Running to Love

"It's a task, but you're ready," he said so confidently that my trembling stopped.

I was definitely going to miss Jarvis.

"I've told the shoe store that I was leaving, and they were very understanding and gave me two weeks severance pay. So I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

That meant we were about to say goodbye. I guess I hadn't really thought about that. I mean, Jarvis had been a physical part of my life for a while and suddenly ending that was a shock. He paid the bill and grabbed my hand. Outside, he walked me to my car and he pulled me to him. I received a long hug and then a warm and tender kiss.

"Heather, you know when you're watching a video on your computer, and you need to do a chore of some kind, you put the video on pause, do your chore, and then restart the video. I hope that we're just hitting the pause button tonight."

I laid my head against his shoulder and hugged him.

"That sounds perfect to me, Jarvis."

He'd told me they'd given his mother two to three years, hoping the medications could extend that or possibly even provide a cure. That was the hope. That would be a significant "pause," but I was thinking that Jarvis was worth it. As always, time would tell.

He handed me a paper with all types of contact information, names, and addresses. One last kiss, and he helped me into my car. I didn't want to linger, so I pulled away and headed to my place. Another phase of my life was beginning.

He phoned me each morning on his drive to Oregon and Skyped each evening. I'd pleaded with him not to be heroic on the drive and to stop to eat and get some good sleep each night. He'd said he might sleep in the car to save money, but when I told him I'd pay for his motels, he relented.

I taught each day, inspired by my senior math students who, when they'd found out about my running goals, had established a project revolving around times, distances, calories burned, expected weight loss based on air temperatures, and several other things even I lost track of.

I bought a Bluetooth earphone so I could talk with Jarvis while I dressed in the morning. I remember our first conversation.

"Hey Heather, why no FaceTime?"

"I have a Bluetooth, and I'm getting dressed."

"All the more reason for FaceTime."

"Pervert."

"I just miss you already."

"Same here."

We talked until I left for school. Jarvis told me his mother was very discouraged by the cancer diagnosis as though only fifty-nine and had taken care of herself, hoping to live another thirty years. The grandparents were in their eighties and still knew their daughter but didn't remember Jarvis. He said they were willing and happy to let him help them.

In the evening, we'd talk for sixty to ninety minutes, or until I was so sleepy I lost track of what he was saying, which happened two or three times a week depending on what my workout had been that day.

Sooner than I wanted, it was time for my qualification race. I was ready, but wanted to be more ready, I guess. At the starting line, I was moving toward the front where I could see only a couple of other women. A lean and bespectacled runner approached me.

"Hi. May I be nosy and ask what you're expecting to run today?" His smile was warm and friendly.

I took a deep breath. "Two thirty-four or thirty-five."

He nodded. "Can I assume you're trying to qualify for the trials, then?"

"Guilty."

"Well, I was looking for an easy thirty-two today, so is it okay if I run with you?"

"Is that legal?"

"Why wouldn't I want to run next to a good-looking, blue-eyed marathoner like you?"

I felt myself blushing. "I'm sure I could use your encouragement," I finally replied.

"It's a deal," he said, extending his hand.

We shook hands and were ready for the start.

It was another perfect marathon day, and having Mark running with me was a huge help. He talked to me and was often a half-stride ahead of me. I'd work to draw even before he was the half-stride ahead again. Once past the twenty-mile mark, he was all positivity.

"You're doing it, Heather. You're way ahead of qualifying pace. Lift your knees and drive. You're not only gonna qualify here, after the trials, you're gonna be looking forward to the Olympic Games."

I loved hearing those words, and they seemed to invigorate me. And now he was moving ahead of me by a full stride, knowing that my pride would force me to catch up, which I did each time.

Very suddenly, it seemed, we passed the twenty-five-mile marker, and the time I heard told me I was going to do it -- qualify for the trials. Mark was smiling.

"Race you to the finish," he called and moved a few strides ahead.

I wasn't going to race but rather just enjoy completing my dream. I saw the clock come into view, and the numbers I saw made my already-pounding heart pound even harder, if that was possible. As I passed under it, I saw two hours, thirty-two minutes, and forty-seven seconds. I was ecstatic as it was significantly faster than I had expected.

A smiling Mark was waiting for me.

"You did it, Heather."

"Thanks to you."

"I didn't carry you, you ran it."

"I need to make a phone call." But that was delayed slightly as race officials presented me with a mylar blanket and a bouquet of flowers. I had my picture taken with the race director, then with the race director and men's winner. I finally made it to the area where I'd stashed my things, and I dug out my phone.

"Tell me quick," Jarvis fairly yelled.

"Two hours." I paused.

"If you're teasing, you must have done it."

"I did. Two thirty-two forty-seven."

"Oh my gosh, Heather. Did you have a tailwind the whole twenty-six miles?"

"No, but I had a helper. There was a guy at the start who asked if I was trying to qualify, and he volunteered to run with me. He really helped."

"How do you feel?"

"Exhausted, but high on adrenaline."

"Go home and sleep. I'll talk to you later."

"I will, and so many thanks to you, Jarvis, for all you've done."

"Seeing you succeed is thanks enough for me."

I was putting my phone away when I saw Mark. He congratulated me again, and I got a friendly hug.

"Will be watching the trials. What's your last name?"

"Lane," I answered.

"They probably won't let me run in that one, but I probably wouldn't be able to keep up with you, anyway."

I snorted. "I'd love for that to happen, and what's your last name?"

"Anderson. Mark Anderson," he repeated.

"Take care, now. We'll probably run into each other again, and pardon the pun."

I laughed as best I could since the adrenaline seemed to have stopped flowing, and I was feeling the effects of what I'd just done. We waved, and I made a slow and aching path to my car, feeling happy and very satisfied.

It was still two months until the trials, and I had a couple of road races planned. Jarvis was an advocate of running fast so you could run far. I was at a high school track at least one day a week and also had hard and fast 10K road races. Since running was 90% mental, I was working on that each and every day.

Jarvis' mother was going through her treatments, and they were taking a lot out of her. He was doing his best to keep things positive and upbeat with limited success. He had helped get the grandparents into assisted living, but they seemed to be failing rapidly, and he wasn't optimistic about their long-term survival.

I missed Jarvis, and it was easy for me to do my best to cheer him up. I could tell that, despite his responsibilities, he missed me too. In a way, I was anxious for the future to become the present so I'd know what it was. My near future involved a 10K race tomorrow morning, and I was excited to see how it would go.

I had gotten to be a minor celebrity at these races since I was an Olympic trials qualifier, and not many of them ran in these small local races. I was watched as I warmed up and shook many hands. I made a special effort to encourage the younger female runners to work hard and to develop a running plan.

The race went well, and my mile splits were right where I wanted them. It was in the final one hundred meters that the problem occurred.

I was running hard toward the finish alongside two men who were obviously racing. I was working hard to stay with them when the effort was too much for one of them, who stumbled and veered directly into me, both of us crashing to the pavement. I slid to a stop, pain in my hip and a big raw spot on my arm.

Both of us were helped up almost immediately, the male apologizing profusely as I was escorted to the first aid tent, limping very slightly and swearing in my mind.

"Let me find the doctor," one of my escorts said. I just stood there, afraid to sit down and hoping my seeping arm wouldn't drip on anything.

"What happened?" a voice behind me asked.

I spun around, mouth open. "Kurt?"

"Heather, holy shit, what happened?" He was already opening a first aid kit. "Is this the worst of it?" he asked, gently cleaning my arm with a gauze pad. "And pardon my unprofessional exclamation."

I laughed. I guess my disappointment with Kurt had disappeared with the passing of time.

"I guess I hit my hip when I fell."

"How'd you fall?"

"A guy stumbled into me, and down we went."

He looked at me, his brow furrowed. "If you're in the tent already, you must have been near the front. And have you noticed that when you fall, I'm there to take care of you."

"Yeah, I was, and yes you are." He raised his eyebrows. "I qualified for the Olympic marathon trials."

"Wow, and congratulations." He took a breath. "Now, about that hip." He pointed to it. "Do you mind?"

"No."

As he'd done with my ankle, he poked my hip."

"Lift your knee."

"Feels fine."

"You'll be colorful tomorrow, but I think it's just bruised."

He smiled at me, then looked around quickly.

"This is not the first race I've been to, Heather. I saw you at one of them, but you were totally involved with talking to other people, so I stayed away."

I'm sure there was a questioning look on my face. Where was he going with this?

"For a surgeon, I wasn't very smart. I think you can guess what happened."

Of course, I wasn't sure, but could certainly guess. Still, I didn't know quite what to say.

"I had a jewel, and I traded it for a piece of coal." He chuckled. "I'm not very poetic, but I hope you see what I mean." He looked away, then back at me again. "I'll do anything you want to get you back, Heather. Anything."

I was still tired from the race, as well as sore and shaken from the fall. Now, staring at Kurt, I was shaken even more. What he had said was a complete surrender to my will. I'd never heard words like that before and wasn't ready to hear them today.

He was still very handsome with that two-day growth of beard that made him a little fascinating. He had been very kind and gentle when he worked with my ankle, obviously very concerned that it healed well.

Going to dinner with him at Berenson's was certainly an experience I'd never forget, and the thought of doing it again was somehow appealing, although eating all that food was not good for my running. And driving the Porsche. I'd never gotten the chance and knew that some of my friends would be very envious if they knew I was driving a Porsche.

We were interrupted momentarily when they brought me the winner's trophy. I wasn't sure I'd ever crossed the finish line, but maybe I had. The presenters were quickly gone, though, and it was just Kurt and me once more. I stood there clutching the trophy, which reminded me of Jarvis. I needed to call him and tell him about the race, but Kurt was waiting for an answer, and answering him wasn't simple.

He was being very patient, probably imagining what I was thinking. I'd had a couple of dates with Kurt and with Jarvis if I just wanted to consider what I'd call the romantic side of things. And each of them had been concerned and helpful. I pretty well knew how Jarvis felt about me, and now I knew how Kurt felt... at least, I thought I did, but there was that nugget of doubt that couldn't be ignored.

"Kurt, when you were taking care of my ankle, I discovered you were more than just my doctor, and I enjoyed being around you." I took a deep breath, but I looked him straight in the eye. "I met a guy who wanted to help me with my running, and it worked. I'm going to run in the trials."

"And he's more than just your coach now, right?"

"He is, Kurt. He is. We'd just had a couple of official dates when he had to go to Oregon to take care of his mother, who has cancer. I miss him, and the way I miss him tells me that, despite my initial reservations, he's more than just a coach."

"Sadly, I understand, Heather. And I promise not to do anything to interfere. If you ever need help from an orthopedic doctor, though, don't hesitate to see me. I'd like to keep up with your running, and I'm allowed to enjoy being around you."

"Honestly, I hope I don't need that kind of help, but if I do..." I smiled at him.

He was even kind and considerate about what was happening today. Without that blond, I'd probably be tied up pretty tight with Kurt... and wouldn't be running in the Olympic trials. If I hadn't believed in kismet before, I did now.

"Fair enough. How's the hip feeling?"

"Better than my arm."

"Well, treating scraped arms is not in my job description, so you may have to handle the rest of it yourself."

"I'm sorry things didn't work out, Kurt."

"Me too, Heather. A doctor should be smarter than that, but I've learned. I just hope I can find someone like you in the future -- my future."

I debated with myself. I could tell him about Shelly. She certainly wasn't much like me, so I held my tongue.

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you again sometime, so until then, good luck in the trials, and I hope everything works out with your guy."

"Thanks." And then, on a whim and laughing hard, I said, "I was looking forward to driving that Porsche, you know."

His loud laughter joined mine.

"We're here," he said, "and so's the Porsche. And there's a big and nearly empty parking lot where you can get started."

"Are you serious? I've never driven a standard transmission."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-six."

"Oh my gosh, you need to learn, and there's no better time. You're all pumped up from that run."

"Battered up, you mean."

He laughed again. I'd always liked Kurt's laugh. This might be the only time in my life that I'd get to drive a Porsche. School teachers weren't usually Porsche owners. I knew that much.

He'd decided I was going to drive it as he grabbed my hand and began pulling me to the nearly empty parking lot.

"Let me stash my loot in my car," I said, pulling loose from him and heading toward my Honda Civic. Things were tossed into the back seat, and he took my hand again and I found myself headed for a sleek-looking small red car. All I could think of was that it looked expensive. Little did I imagine how actually expensive it was. He unlocked it.

"Last time you were in this, we were worried about your hair, as I remember."

I chuckled. "No worries today." My hair was much shorter than it had been on the trip to Berenson's, and if it blew today, it was not a problem. And the thought of the top being down was kind of exciting.

"Climb in a buckle-up," he said as he jogged around the car and did the same on the passenger side. "First time I've ever been in this seat," he added, winking at me.

He started the engine, and I think I began to tremble. which I think he noticed.

"You know how to drivel, and this is just driving," he said, but somehow that didn't erase my anxiety. "There are three pedals: accelerator, brake, and clutch.

"I know what they do. I've just never done it."

"It's simpler than you're imagining right now. Push in on the clutch and put it in first gear with your foot on the brake."

I looked at the diagram on the little knob and then at Kurt. He explained about the extra "feel" to go to reverse, then had me go through all seven gears, making sure I held my feet firmly to the clutch and brake pedals.

"Are you sure you want me to do this?" Seeing the seven-gear pattern on the knob had stoked my reluctance more than I'd imagined it would.

"He smiled at me. "Which is more precious, your ankle or this car?"

What kind of a question was that?

Seeing my hesitation, he said, "I can totally destroy this car and just replace it. We can't replace your ankle. You trusted me with your ankle, so I'm trusting you with my car."

I shook my head. "Kurt, that was terrible."

"Best I could do spur of the moment."

I looked it up later and found that he had probably paid over two hundred thousand dollars for the car... and I was about to drive it. After a lesson about using the clutch and shifting gears and some static practice, Kurt thought I was ready.

"You're an athlete and coordinated, so you should get along fine. Remember what they say, Heather, 'grind it till you find it."

"Kurt! That sounds terrible... and scary."

"Just press the accelerator down a little, then slowly let out the clutch until you start to move. And I mean slowly with the clutch until you find out where it allows the gears to engage. Once it moves, just stop, and then we'll go for real."

There was a little jerk, but we moved, and I stopped.

"Great. Now let's do it again and keep going."

The second try was a little smoother, and I shifted into second. When I pressed the accelerator, my eyes widened at the way the little car shot forward.

"You liked that, didn't you?"

"Wow, I sure did." And I had. Of course, as a runner, I liked speed, and the little red car was certainly able to produce it.

"Keep going to the end of the lot; turn around and tromp it." He settled back in the seat and looked straight ahead.

When I "tromped it," there was a squealing of tires, and the sound of flying gravel, the little Porsche streaking across the faded white lines. I pressed the brake and came to a stop, remembering to push in the clutch at the last second.

"You ready?"

"For what?" I asked, afraid I knew what was coming next.

"The streets."

I heard myself say, "Okay," before I even thought about it.

He smiled at me, cocking his head to the side. "Let's go," he said, a very positive sound in his voice.

I'd said it, and now I needed to do it. "You tell me when to shift gears until I get used to it, okay?"

"You'll be able to do it by the sound of the engine," he assured a very uncertain me.

The next thirty minutes was an exciting and fascinating time. Kurt directed me to a small road out in the country, straight and flat.

"Shift the gears and keep the accelerator down until I tell you to let up."

I was almost as afraid to look at Kurt as I was to do what he'd suggested. But I looked. He was smiling again.

"Is your hip too sore to let you do that?"

I laughed. "Here we go," I said as I shifted into third and pressed down on the accelerator. Even my short hair was fluttering in the wind, and the fence posts were zipping past me faster and faster. I shifted to fourth and then to fifth. I still had sixth and seventh to go.

I never go to them as I barely heard his voice over the sound of the wind telling me I could back off. A quick glance down, and I saw 105 on the speedometer. When it dropped under 100, I looked at Kurt.

"You were ready to keep going, weren't you?"

"I guess I was. I never dreamed I'd drive that fast, but I did it, didn't I?"

"Do you want to go faster?"

I must have looked shocked because he chuckled.

"Are you kidding?" I was looking at the road that appeared to be going from laser-straight to very curvy.

"Not here. I have a doctor colleague who races a Ferrari, and he rents the track and practices every once in a while. I'm sure I could arrange for you to drive the Ferrari if you'd like to."