They hit the roads a little later than planned, though there's still enough time to see the sun. Hell, they’ll even see it set. He’s got his mind on other things but so does she. And they don’t mind. In those seven minutes together, they not only warm-up their legs but their minds as well. There’s something about today that feels so damn good. His legs start to pick up and soon enough he is off into the distance. She is not tempted to catch up but she doesn't slow down. It's off to their own places that they go.
He looks back at his past: countless days spent on the roads, the grass, in the mud, on rubber, moving in circles. There is still time, he says.
She looks ahead: no one in front, only an empty road. The possibilities are endless.
He knows the times he has run. And how close he has come. But is it worth it? She knows what she wants to run, but can she do it? What's the point, when no one else is counting?
He is out for 13 miles. She, 10. Each with a mile to go, they meet again at 862 feet of elevation, the biggest climb of this jaunt. Neither one expected to be together again, even if only for 10 seconds. His legs continue to glide, in sync for the last seventy or so minutes. "Nice job." she says. "Likewise." He replies. And passes again.
It's now dark and not a street light in sight. The final 800 meters feel so smooth. At the stop of the wristwatch, it's not totally impossible to think that 26.2 could feel this good. It's just a matter of time, that desire to make the effort and the heart to take the risk. They may not hold the same pace but they've got what it takes to win their own race.
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