in Zone 4 already. I can feel the organ trying to claw its way out of my chest and up my throat. I swallow it back down and push through the rising panic.

My warm-up is a brisk walk and some stretching until I get to the set of paths near my apartment. And then I run. Slower than I ever have before but hey, it’s the effort that counts.

I don’t start my watch, even though I put it on. I only try to pay attention to the music, nature, and nothing else.

Even though I’ve been living in Salt Lake for the past year, Moab still feels like home and Vancouver is Moab’s opposite in almost every way. I’ve traded in rich, vibrant reds and oranges for cozy greys and blues—traded dry heat for humidity. I hear even the snow is different. I’m not particularly looking forward to a wet Vancouver winter.

While Moab is a land of deserts, Vancouver has a rainforest. I didn’t know that until I got here, and I’m currently running through it, drinking the water in the air with my lungs.

It’s another world here, one with lush tropics lining the ocean bay, framed by the mountains and sprawling city.

Everywhere I turn, there’s something new and exciting. I didn’t realize how monotonous orange could be. Here, surrounded by a multitude of landscapes, I feel like I can breathe deeply, freely, though the air is thick with moisture and the dampness slicks my skin.

It’s rejuvenating in only the way living by the ocean and mountains can be. I could do without the humidity, but I enjoy that it feels like a different universe here. It helps my brain as it fights the urge to panic.

I’m not moving very fast, but my heart rate continues to rise, and I feel the weight of my phone in my pocket. The pressure swells in my chest, my breaths coming in short and shallow.

I go for as long as I can without having to stop. It feels like hours, but it’s probably only been a few minutes.

Resisting the urge to check my phone becomes more difficult. What if something happened? That was the habit my therapist said I needed to break, especially while triggered. I have to retrain my brain.

Running does not equal catastrophe. Running does not equal tragedy.

“Nothing bad is happening right now,” I repeat to myself under my breath, begging my heart to stay in my chest. I say the words over and over, ignoring the strange looks and offers of help.

“I’m okay,” I lie as I try to avoid another person asking after me.

Physically, I’m okay, even though my legs aren’t sure what’s happening. But mentally? I shake my head, not allowing myself to go down that road. I blast the music louder, drowning out my ability to think, and my body follows suit.

I begin running again and tune out the thoughts that refuse to stay buried. I try an exercise my therapist taught me and watch them go by like I’m on a train. I pass by and don’t judge them. Instead, I talk to them. I tell them it’s okay to feel scared. I comfort them and they slowly begin to let me breathe again .

The path takes me down to the bay and I can’t stop an audible gasp as my footsteps stutter to a stop. As far out as I can see, the water level is completely down and there are ships on the sand, the low tide stranding them. I was told this happened but hadn’t seen it yet.

It’s amazing, and for the first time in a long time, I do something impulsive that might actually be the best possible decision in this moment.

I take my shoes and socks off and step onto the cold sand, watching as my feet make small pools. I know it’s safe because there are people so far out they’re pinpricks in the distance. Dogs run around freely, and I’m already making plans to bring Q sometime. She’ll love this.

As I walk, the water beneath the surface bubbles between my toes and I feel grounded in the sand. Needing more connection to the scene around me, I turn my music off and take my earbuds out. The sound of whistling wind fills the silence.

And there is silence.

My brain is finally quiet as I soak in this unexpected marvel. I walk so far that when I turn back, I can see the whole city of Vancouver with the mountains in the background, and I’m standing near the middle of the bay. It’s incredible.

I’m not sure why but this place, this exact spot where my feet sink into the sand, and the wide expanse of landscape feels like the most peaceful place I’ve ever been. And that is saying something. Utah is breathtaking, full of so many hidden gems within driving distance.

But here, standing where in a few hours there will be all manner of sea life, whales even, stealing a glimpse of the ocean floor, my heart expands and I drop to my knees. Tears flow down my face, and I know my mom is giving me this. Even if I don’t get to keep my job, she wanted me to be in this moment, right here.

“I miss you,” I whisper into the wind and imagine it’s carrying my message up to her. An unexpected warm gust blows around me, caressing my skin. It feels like magic. I laugh, big and full, and that giant hole in my heart, the one that makes it hard for me to breathe, for me to feel, it fills.

It fills with gratitude for the memories I have, for the kind of mother she was and still is. For my sister and my nephew. For this beautiful space I’m making for myself in this new city.

And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I want .