An hour later, I feel like I’ve moved into a parallel universe. Is this “the zone”? It feels more like hell. My lungs are pumping like pistons; my face is sweaty; I have blisters on both feet; I want to die—and yet still I’m moving. It’s as if some magic force is keeping me going. I keep seeing turquoise baseball caps in the crowd. I keep chasing them. I’ve approached one blond girl four times now. But none of them is Sage. Where is she? Where is she?
And where are these bloody endorphins? I’ve been running for ages and haven’t had a single one. It’s all lies. Nor have I seen a single Hollywood landmark. Have we even passed any?
Oh God, I have to drink some water. I head to the next water stand decorated with helium balloons. I grab one paper cup and pour the water over my head, then gulp at a second. There’s a crowd of cheerleaders in red costumes doing a routine nearby, and I look at them enviously. Where do they get all that energy from? Maybe they have special springy cheerleaders’ boots. Maybe if I had glittery pom-poms to shake, I’d run faster.
“Becky! Over here! Are you all right?”
I straighten up, panting, and look around in a daze. Then I spot Luke on the other side of the barricade. He’s holding a Ten Miler flag and gazing at me in alarm. “Are you all right?” he repeats.
“Fine.” My voice comes out rasping. “All good.”
“I thought I’d come along to support you.” He eyes me in amazement as I stagger toward him. “You’re making incredibly good time. I didn’t realize you were so fit!”
“Oh.” I wipe my sweaty face. “Right.” I hadn’t even thought about how quickly I was going. The whole race has been a blur of chasing turquoise baseball caps.
“Did you get my text?”
“Huh?”
“About Sage pulling out.”
I stare up at him blankly, the blood still pumping in my ears. Did he just say …
“She sends her apologies,” he adds.
“You mean … she’s not in the race?” I manage. “At all?”
I’ve been chasing all those turquoise baseball caps for nothing?
“A friend of hers decided to take a bunch of pals on a trip to Mexico,” says Luke. “She and her whole team are on a plane as we speak.”
“The whole team have pulled out?” I’m trying to make sense of this. “But they trained! They went to Arizona!”
“Maybe they did. But they pretty much move in a pack,” he says drily. “If Sage says, Let’s go to Mexico, they go to Mexico. Becky, I’m sorry. You must be disappointed.” He touches my shoulder. “I know you only ran the race to meet Sage.”
His sympathy hits a nerve in me. Is that what he thinks? I mean, I know it’s the truth, but it shouldn’t be what he thinks. Husbands should think the best of their wives, as a matter of principle.
“I didn’t only run the race to meet Sage!” I say, drawing myself up tall with an affronted expression. “I did it because I love running and I wanted to support the charity. I hadn’t even thought about whether Sage was in the race or not.”
“Ah.” Luke’s face flickers. “Well, then, bravo. Not much longer to go.”
As it hits me, my heart plummets. I haven’t finished. Oh God. I can’t run anymore. I just can’t do it.
“It’s four miles more.” Luke is consulting a race map. “You’ll do that in no time!” he adds cheerfully.
Four miles? Four whole miles?
As I look at the road ahead, my legs feel wobbly. My feet are aching. Runners are still pounding by, but the thought of getting back into the fray fills me with dread. A guy in a turquoise baseball cap powers by, and I scowl at him. I’ll be happy if I never see a turquoise baseball cap again.
“I’d better limber up before I start again,” I say, playing for time. “My muscles are cold.”
I lift up my foot to do a quad stretch. I count very slowly up to thirty and then do the other side. Then I flop down and let my head dangle in front of my knees for a couple of minutes. Mmm. This is nice. Maybe I’ll stay here for a while.
“Becky?” Luke’s voice penetrates my consciousness. “Sweetheart, are you OK?”
“I’m stretching,” I inform him. I raise my head, stretch out my triceps, and then do a few yoga-type poses I’ve seen Suze do. “Now I’d better hydrate,” I add. “It’s really important.”
I reach for a cup of water and sip it slowly, then fill another and hand it to a passing runner. I might as well be helpful while I’m here. I fill a few more cups with water, ready to hand out, and straighten a stack of energy bars. There are empty wrappers everywhere, so I begin to gather them up and put them in the bin. Then I retie a couple of balloons which have come loose and adjust some streamers. Might as well make the stand look tidy.
I suddenly notice that the guy behind the water stand is staring at me as though I’m insane.
“What are you doing?” he says. “Shouldn’t you be running?”
I feel a bit indignant at his tone. I’m helping him. He could be more grateful.
“I’m on a stretch break,” I explain, and look up to see that Luke is surveying me quizzically.
“You must be pretty well stretched out,” he says. “Are you going to start running again now?”
Honestly. All this pressure to run the whole time.
“I just need to …” I interlace my fingers and stretch them out. “Mmm. I have a lot of tension there.”