I did feel it, and I took full advantage of the moment and realized the truth.
I wasn't angry at Jeanine.
I was furious at myself.
Over and over, I'd done what everyone expected of me. I'd been the doormat, the perfect helper, I'd avoided counting beans... and nobody ever took care of my beans for me. They never would. Even Jeanine, who'd mocked me for caving in to Amanda, was perfectly fine letting me cave in to her.
The common denominator in all this?
Me. Megan. She who caves.
We walked along, Jeanine chattering about the next musical theater show, "Fame", which she'd be starting to work on in a month or two, and as we neared the thirty-three-kilometer marker the lyrics to the "Fame" theme song played in my mind.
Rhiannon's unexpected death was a reminder I couldn't count on living forever no matter what the song said. Was I going to live my whole life this way, never standing up for myself?
With the song's next line, I saw Kim landing after her skydive and kissing Ross. My sister had begun to learn how to fly. I wanted to learn too. It was my turn.
My turn.
"Jeanine!"
She looked at me, surprised.
My heart raced more than it had in all the running I'd done that day. "I..." The words wouldn't come.
She frowned, confusion and worry filling her face. "You okay?"
"No. I'm not. Jeanine..." I swallowed hard and made myself say it. "I can't walk to the end."
"You need a rest?" She gestured toward the curb. "We can take a break."
If I sat down I would never get back up. "No, that's not it." Again I searched for words, but this time I found the right ones. "I want to run. This isn't how I want to finish my first marathon."
She blinked. "But I don't think I can do it without you."
The worst possible thing she could have said. In her defense, she was exhausted and probably didn't realize how much harder she was making this for me.
But it didn't matter whether she did realize. I had set a goal for this race, to stick to my happy pace and give it my all, and I wasn't doing that because I was staying with her.
So I cleared my throat and made myself say the hardest words I'd ever said. "Even so, I still want to run. And I'm going to."
Her eyes went huge, and we stared at each other for a moment. I wanted to back down so much I was shaking but I also knew I was doing the right thing for me so I forced myself not to.
"You... you're leaving me?"
I nodded because I couldn't speak.
Her eyes filled with tears, and she said, "Figures, you pick now to grow a spine," a reluctant grin growing on her face.
My eyes welled too, and we sniffled in unison then burst out laughing.
"Yeah, it does figure," I said through my giggles. "I guess I'm too tired to resist it any more."
She slapped me on the butt. "Good for you. Get lost."
My amusement fell away. "Will you be okay?"
She sobered too. "Megan, I say this with no bitterness whatsoever. That's not your problem. Go. Run your race."
My throat tightened so hard I couldn't speak. How could I leave her here?
"I didn't do my training," she said softly. "It's my fault I'm dragging. Finish it or not, I'm reaping what I sowed. You go reap too. Okay?"
It wasn't. How could it be?
I took a deep breath and my throat relaxed. It was okay. I deserved to reap.
I held out my hand and she gave me a high five.
Then I cranked myself up to a run and left her behind.
Chapter Forty
I'd thought running hurt before my unscheduled break. After walking nearly a kilometer, my legs loudly protested the increased pace and all my joints felt like they'd rusted. I persevered, though, and after five of the longest hardest minutes of my life my body accepted that I wasn't going to stop running. Everything still hurt, of course, but I knew I could make it through.
I still felt terrible about leaving Jeanine behind but I also knew I deserved to enjoy the results of my training. Besides, she'd told me to--
No. That wasn't the reason it was okay to leave her. If she'd screamed at me, it would still be okay. It was all right to be selfish sometimes.
I couldn't quite shake my doubts though, or my thoughts that perhaps I should have been selfish by continuing to walk since I would need my energy to help Amanda.
Help her move James's things out again, knowing full well she'd probably move them back as she'd done so many times before. No, she'd make me move them back.
I should have said no. Why hadn't I?
I rubbed my sweaty forehead, trying to scrub away the thought. I hadn't, and that was that. I was committed to it now so I'd do it and then next time...
One of my own mental words caught my scattered attention.
Committed.
Andrew had been committed to doing the foundation. And he'd quit. Why? Because it didn't work for him any more.
I didn't know how his resignation had gone, whether Rhiannon's friends and family had given him a hard time for being selfish, but he'd done it regardless of how they felt. It had been hard for him to do, and I felt sure he still wondered if he'd done the right thing, but he had broken that commitment so he could move on into a life that suited him better.
Could I do the same?
I ran along, wondering. Could I somehow get out of helping Amanda? My exhausted mind seemed so shocked by the very idea that my usual 'must help' instincts were silent for once, and I was glad because the quiet let me think.
I could, couldn't I? I could call her after the race and tell her I was too tired. It wouldn't be a lie, since I'd almost certainly be too tired. Heck, I was too tired now and I still had over eight kilometers to go.
I knew, though, as I watched the thirty-four-kilometer marker grow larger and closer, that I didn't want to help her even if I felt as energetic as my guinea pig when he smelled lettuce. I remembered Andrew's words about reasons being why something was the way it was and excuses being why it wasn't my fault. Being tired was a convenient excuse, especially since it happened to be true, but it wasn't the reason. Even if I had all the energy in the world I wouldn't want to do it.
It also hadn't been fair of Amanda to ask it of me. But that was just another excuse, and it wasn't the point. Sure, it hadn't been fair, but I'd been the one to say yes.
So I could also be the one to say no.
I wanted to, so badly, but I didn't know if I really could. Would I regret it right after?
I remembered Jeanine's 'I was going to quit after fifty steps' comment. Thinking of her made me feel guilty, but I told myself again that I didn't need to and co-opted the concept for myself.
If I waited until after the race to call Amanda, I'd feel even guiltier since I'd given her no notice. Plus, doing it now would stop me agonizing over it. So, following Jeanine's model, I would run fifty steps, and if I still felt the same way about Amanda's request I would call and tell her I was backing out.
With each step I said the number to myself so I wouldn't instead imagine my mother's horror at what I was considering, and with each number I felt my determination growing.
At forty-two, I knew I didn't need to keep counting. I pulled my phone from my fuel belt but kept running. I didn't want to walk again. Running was my happy pace.
"Hey, Megan. You on your way over?"
I took a deep breath so I could speak a full sentence. "I'm not coming."
"What? I need you."
Yes, she did. But when she didn't need me, she didn't bother with me. We'd never had any of those friendly dinners she'd promised, never chatted about anything going on in my life, never done anything but focus on her problems. We might have been friends once, although I suddenly wasn't quite sure we had, but now I was basically her servant. And I didn't want that any more. "Amanda, I am running a marathon today. I am not going to help you move."
She sighed. "Fine, tomorrow night works too."
I shut my eyes for a second before realizing that running blind probably wasn't too safe. I'd given her an excuse, and of course she'd found a way around it. I needed to give her the real reason.
I'd thought leaving Jeanine was hard, and it had been, but making myself tell Amanda, "No, I will never again help you move his stuff," was harder than running a thousand marathons in a row.
Silence hung heavy and thick, and I kept running and tried not to pant into the phone and waited for her reaction, growing steadily more nervous as she didn't speak.
My every instinct said, "Tell her you'll do it!" and I could almost hear my mother saying the same thing, but I took the deepest breaths I could and kept running and somehow managed to stop myself from caving in.
Eventually, Amanda said, "Why not?"
Her voice was completely neutral, and it scared me, but I told her the truth. "I have helped you enough. Now you need to help yourself."
I couldn't believe I was saying the words, and hearing them sent shock waves of guilt through me, but as they came out I knew I meant them. That guy's 'in case of emergency' t-shirt appeared in my mind, along with the 'put the oxygen mask on yourself first' concept it was based on. Even in a true disaster you had to take care of yourself before helping others, so doing it in ordinary life made sense too. I was finally ready to do that.
I heard her gasp. "I am trying to help myself. That's why you need to help me get his stuff out. Then he'll be gone and--"
"No," I said, as firmly as I could through my own emotions, resisting the urge to argue over whether she was really done with James. It wasn't the point. "Amanda, get someone else. I've given everything I can and I can't help you any more."
It was still unbelievably hard to say, but it got easier every time.
What wasn't easier, though, was hearing her say, "You bitch! I can't believe you won't do this one thing for me."
Not easier to hear, but it definitely made my next words come out a little faster and with a lot more heat behind them. "One thing? I've done everything for you. I have moved his stuff over and over, that vicious little rodent bit me when I--"
"Don't call James that," she snapped, cutting me off, then said, "Um. What?"
A wholly inappropriate giggle rose in me but I pushed it down. I could laugh about it later. Maybe with Andrew. But for now... "Jaws the gerbil, I mean. And I made that stupid chicken and I cooked at your party and I've done everything I can to help you but you keep asking me for more. It's no good, Amanda. I'm done."
"I never asked for anything! You just always offered."
Not true, and I didn't even think she believed it, but it didn't matter and I didn't let her suck me in. "Maybe. But not any more."
She gave what sounded like a choked sob and the anger was gone from her voice when she said, "If you don't help me, I'll be stuck with him and it'll be all your fault."
Guilt flooded me like the caffeine from Andrew's special gel, but I managed to say, "No. It'll be your choice."
She hung up.
I turned off the phone, knowing she'd probably be calling back in a few minutes, sobbing and begging me to change my mind, and not sure I could resist if she did.
Then, suddenly, I was sure. Part of me felt awful, but beneath that I felt strong and secure and right. Being helpful was good but so was taking care of myself, and I was finally doing that. I was stronger than I'd thought. I loved it, and I knew Andrew would love it too when I got a chance to tell him.
Andrew. I made another decision. I would tell him, today, how I felt about him. I had time after the race now, and I'd get him alone somehow so I could see the look in his eyes when I told him he was amazing and strong and an inspiration and freaking adorable. He might not be ready to be with me, he might not even want to, although I thought he did, but regardless I'd be saying it. Because I could handle whatever he said back, and because I liked him too much not to.
*****
Over the next few kilometers, my poor emotions got an even tougher workout than my body did as I swung between certainty that I should have considered my own needs over those of Amanda and Jeanine and horror that I'd been so selfish. I hated it, but I couldn't help it.
Taking care of myself first was just so unlike me.
But I didn't think I wanted it to be unlike me any more.
I thought, in that 'mind fractured into a million pieces' way that seemed such a part of a super-long run, about how Tosca had taught herself to be a stronger and more effective teacher. When I'd met her, the kinds of determined things I now saw her doing would have been unthinkable. That was the right word: she wouldn't even have been able to think of herself doing them. Now she was and she was progressing even further.
I could do that too. I was doing it.
I hadn't asked Tosca whether it was uncomfortable for her but of course it was. Birth, rebirth, is always hard and painful and scary.
Those words could also describe how I felt about the remaining distance of the marathon. I still had more than five kilometers to go, and I'd never felt such a heaviness in my legs or such an awful ache in my feet. The thought of keeping my body moving for so much longer was nearly overwhelming.
Still, I'd done thirty-seven kilometers. Well, I'd run probably thirty-six and walked one with Jeanine, but even so I'd covered a far longer distance than ever before. A little pride seeped through my exhaustion. I'd done this much. I could keep going.
I had crossed the pace strip at the thirty-five-k marker a little while ago, thinking as I did that Andrew would be receiving a text message to tell him I'd made it that far. Had he finished his race yet? Probably. Either way, he'd know that I'd caught up to Jeanine, and that I'd left her behind.
What would he think?
I wanted him to approve but I wasn't positive he would. He'd been so good about encouraging me to keep running, even slowing his own pace to help me during our runs. Would he be disgusted that I hadn't done the same for Jeanine?
Feeling the need for a little refreshment as well as some more carbs, I sucked down some Gatorade from the bottle on my belt, and the blast of bright orange flavor broke through the fog of my thoughts and worries for a second and left me so clear.
I wasn't disgusted. And that was all that mattered.
It was okay to say no, okay to focus on myself. I'd wondered whether it was better to feel bad about helping or about not helping, but now I saw that I could feel good about not helping.
Amanda had called me selfish, but only because I wouldn't give up everything to do what she wanted me to do. So who was really the selfish one?
Jeanine had understood. Of course she'd wanted me to stay with her. But she'd understood that I needed to do my own thing.
"So do it," I could almost hear her say, "instead of second- and third- and eleventh-guessing yourself. Just run already. Have fun."
Yes. My mental Jeanine was right. Time to do my own thing and enjoy it. I tried stretching out my stride just a little, and found it far more comfortable. I'd been constricting myself so I wouldn't go too fast, but now I felt ready to be free.
I cruised through the aid station right before the thirty-nine-k marker, not taking Gatorade or water from the volunteers since I had everything I needed with me, and once I was out of the worst of the discarded paper cups on the ground I sped up again and glanced down at the words on my t-shirt. Upside-down, but still legible.
"Happy pace," I murmured. What a great concept. What a great way to live.
Chapter Forty-One
My spirit was willing, but my flesh was beat. Everything hurt, and I was still so far from the end. Way closer than I'd been at the beginning, of course, but also so much more tired.
I made myself keep going, though. I wanted to finish the race strong and be proud of myself.
I remembered the guy way back at the beginning, which felt like eight hundred hours ago, who'd been swearing at himself. That wasn't how I wanted to finish, telling myself off for my mistakes. I hoped he'd finished the race.
I hoped he'd realized he was only human and had done the best he could.
It hit me that I needed to realize that for myself. I didn't swear at myself the way he did, but how much grief had I given myself for not standing up to people? I'd been telling myself off for being a helpful person. Insane.
I wanted to keep being helpful, but on my own terms. No doubt some people would take advantage of it, as they already had, but I could cope with that if I wasn't also punishing myself when it happened. I was tough enough to handle whatever came along, to refuse to cave in.
I had to laugh: as I ran a marathon for the first time, I'd found the strength to also stand up for myself in a way I never had before. Andrew was right: I was a tough cookie. Definitely tough enough to take care of myself and to finish the race.
But oh, the pain. I'd heard people talk about the pain of a marathon, of course, and I'd figured after my thirty-two-k runs that I knew what they meant. I had and I hadn't; the ache in my legs and feet wasn't new but I hadn't expected its intensity. Every step was a dull thumping agony.
I didn't want to walk, though. Even with the pain I felt better running. I was at my happy pace and I didn't want to let it go.
The forty kilometer sign appeared at the top of what was probably barely an incline at all but which felt like I was running up the side of my apartment building. I kept my eyes on the sign, letting it draw me forward, and though my legs protested even more I soon crested the hill and passed the sign and the aid station right after it.
Two kilometers to go. Plus the infamous final two hundred meters, of course.
"Megan!"
I turned, surprised, to see Kim and Ross and Dad standing just past the aid station and waving frantically at me.
"I'm tired!" I shouted, and they laughed.
"Of course you are," Dad said. "But you're doing great. Keep it up!"
"I will," I called back as I began to go by them.
Kim stayed with me at the side of the road, and I noticed with wry amusement that she didn't have to do more than jog to match my pace. "Sorry, but we won't be at the finish. Ross is teaching skydiving lessons this afternoon and Dad's coming to watch."
Toronto Collection Volume 2 (Toronto Series #6-9) Page 66
