Note: This story was written with laxchick, who deserves full co-writing credit.
*****
Amanda
Its May.
I'm finished university.
It's almost a numbing feeling, and I've been spending some afternoons, when previously I'd have been studying like a maniac, just staring off into space in disbelief.
Unlike some of my classmates, I have a job lined up, a decent one, and even better, it doesn't start until October. I have a summer totally, completely, to myself.
It only takes a weekend of freedom though before I'm planning, and organizing. I'm an overachiever. In fact, that's what I used as my "biggest weakness" during my interview for the job I landed. I'm looking at the calendar, and thinking about goals to achieve over the course of the summer. I run often enough that a half-marathon shouldn't be too big a stretch for me, and looking at the Runner's World website, my eyes land on the Buffalo Marathon, which actually happens in just a few weeks.
Drive up the coast. Upstate New York. Get a hotel in Buffalo for a few days. And Dad, I know, is willing to let me ring some charges up on his Amex as a graduation present.
Fun.
Carter
I stop near the Thoreau Cabin, and check my Garmin, the midday sun shining down on me. 10 kilometers now, and even at an easy pace, my right knee is beginning to complain. Goddamnit. Buffalo is in two days. I'm not sure the knee is going to last the 42km of the marathon. It's funny, I barely noticed turning 30, nothing really seemed to change, but turning 35 was different, and the body isn't what it once was.
I lean into a tree and take my foot in my right hand, pulling it up behind me towards my ass. A few tourists are milling about the cabin, I've passed others on the trail around around Walden Pond. I love running, and I love running here in particular. The sunlight shining through the leaves of the trees, the spray of dust behind me as my feet pound the the fine gravel of the trail.
Margaret and I used to run together here.
I stretch my left leg as well, then give them both a shake as I begin walking away from the cabin. One more lap of the pond? Two? I take a breath and push off, feeling strong - well, mostly strong. Some pasta tonight, the drive to Buffalo tomorrow. I feel so awkward about seeing Margaret that I've booked a hotel instead of staying with her. She moved to Buffalo about a year ago now, a year and a half... taking a job she couldn't refuse as an account manager with M & T Bank. I'm not sure how hard either of us really tried to make it work. Long distance is hard. I had my first fling at about the 6 month mark. Talking about it later with her, my heart in my mouth as I confessed my sin, I found out that she'd done the same thing at almost the same time.
It was always still her though.
I'd wake up, go about my day, women would filter past, and I'd be attracted to some, smile at them, wonder about them, but as I kept walking, it was still Margaret I wanted. I wanted to find her at home, pouring herself some water in the kitchen, push her against the counter, run my hands over her body as my lips found her neck, kissing her warm, urgent.
But... when I got home, it was just my clean kitchen. A few bananas, some nuts, a beer in the fridge, then leaning against the front window looking down at the street.
A flash of sunlight on Walden Pond. The twinge in my right knee growing more persistent. I slowed down to a walk. Hey Maggie, I thought, I guess I'll see you tomorrow.
Amanda
I'm at the Hyatt in Buffalo. I arrived late Friday night, thinking I'd spend Saturday walking the course, but when I wake up it's pouring rain. I fiddle with my phone for a little while, finding out where the nearest YMCA is, and after calling them and confirming my membership back home can be used here, I get geared up to go to a mid-morning Spin class. But, then there's the rain. I spend a few minutes at the front door of the hotel, looking out at the sidewalk and the street, when someone stops beside me, holding an umbrella in his hand. "Which way are you going?" he asks.
I look at him. He's, maybe 35 or so. Around 5'8 or 5'9. Dark brown hair. Fit. And he's smiling, which might actually be the single most attractive thing a man can do. "The YMCA. And I obviously didn't bring an umbrella."
"The YMCA? Are you going to the 10:30am spin class?"
I laugh a bit, surprised. "Are you going too?"
He nods. "Want to walk with me? We can try to share the umbrella. We'll both just get half-wet."
I smile. "I'm Amanda."
"I'm Carter." He puts his hand lightly on my elbow. ""Let's go."
Carter and I laugh most of the way to the YMCA, and find out that we're both in town for the marathon on Sunday morning. When we clamber inside the Y, we're both pretty much soaked, but we split up to our respective change-rooms, and the next time I see him, he's already on a bike in the class, soft-pedalling, wearing tight black cycling shorts, and a tight black athletic top. The instructor smiles as I step into the room. "Hi, welcome to the party," she calls over to me. "I'm Denise."
"I'm Amanda," I say. "The girl on the phone told me you're an awesome spin instructor, and work your students hard."
Denise laughs. "Well, we'll get a workout. I'll try to not kill anybody though."
Carter raises his hand into the air. "Old broken guy here," he says, jokingly. "Let's definitely try not to kill anybody. Meaning me mostly."