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“We’re gonna try to meet you at 5th Avenue!” Ashley called after her.
“I’ll be the one sweating,” Lydia shouted, blowing them a kiss. She answered the phone as she began a brisk walk.
“You sound like you’re dying,” Erik said.
“I’m at mile twelve, give me a break.”
“I was just going to leave you a voicemail.”
“You talked to Angela? How did it go?” Lydia knew that Angela had been planning to reach out to Erik. She’d given him a heads-up earlier in the week, but the nerves had been eating at her, which was partly why she’d answered her phone in the middle of the race.
“We had a nice chat,” Erik confirmed.
Lydia swallowed hard. “I hope you said nice things about me.”
“Funny. Only the worst things came to mind.”
Lydia smirked.
“You’re sure about this?” Erik asked.
“I am,” Lydia said. If she only ever settled for what she was familiar with, what she was comfortable with, then she was never going to move forward. If prepping for this marathon had taught her anything, it was that she was more than capable of taking this next step. “I’ll give Poletti’s until the end of the month just so I can hand over any projects I’m attached to, but yeah, it’s time.”
In a weird sort of way, Jack asking to partner with her on the proposal had confirmed how talented she was. It also made her acknowledge that Poletti’s was only ever going to hold her back.
“You’re gonna do great things, Lydia. I already know that.”
“That means a lot, Erik.”
“Well, go knock ’em dead or whatever it is you do in a marathon.”
“I think the main goal is to just keep breathing.”
“Text me when you get to the end and let me know how it goes.”
“I will,” Lydia said. “Thanks, Erik.” She hung up, the rush of nerves feeding her adrenaline as she settled back into her stride. Things had gone better than she could have hoped. Erik was happy for her. Honestly, she never should have expected anything less. He’d always been supportive. They’d both just been bumping their heads against the glass ceiling that was the leadership team.Well, no more of that, she thought. Like Erik said, she was gonna do great things.
She hit the official halfway point on the Pulaski Bridge, but she knew some of the hardest miles were about to start. Luke had told her there’d be a point where she hit a wall and wanted to quit. The Queensboro Bridge was that point. As she struggled through the climb, there was no crowd support, the only sounds were the pounding footsteps of other runners and their heavy, panting breaths. But she was almost at mile eighteen. If she quit now, the finish line would have been within reach, and she’d be even more disappointed in herself than when her youth center proposal had first been rejected. She wiped at the sweat that was dripping behind her ears and down her neck, focusing on nothing but her next breath.
The race took a ninety-degree turn off the bridge into Manhattan. Setting foot on 1st Avenue while being hit by the roar of the crowd reinvigorated her, and Lydia smashed through the wall that had threatened to derail her run. She stopped at a hydration station, then reset her pace as she headed all the way to the Bronx, where she was greeted by bands and dancers. Her legs were starting to ache, and the beginnings of a stitch flared just below her ribs. Lydia slowed, power walking along the edge of the street, out of the way of the other runners. She stopped at the next hydration station to fuel up again, stretch and apply pressure to the cramp, the same way Luke had shown her. By the time she had finished her cup of water, the pain had lessened, and she eased back into a jog.
At mile twenty-three, the route started uphill again, leading her down 5th Avenue toward Central Park. There was no way she was going to find Ashley or Kirsten in these crowds—there were thousands of screaming spectators with signs and the neon started to blur.You can do this, she reminded herself as her calves burned, her muscles starting to rebel. She’d run the outskirts of Central Park with Luke. She could do this. One foot in front of the other.
The route curved behind the Metropolitan Museum of Art and it felt like the skyline was beckoning her home, to her shower and her bed. She wanted to sleep for a year, maybe even never move again. She approached mile twenty-five, hissing through her teeth. She was so close she could hear the roar of the finish line like thunder as she approached Columbus Circle. Every single part of her body ached; she felt like a scarecrow, made of straw and held up by nothing but a flimsy stake of wood. Her legs shook, her bones were grinding in their joints, and she staggered to a painful walk. The finish line was so close, but that last mile stretched out before her like a mountain. Even if she got down on her hands and knees and crawled, she didn’t know if she’d be able to cross that line.
She threw her head back, hands clutching the cramps in both her sides, wondering why she’d put herself through this hell. Her lungs burned. Her muscles screamed to end the torture. And Lydia considered it. She could sit down right here and be done with everything. Why did people do this to themselves?
Her phone buzzed, and she reached into her pocket expecting to find Ashley wondering if she’d finished the race. How would she tell her sister she’d flaked out right at the end? But the voice note wasn’t from Ashley. Lydia’s entire chest constricted as she pressed Play, lifting the phone closer to her ear.
“Hey, Lydia.” A sob rushed up her throat as she heard Luke’s voice. Maybe it was because she hadn’t thought he would ever talk to her again. Or maybe it was just the pent-up race emotions. “If I’ve been timing you right these last five months, you’re probably approaching mile twenty-five, and you probably want nothing more than to quit right about now.” She laughed at the absurdity of it. At how well he knew her. “But this is it. This is the last push. So you’ve gotta dig deep. You’ve gotta keep going. I’ve watched you crush run after run for months. This is no different. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.”
Lydia stumbled forward, her shins complaining with every step.
“I know we both said some things, and I’m...sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to start this day with you. But I’m here now. Waiting on the other side of the finish line. All you have to do is meet me in a mile.”
The voice note ended and Lydia wanted to burst into tears, but there were no tears left after all the sweating she’d done. She’d just have to get to that finish line and tell Luke she was sorry too.
She forced herself to keep moving. To keep breathing. Then she spotted the finish line, the route bordered on either side by dozens of international flags and crowds of cheering fans. Lydia practically hobbled, her stride sloppy, but she kept moving and moving and moving until there was nowhere left to run.
