HEAL YOU | JENLISA

THIRTY-FOUR

LISA

* * *

I BREAK EVERY SPEED LIMIT AS I RIDE AWAY FROM JENNIE. I don’t care if I get in an accident. Maybe part of me even wants it to happen.

I’ve lost everything. My job, my girlfriend, my fucking life, it’s all gone, and I don’t know how to deal with the wreckage that’s left over. The wreckage that is me.

Five years ago, nothing could have shaken my confidence this way. I walked my own path with swagger, covering myself with tattoos, giving the world the middle finger. But success seduced me. People seduced me. And since then, I’ve been fighting to be the woman they think I am without even realizing it.

That fight is over now. I don’t have anything to offer anymore. No fame, no fortune, no future. When I raced to see Jennie, what I needed was reassurance that those things don’t matter, that me, the person I am, is enough.

That didn’t happen.

When I reach the city, I head straight for the liquor store. My plan is to buy ten bottles of booze, hole up in my apartment for days, and drink until my brain sloshes around in my skull. But when I’m stuck at a red light, I catch sight of my gym. Through the windows, I can see a bunch of people on the treadmills—an old guy, a hot chick, some rich ladies in neon-colored yoga outfits, and a ripped dude who looks like Rambo. They’re running, sweating, completely lost in their physical suffering. The light turns green right as I notice the empty treadmill by the wall, and I make a split-second decision and pull over.

Inside, I put on the spare workout clothes that I keep in the locker that I rent from the gym and claim that last treadmill. The trainers—cool guys, I know them all because I’ve been going here for a long time—try to chat and shoot the shit, but when I crank up the speed on my machine and start running, they get the idea and leave me alone. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to listen to music. I don’t want to watch the TV. I only want to run.

So that’s what I do. For hours.

When I catch myself thinking about Jennie and my job, I run harder, like I can escape everything if I’m fast enough. That works for a while, but I can’t run full-out forever. Eventually, my strength fades, and I slow down enough that thoughts creep back to me. The events of the day replay in my head. Learning that the LVMH deal won’t go through unless I step down. Seeing Anna smile as that guy announced their engagement, seeing him kiss her.

Tears threaten to spill down my face, and I swipe at my eyes like sweat is stinging them and max out the speed on the machine again. I run and I run and I run. Until I can’t anymore. And then I drag myself home, sleep, eat, and repeat the same cycle on Saturday.

Sunday morning, my body is sore. But not sore enough. I need a longer, more grueling run, something that’ll push me to my limits and truly clear my mind.

As I load up on granola and high-calorie healthy shit and ice my knee, I watch YouTube videos of people running the Grand Canyon in a day. Apparently, this is called a “rim to rim to rim” or R2R2R run because you go from one rim to another and then back, for a total of more than forty miles. Everything that I see cautions runners that this is not for the faint of heart, lots of planning is needed, you might die, blah blah blah. I’m not exactly mentally stable right now, so this seems like the best idea I’ve ever had. Impulsively, I book myself a ticket on the next flight to Phoenix, Arizona, arrange a car rental, nab a room at the hotel close to the South Rim due to a last-minute cancellation, and go to the airport, planning my route and water logistics on the way there.

After all, what do I have to lose?

Not a single fucking thing.

When I arrive in Arizona a couple of hours later, I go shopping for all the stuff that I’ll need, like a hydration pack, lightweight layers of clothes, trail food and energy packs, sunblock and lip balm, a hat, a headlamp, et cetera, and then I make the long drive to Grand Canyon Village, check into my hotel room, and head to bed early.