Page 93 of Running
She smiles, and we go through some standard warm-ups separately on the grass.
“So tell me what pace you like to shoot for on this kind of distance?” I’m definitely going to let her drive that train, as long as it’s not too fast for me these days.
“Let’s run at a progression? I’ll start us at a little faster than six minute miles, and we can go from there?” AKA she’ll progressively increase our speed over the length of the run.
“Perfect.”
We get moving, and I let her guide us since we’re using herpath. She starts us off on a slower first mile as our bodies fully warm up.
Then she pulls us up to a precise five-fifty mile pace effortlessly, which confirms in my mind much of what Shelley said about her. There’s a lot to work with already here.
We go between casual chatting and comfortable silence, and I also notice our steps are in sync, rhythmically aligned. It reminds me of running with some of my best friends at Princeton.
After our second mile, I decide to open the door to deeper conversation. I don’t want her to feel pressured to talk if she doesn’t want to, but also I know there’s a purpose to Shelley asking me to be here.
“So, what are your goals for the season?”
She takes in my question with a slight hiccup in her running. Oh shoot, this confidence gap may actually be a real thing.
Finally she answers.
“Well, I would love to qualify for the NCAA championships in my events, or at least set personal bests.” Her voice has a waver to it that I haven’t heard in our other conversations.
“Those are great goals. I know for me, my junior year in college is when things really started to advance.”
She relaxes at my affirmation of her answer, probably glad I’m not prying further. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah, I was nineteen for some of it and then turned twenty that February. You’re already twenty, right?” She nods. “It was like my body settled into itself by the time the championships came around, but especially my mind. I could control my nerves better.”
I, of course, don’t mention that my mind would fail me anyway only a year later.
“That’s interesting.” She gives a light chuckle that sounds half-hearted. “I hope that happens to me.”
“As far as I can tell, you have all the tools you need.” I smile at her. “And I’m here to help as much as you want during my last months of school.”
“That’s amazing, thank you.” Her tone is positive again, and she leaves the topic alone, so I drop it for now.
Eventually she loops us around, and I start recognizing landmarks we passed on the way here. We’ve stopped talking the last few miles as she keeps increasing our speed and we need to use more energy regulating ourselves.
“We have two miles left?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Great.” She looks at me. “Why? You want to slow down?”
I grin. “No, I wanted to see if you’d like to push the last two miles?”
It’s so rare to be running with someone who is a challenge to match, my competitive fire is rearing up.
And so is hers, apparently.
“Heck, yes. Five thirties?”
I nod, and she begins clipping up the pace subtly.
Now I have to focus, keep my body in peak performance mode. I center myopically on my breathing, my step cadence, my arm motion. I’m still aware of our surroundings, and of Jasmine, but the awareness is muted—my body, the only corporeal object in color.
