by Helen Hoang
When it’s not a thousand degrees out and I’m fully hydrated and I haven’t already run thirty miles.
The sky darkens as a storm gathers, but the heat doesn’t lessen. Instead, the air gets thicker, just like in a sauna, and I feel like I’m carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders as I run up an endless staircase, a staircase headed straight for the clouds. Still, I plow on, one step at a time, ignoring dizziness, exhaustion, and the deepening ache in my knee. If I have to reach the sky itself, that’s what I’ll do.
A dramatic landscape surrounds me, but I’m too sick to appreciate it. I’m alone, so I definitely can’t share it. I’m aware, vaguely, in the back of my mind, that I’m wasting this experience. But I’m blinded by the need to win, to set the record, to earn the cold, comforting knowledge that I’m not only enough, but better, the best.
I’m essential, damn it. I’m worth standing up for. My body isn’t what it was, but look what it’s going to do.
My quad muscle cramps, and I almost trip and careen off the edge of the trail and into the canyon. I manage to catch myself, and digging my fist into my cramping thigh, I try to keep going, even though it hurts like a motherfucker. The muscle cramps tighter, and I collapse against the side of the cliff. Groaning through my teeth, painfully aware of every passing second, I stretch my thigh until the muscle loosens. When I try to walk on it, it immediately threatens to lock up again, so I let myself rest. I don’t have a choice.
I’m out of water, but maybe food will help. I get an energy bar from my pack, chew it into gooey peanut-buttery globs with my dry mouth, and choke it down. It doesn’t sit well in my stomach, and after a couple of minutes, it all comes back up. As I’m vomiting behind a bush, the sky cracks open, and rain pours down on me in a heavy deluge. Within moments, it’s freezing cold, and I shiver nonstop as I pull on a parka.
This is the real challenge of running the Grand Canyon. You don’t just fight against your mind and body and the trail. You fight against nature itself, the heat, the cold, the punishing rain.
Determination rises inside me. It’s getting close, but I can still set the record. So what if it’s dangerous and stupid to run in the rain? No risk, no reward.
I push away from the cliff, and I make myself hobble onward. Everything hurts, my knotted-up quad, my knee, my lungs. I can barely see through the rain, but I keep going.
Until I slip. This time, I do fall. Right over the edge. But I’m ridiculously lucky. I don’t go far. I fall into a soft bed of wet grass. I’m scratched up but not really bleeding. Nothing is broken—just my pride. And my heart.
Anna would be so upset if she saw me like this. She’d be even more upset if she knew why I was doing this to myself.
Thinking about her makes my eyes burn, and I’m too tired to fight the tears. I let them mix with the raindrops falling on my face.
Even as much as I hurt, I don’t regret loving her the way I did—the way I do. With our relationship, I was all in until it was clear it wasn’t the same for her. With MLA, I was all in, too. The company could tank or go on to be successful without me, and I’d still be proud. I did my part to the very best of my ability. Nothing can take that from me.
It’s not winning the race that’s important.
It’s this moment right here, when I’m lying in the mud staring up at the dark sky with rain falling in my eyes.
It’s facing the pain, facing failure, facing myself, and finding a way to make it to the end.
I rest my knee and thigh, giving my overworked muscles time to recover, and when I notice the pool of water forming on a section of my parka, I lift the waterproof fabric and drink it all.
The rain lightens into a drizzle, then a fine mist, before stopping altogether, and I get up and make my way back to the trail. I don’t need to check the time to know there’s no longer any chance of setting a record. I can’t run anymore today anyway, not responsibly. If I pass out and get eaten by wildlife or airlifted to a hospital, that doesn’t count as finishing.
I find a long stick, and I use it to take the weight off my bad leg as I hobble up this never-ending staircase to the clouds. When the sun sets, the canyon glows red like it’s on fire, and I forget to breathe as I take in the view. I wish someone was here to see it with me. Next time, I’ll do this right. I’ll train better for the elevation changes, I’ll bring more water, I’ll ask someone to come with me.
The trailhead comes into view, and even though I didn’t set a new record, I feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. It wasn’t pretty. I threw up, I fell, I cried like a little kid, but I made it. I finished.
I did my part. I’ll keep doing my part.
I finally feel like me again.
* * *
—
I return to SF the day after I do the R2R2R. There’s no sense in staying. It’s not like I’m going to do that run over again for kicks. My body can’t handle it. I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck and then pounded by a gang of pissed-off gorillas.
I’m looking at maps of the Grand Canyon on my phone while icing my knee and popping ibuprofen like candy when the intercom buzzes. I have a visitor.
Instantly, even though it seems like I knew her in another lifetime, I wonder if it’s Anna. There’s no chance that we’re going to get back together again. I’m not signing up to be her secret lover or some shit while she keeps seeing that asshole. But my stupid heart doesn’t care about that. It jumps like an excited puppy because I might get to see her again.
I make my creaky joints take me to the intercom, and I don’t let myself hesitate before pressing the button. “Hello?”
“Let me up. We need to talk,” says a familiar male voice—Michael. Definitely not Anna. Yeah, I’m disappointed, but I knew this talk with Michael was coming. I’ve had time to come to a decision and make peace with it.
Without a word, I push the button to let him into the building, unlock the door to my apartment, and limp back to my couch so I can continue icing my knee.
My doorbell rings in a few minutes, and, like I knew he would, Michael tries the door. Upon finding it unlocked, he lets himself in and comes to sit on the sofa next to me.
“Hey,” I say, looking up from my maps. “What’s up?”
“Seriously? ‘What’s up?’ ” Michael asks. “Where the hell have you been? Things are in full swing with the acquisition, and you email me out of the blue saying ‘Taking time off to go running, be back Wednesday’? I tried calling you a hundred times.”
“Sorry, there isn’t reception in the Grand Canyon.”
Michael’s eyes bug out like he wants to murder me.
“I take it you want to talk about the new condition on the LVMH deal,” I say.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I had to hear it from one of our lawyers. He was panicking,” Michael says.
“There’s nothing to panic about,” I say calmly. I can’t say I feel good about LVMH’s decision, but it doesn’t tear me up anymore.
Michael runs his fingers through his disheveled hair and breathes a sigh of relief. “I knew you’d have it figured out.”
I smile at how confident he is in me. He’s a good friend.
“So what did you do? How are we working around it?” he asks.
“We’re not working around it. I’m going to step down,” I say. He opens his mouth, looking like he’s about to have a blowup of some kind, so I add, “In the beginning, I was pissed about it. This isn’t what I envisioned, you know? I wanted it to be you and me until the end. But that doesn’t make sense. This is a great opportunity, and I want you to make it as far as you can possibly go.”
“You’re talking like you’re already gone,” Michael says in disbelief.
“Well, I’m not. I’m sticking around until everything’s transitioned over to the new guy, whoever he is. Probably some nice old dude with white hair and a house in the
Hamptons. But after that I’m going to leave the company, yeah.” It would suck being demoted while taking orders from the guy who took over my old job. Not going to happen. I’d rather clean outhouses. Maybe I’ll get into the restaurant business. I can see myself doing something like that.
“If that’s the case, then we’re turning them down,” he says.
I release a long breath. “I knew you’d say that, but you need to be rational about this. Not only are they going to give us both a shitload of money, but they’re going to—”
“No.” He gets off the couch and paces agitatedly around my living room as he yanks at his hair, giving me angrier and angrier looks every few steps. “If you think for one second that I’m going to let them kick you out, then you have no fucking clue.”
I take the ice pack off my knee and get up so we can talk this out. “Listen—”
“Sit back down and put that ice back on your knee. You’ve been running yourself to death, haven’t you?”
“I’m fine.” But I do sit down and put the ice pack on my knee. “Can you stop being all dramatic about this? This is the right thing to do. I want you to go ahead with the acquisition.”
He looks at me like I’m speaking nonsense. “I like two things about working at MLA. One”—he holds up a finger—“I get to design clothes for kids, and two”—he holds up a second finger—“I get to work with this awesome CEO who also happens to be my best friend. If I lose you, my job automatically loses half the appeal. I’m not letting that happen. This is our company. We call the shots. That means you stay.”
I shake my head, frustrated because he’s not listening, but also, secretly, proud. This is why he’s my best friend. It’s also why I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let him pass on this opportunity. “That isn’t what’s best for the company. You need to take a step back and look at things logically. With the international distribution channels—”
“I’m not listening to this,” Michael says, getting up and striding to the door. “I’m going to go talk to our lawyers and tell them we’re pulling the plug.”
Before I can protest any further, he leaves, slamming the door shut behind him.
I release a resigned sigh, and feeling a little dirty, I pick up my phone and call his wife.
She picks up on the fifth ring. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me, Quan. Michael just left here a minute ago,” I say.
“Oh, okay. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Did he tell you that LVMH won’t go through with the acquisition unless I step down?” I ask.
“He did, yes.”
“Well, he’s trying to stop the acquisition from going through even though I’m willing to step down. You can’t let him do that, Stella,” I say.
“You want your share of the buyout?” she asks.
“No. That’s not it at all.” If someone other than her asked that question, I’d be insulted, but I know she doesn’t mean anything by it. She just wants the information. “I want the company to become a global brand. I want Michael to make it big. This is the right choice.”
“I disagree,” she says in a reasonable tone. “Your leadership is half of what’s made the company as successful as it’s been. It’s brash and effective, and you have meaningful relationships with your employees. Another CEO wouldn’t be able to get them to rally for him the way they do for you. Your business partners love you, too. I don’t think they’d want to work with MLA if someone else was at the helm. Plus, have you seen the magazine articles featuring MLA? The press loves featuring you and Michael together.”
I let my head fall back against my couch cushions and groan in exasperation. “I don’t know why they insist on dragging me into that stuff.”
“You’re part of the company’s brand, Quan,” she says simply. “I was very disappointed when I heard LVMH wanted you to step down. It was clear to me then that they don’t know what they’re doing in MLA’s case and will probably destroy something special if they have the chance. Please don’t ask me to convince Michael to go through with the acquisition. He’d be miserable, and it’s not the best thing for the company. I can’t endorse your choice.”
I press a palm to my forehead, torn between temptation and duty. As an econometrician, Stella doesn’t look at problems through an emotional lens. I was positive she’d find me expendable.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she’s saying exactly what I wanted to hear.
I was prepared to step down and do the right thing. Now I don’t know what I should do.
“You make it sound so rational to pass on this,” I say.
“That’s because it is.” There’s a beeping sound on the line, and she adds, “That’s him. I have to go. Bye, Quan.”
“Bye, Stella.”
I hang up and toss my phone onto the couch. I was prepared to move on and focus my energy on something else. I’m not going to waste my life trying to prove myself to stuck-up assholes with diamond cuff links. I don’t need to prove myself to anyone. I’m done with that.
But it looks like I still have work to do where I am. I haven’t finished my part yet.
THIRTY-FIVE
Anna
The following days go by in a strange blur. I feel like I sleep away most of my time, but it’s not a good sleep that leaves me feeling rejuvenated and well rested. It’s fractured, an hour here, two hours there, and I toss and turn through most of the night, soaking my pajamas with sweat.
I should be caring for my dad, but I’m an outcast now. I can’t return to the house. Ironically, it’s a relief to be away from Priscilla, my mom, my dad, that room, and the E-flat moans. But guilt and a deep sense of rejection plague me constantly. I’m not better off than before. I might even be worse. Food doesn’t taste good. I can’t focus enough to read. I can’t escape into music.
I miss Quan.
When I’m awake, I watch documentaries so David Attenborough’s voice can keep me company or I look at pictures of me and Quan on my phone. I want to, but I don’t let myself message or call him. I hurt him. I let my fear of people’s opinions control me.
And what good did it do me?
My life is in ruins now. But that’s because it was built on lies in the first place—my lies. Perhaps this was always going to happen. Perhaps it needed to happen. I can’t bring myself to apologize to my family for speaking up for myself when they finally asked for more than I could give.
If there’s someone I need to apologize to, it’s Quan. I said the words the night of the party—“I’m sorry.” But I couldn’t make it right. I couldn’t claim him in front of everyone the way he deserved, and I’ll regret that forever. If I could do it over again, I’d be proud to tell everyone he’s mine.
Except he’s no longer mine.
I can give him a better apology, though. The more I think about it, the more certain I become that I need to do it. I fixate on it until one day—I’m not even sure what day it is; a glance at my phone says it’s Sunday—the need for action propels me into the shower, where I scrub two weeks’ worth of grime from my body.
When I’m clean and dressed in fresh clothes, I do the fifteen-minute walk to Quan’s apartment. It’s a boxy eight-story building that I’ve only been to once before, and that was the underground parking garage the first night my dad was in the hospital. I’ve never seen the inside of his place. There’s probably a list of Bad Girlfriend Attributes with that on it.
I’m building up the courage to call him and ask him to let me into the building when a guy in sweaty exercise clothes opens the front door and gives me a double take from the doorway.
“You’re Anna,” he says.
“Do I know you?” I’m not good at remembering faces, but his is pretty enough that I feel like I should know if I’ve met him before.
“Ha, no. We’ve never met, but I’ve seen pictures of yo
u. I’m Michael.” He doesn’t try to shake my hand, but he does offer a guarded smile. “Here to see Quan?”
I duck my head self-consciously. “Yeah.”
“Why?” he asks.
I squirm in my shoes for an uncomfortable moment before saying, “I need to apologize to him.”
After a short hesitation, he smiles at me and steps aside to hold the door open for me. “He’s in 8C, since you don’t look like you’re familiar with this place. Knock. He never hears the doorbell.”
“Thank you,” I say gratefully as I run inside.
The elevator ride is short, but it feels long because my heart beats so hard. I know what I need to do to show him how I feel, and it’s terrifying. But if it works, if this makes a difference, it’s worth it.
When I reach a door labeled 8C, I straighten my dress, tuck my hair behind my ear, and lift my chin before knocking. Three times like I mean it.
Because I really do mean it.
I’m not just going through the motions. No one pressured me. No one pushed me. I knocked on the door because I intended to. I’m standing here because this is exactly where I mean to be.
It’s me, Anna. There’s something I need to say.
THIRTY-SIX
Quan
I’m standing in the shower, enjoying the exhaustion in my muscles and the stinging spray of hot water on my skin after my run with Michael—I sold him on the R2R2R run, and we’re planning to do it together as soon as we’re both ready—when I hear the knocks on my door. I groan and crank off the water before wrapping a towel around my waist. Michael must have forgotten his keys here or something.
When I open the door, I’m not at all prepared to see Anna standing there. Her color is off, washed-out almost. I can tell she’s nervous. But there’s a fierce glint in her eyes and a stubborn tilt to her chin. She looks like she did in her YouTube video right before she played the first notes on her violin. She’s absolutely beautiful. For a full two seconds, the breath is knocked out of me.
