Finishing Crazy

Finishing Crazy (29)

I step out of the car trembling all over. Bryan steps out of the car on the passenger side and walks over to me, putting his left arm around me in a friendly way that he knows will steady my shaking. And it does.

I need his support in this, so I wrap my arm around his waist from the back.

"Are you scared, Kyra?" He asks me, in a soft voice that calms me, if only a little.

I can't lie to him. Not now. No more pretending to be invincible- this is when everything that I've worked for pays off or doesn't- that final deciding moment. Pretending won't help.

"Terrified," I say.

"I know." He responds, not giving me air-filled empty words of pseudo comfort.

For that, I am grateful.

By the time I have my race number pinned on my back, it's only fifteen minutes until the starting line-up. I have to stretch now.

I'm so off-balance that I keep one hand on Bryan's shoulder while I stretch for most of the standing stretches, but he doesn't say anything about it. When there's only five minutes to line-up, Bryan tells me I'd better get up there so I can be closer to the front.

I follow him numbly, to scared to feel much of anything else. 

Suddenly we're at the starting line and I see Bryan turn to me. He looks me in the eye and tilts my chin up to look back at him. 

"I love you." He whispers, kisses my forehead softly, and then turns to leave.

And then, as he fades away into the crowd, I whisper back, "I love you too."

I should be at least mildly surprised at his actions, but I'm not. In every way, this was exactly what I pictured Bryan doing.

But then, the five minute warning sounds and I desperately need him back. Why isn't he running this race with me? What are we doing, leaving each other at the starting line? There's no doubt he's just as in shape as I am.

But then I remember he isn't, because of those crucial weeks we didn't talk to each other, and didn't train together. Because of that, I am sitting here on this starting line alone, and not with Bryan. Because of that, I'm going to have to finish what I started how I started out doing it- alone.

Two minutes.

When the announcer says those two words, I'm hit with this undeniable terror that surfaces, one, no- a hundred times worse than the one I felt getting out of the car. I fidget with the top of my swimsuit, trying to distract myself, but to no avail. Time passes quickly, too quickly, and I begin to ignore the announcer and count down the time myself.

One minute.

I'm shaking so badly, and my vision is blurring that even though it's crystal clear outside and the lake is well-lit, I can hardly see the water in front of me.

Thirty seconds.

I want to run, run away from this whole race. I can't fail. I can't. So I shouldn't try, because if I don't try I can't fail. Right?

Five seconds.

I take my mark, despite all my internal protests.

Four.

I can't stop now.

Three.

This is what I've worked for ever since summer started.

Two

No turning back.

One.