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I finish with my tale of the previous night and try to read their faces. Some of the members are clearly annoyed as if it’s somehow my fault that our trail got made.
“There were bikers on the trail already. Those assholes are probably the ones who blew the location,” I say, feeling more than a little guilty that I just told everyone how they kinda helped save my life as well.
“Plus, if I hadn’t been there last night, we wouldn’t have known about the trail being compromised, and the Helmet Heads might have busted us during our group run tonight. And that really would’ve sucked.”
A few nods as some of them see this logic. Each one is happy that he or she didn’t have to outrun a Helmet Head on a hovercycle. Now that the crowd is a bit friendlier, I take a closer look around.
Twenty people. All sorts of body types. Most in relatively good athletic shape. And then I see her. A new face I registered when I first arrived, but didn’t really get a good look at until now.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
Jake steps up. He’s vouching for her. That’s great, but shit, man. Why’d you have to bring a newbie to the club the night after a bust?
“Jake. That’s cool, but we’re not wearing our gear, man. And you know the rules. Why’d you bring her tonight? No offense…”
“Amy.”
“Right. Amy. Look, no offense like I said. We’re always happy to have a new runner join the club, but we have a race coming up in two weeks and our course just got owned by the healthcare cops.”
“That sucks,” she says. “But what does that have to do with me?”
I step up to her and look at her straight in her (amazingly beautiful) eyes.
“Listen, if Jake vouches for you, that’s good enough for me, but you still gotta run tonight, and we’re not really dressed for the occasion if you know what I mean. I’m wearing loafers for god’s sake.”
I’m expecting an anger response, but instead she gives me a confident smirk.
“Aw, come on. You afraid to run without your little sneakers on?“
Before I can say anything, she slips out of her flats and then her jeans. Her light sweater is the next to go. Soon, she’s in a tee-shirt and panties. I lift a hand in the air about to urge her to get dressed, but before I can say anything, she starts running in place.
“Come on. Let’s go for a little run.”
The rules say that any new potential member has to run at his or her first meeting. It’s sort of a right of passage, plus we need to be sure that the person really wants to run and isn’t a snitch. Without their body armor, Helmet Heads are as weak as the next rube, and even though everyone walking around looks great, they’re all what my father used to call skinny-fat. Healthy inside, but with no vitality or strength. If someone can run at least a mile on a moment’s notice, it’s because they’ve been training on their own. This is a good thing.
I slip out of my loafers and take off my sweater, but I leave my jeans on. I tell the rest of the group to stay put and to start brainstorming on somewhere we can clear enough of a course for an out-and-back 5k. I switch on my headlamp and turn to say something to Amy, but she disappears into the woods. In a second, I’m off, chasing her and picking up my pace while trying not to step on anything too sharp. The good news is that my ankle feels right as rain, and I’m feeling a little liberated running barefoot along the narrow trail. It’s not like I haven’t done this before, but I don’t do it every day either. My feet remember and fall like firm springs on the ground with a natural forefoot plant. All systems are calm as I speed up a bit more. Heart is barely beating. Legs are way far away from lactic acid threshold. Lungs feel underused and relaxed. Arms are low at my side, and I feel a little like an animal again running through the darkening forest. I quickly catch up but stay behind her, admiring her form, both from a physical and from a running point of view. She seems to have done this before as well as she glides along the path, deftly skipping over logs and dodging sharp sticks on the trail with only the faint light from my headlamp to light the trail beneath and in front of her. After about five minutes I tell her it’s time to go back. We’re not here to run tonight, but she’s proven she has what it takes. And she does get a few badass points for the barefoot stunt. And for the public striptease. I don’t wait for her to follow—I just turn around and start high-tailing it back to the group.
I’m back in just over half the time it took me to go out, and after another minute, Amy pops through the leaves and slows down to a walk, already reaching for her clothes.
“Thanks for waiting for me,” she says, out of breath.
She’s right. I probably should have waited for her, but she’s equal parts enticing and annoying right now, and she took me away from the reason I came here tonight—to pick out a new course for the race. I nod my head and call the meeting to order.
There are a couple of places that people suggest, but the one that sticks out is a stretch of old power lines located about half a mile into the woods. The area on either side of the lines is pretty overgrown, but it used to be cleared, so there are no trees at least. It’s as good a place as any to start, and since tomorrow is Saturday, we make plans to meet up in the morning with our machetes, steel rakes, and portable mowers in hand.
As we disband, Amy comes over with Jake.
“Nice meeting you,” she says. “I’m looking forward to this race to see what you’ve got.”
I turn and smile at her.
“That’s great,” I say. “Too bad newbies don’t get to race until they’ve been with the club for at least six months. But, I’m looking forward to watching you hand out water cups at the half-way mark. I’m sure you’ll do an excellent job.”
She’s not happy about that at all, but even Jake assures her that this is just the way things are, and soon she’s resigned to her fate and making the best of it.
I make my way back to my car, and soon I’m cruising home. I wonder if I’m being watched, but I’m pretty certain that I’m clean. After I get back to my apartment, I’m more exhausted than usual. I fall asleep without eating dinner, looking forward to a great night’s sleep. Instead, I roll around in bed all night, waking up every hour, plagued by visions of losing to the pompous Norwegian.
Running Club Page 3
