Peacock Man was ahead of us, his fan of feathers bouncing with his stride. It was oddly hypnotic. An elderly man with wispy white hair ran by. The back of his shirt said I’m 85 and I just passed you.
That made me smile.
By the time we reached the first mile marker, the crowd had spread out. The four of us were able to run two by two, me and Nora in front, Everly and Sophie behind us. We’d finished the first mile in under nine minutes. Tempting as it was to push hard now, we still had a long way to go, so I intentionally slowed.
“Now we just do that twelve more times and we’re done,” Nora said. I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not.
“We’ve totally got this,” Everly said. “That first mile felt great. I think that’s a good sign.”
“I feel like I could go faster,” Sophie said.
I glanced at my Fitbit. “My calculations require sticking to this pace for the next two miles. Then a slower mile. Then three more fast.”
“Are you sure?” Sophie asked.
“It’s still early. We should stick with the plan.”
“Okay, okay,” Sophie said. “We’ll stick with the plan.”
The next two miles seemed to take no time at all. It hadn’t been that long ago that a three-mile run had been a challenge. And here we were, breezing through the route, still feeling like we’d barely begun.
Peacock Man maintained his pace a short distance in front of us. His tail feathers were like a bright teal and purple beacon leading us forward. We didn’t see the Bedazzled Bitches. They’d started ahead of us in a different section of runners. Even if our times were faster, it was unlikely we’d see them before the end.
As planned, we slowed after mile three, then picked up again at mile four. By mile five, Everly and Nora both said they felt good enough to run faster. Again, I insisted we stick with the plan. We needed to maintain enough stamina to finish.
We slowed through a water station and volunteers handed us cups as we jogged by. The water felt good, cool and refreshing. My body was warm and loose. Tired but not yet hitting the point of exhaustion.
And then we came to our first big hill.
We’d known the course wouldn’t be flat. Seattle was full of hills, so we’d trained accordingly. In my last long run, the hill I’d climbed had felt like the side of a mountain. I’d had to walk for several minutes after reaching the top to recover enough to continue running.
But today it was like our shoes were outfitted with the wings of the Greek god Hermes. All four of us bounded up the hill, pushing ourselves hard. Sweat dripped down my back and my leg muscles burned. But I felt powerful and strong.
When we got to the top, I glanced down to check my Fitbit again so we could adjust our pace. We needed recovery time so we could make it through the next section of the race.
“We made that hill our bitch,” Sophie exclaimed.
“Hell yes we did,” Everly said.
“Sophie, you’re right.” I looked up, ignoring the data offered by my watch. “We did make that hill our bitch.”
Nora raised her fist into the air and whooped.
Trust your instincts.
“Forget the plan,” I said. “Are we all feeling good?”
A chorus of yeses rose up around me. Not just from my friends, but from runners nearby.
“Then let’s make this race our bitch.”
I stopped checking my Fitbit and let my body set the pace. We pushed hard for the next mile, energized by our triumph on the hill. Then there was another hill to climb and we naturally slowed. We jogged through a water station, high-fived a group of spectators cheering us on, and picked up the pace again when we saw the sign for mile nine.
The next mile was harder. Peacock Man fell behind us for the first time, and a few of the Sloth Running Club runners passed us. My legs were getting heavy, and as we approached mile ten, the nervous churning in my stomach returned.
Ten miles was the longest I’d ever run. And from here, we still had another three point one to go.
I glanced at my friends. Sophie’s expression was grim but determined. Everly’s cheeks were flushed pink and her skin glistened. Nora’s jaw was set, and she looked straight ahead, as if focused on keeping her feet moving one in front of the other.
“Don’t forget why we’re doing this,” I said in between breaths. “What are we running for?”
Everly smiled. “For the sense of accomplishment.”
“To feel like a badass,” Nora said. “And to kick those bitches’ asses.”
“What are we running for?” I asked again, louder this time.
“To show myself I can,” someone said.
“To finish something big.”
“Because I want to be healthier.”
“So I can drink lots of wine.”
Everyone around us laughed.
“I run because I can,” Sophie said. “My dad can barely walk, but my legs work perfectly. And damn it, I’m going to use them.”
A chorus of cheers rose up.
“What about you, Hazel?” Nora asked, her voice breathy.
“I’m running for all the nerdy girls like me.” I reached up to quickly adjust my glasses. “Because we can be fierce too.”
There were more cheers and high fives. Peacock Man caught up with us and gave me a wink. My legs still felt like my shoes had somehow gotten heavier, and I had to focus on my breathing. But the energy of my friends and the runners surrounding us lifted my spirit. I could do this.
Next thing I knew, we’d passed mile eleven. I’d stopped watching our pace, so I hoped we were still on track.
“A half-marathon is fucking long,” Nora said.
“Keep going,” Everly said. “We’ve got this.”
Mile twelve and my thighs were starting to chafe. My feet felt like lead, my mouth was dry, and it was all I could do to keep moving forward.
We’d been following Peacock Man for the last mile. He veered to the side, and through the sudden gap in the crowd, something shiny caught my eye.
Up ahead, at the crest of a small hill, were the Bedazzled Bitches.
“Look.” I pointed. “We almost caught up with them.”
“Oh my god.”
“Holy shit.”
“Hell. Fucking. Yes.”
We all exchanged glances. Shared a brief nod. And ran like we were being chased by zombie clowns.
It was the most terrifying thing I could think of.
My chest heaved, my lungs burning. Sweat dripped from my temples and I vaguely wondered how much I was going to regret this tomorrow and how long it would take before I could walk again. But I ignored the ache in my legs and the sting of chafed skin, and ran as hard as I could.
We crested the hill, closing in on the nightmares in cheap plastic gemstones. A dull roar filled the air and the spectators cheering from the sidelines thickened. The finish line was up ahead, the huge white banner with red letters stretching across the road.
It didn’t matter if we crossed the finish before them. They’d started the race ahead of us, and we’d almost caught up. Our times would be better than theirs. We’d already won.
But we didn’t just want to win. We wanted to crush them.
The road flattened. Pumping our arms, we ran faster. My shoes struck the pavement, every stride sending a jolt through my body.