Best Mistake ︱Pedri González

37

Luciana's POV

The next morning, I found myself standing in front of the track, nerves swirling in my stomach. I hadn't been back here since moving from London, and the memories of training, competing, and pushing myself to the limit came rushing back. I adjusted my jacket, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety. This was a step I wasn't sure I'd ever take again, but now that I was here, it felt right.

Juan Diaz, my former coach, was waiting near the entrance. I hadn't seen him since I moved back to Spain, but he looked the same—his sharp eyes, salt-and-pepper hair, and that familiar focused expression that had pushed me to be my best. I walked up, and his face lit up with a warm smile as he pulled me into a hug.

"Luciana! It's been too long," he said, pulling back to look at me. "You look good. I've missed seeing you around the track."

I smiled, feeling the comfort of being around someone who had always believed in me. "It's good to see you too, Coach. I've missed this place more than I realized."

Juan nodded, his eyes scanning the track like he was already analyzing it for our session. "I was surprised when you reached out. When you moved back to Spain, and I wasn't sure if you'd ever get back into running."

I sighed, trying to find the right words. "Yeah, it's been a lot. I stopped everything when I moved back, mostly because of Dante. I thought... I thought my life was going in one direction, and I left track behind."

Juan's expression softened as he listened. He'd known me long enough to understand what had happened between Dante and me without me having to spell it out. "I get it. Life takes us places we don't always expect. But you've got that look in your eyes again—the one that says you're not done yet."

I nodded, feeling a lump in my throat. "I want to come back, Coach. Even if it's not to compete like before, I just want to feel that rush again, to find that part of me I lost."

He smiled, clapping his hands together. "Then let's see what you've still got. Come on, let's head to the track."

We walked toward the lanes, the familiar lines and markers stretching out in front of me. It felt like coming home. Juan handed me a pair of blocks, and I set them up, the motions instinctive even after all this time. My heart pounded as I crouched down, adjusting my stance, feeling the tension in my legs.

"Alright," Juan called out, standing to the side. "Let's start with some block starts. Just focus on your form—don't worry about speed or anything else right now."

I nodded, taking a deep breath and getting into position. The sun was warm on my back, and the track beneath my feet felt solid and familiar. I closed my eyes for a moment, remembering how it used to feel—the adrenaline, the focus, the sheer power of launching forward.

"On your mark... get set... go!"

I exploded out of the blocks, my legs driving hard against the track. The rhythm came back almost immediately, muscle memory taking over. I sprinted down the lane, each stride powerful and controlled. As I slowed to a jog and then a walk, I turned back to see Juan grinning.

"You haven't lost it, Luciana," he said, clapping his hands. "You still have that power and speed. Your form looks great. It's like you never left."

I laughed, feeling the burn in my muscles but also a rush of pride. "It felt good, Coach. I was scared I'd be rusty."

Juan shook his head, smiling. "You've got the talent, Luciana. You always have. And you're still young—you've got plenty of time to get back into it, if that's what you want."

I nodded, feeling more certain with each passing second. "I do. I really do. I'm tired of feeling like I've lost myself. This... this is who I am."

Juan walked over, placing a hand on my shoulder. "We can work on this together, like old times. No pressure, no expectations—just you finding your stride again. And if you decide to compete, that's up to you. But you've got the talent, and the rest will come back with time."

We spent the next hour working on drills—block starts, form adjustments, even a few sprints to see how my endurance held up. Every step felt like reconnecting with a piece of myself I'd buried. Juan's guidance was steady and familiar, pushing me without overwhelming me. He corrected my stance, reminded me of the little details I'd forgotten, and encouraged me at every turn.

As I wrapped up my last sprint, I was out of breath but exhilarated. I leaned against the fence, wiping the sweat from my forehead, and looked at Juan.

"Thank you," I said, my voice full of gratitude. "For everything. I didn't realize how much I needed this."

Juan nodded, smiling. "You've got this, Luciana. Don't doubt yourself. You're not starting over—you're just picking up where you left off."

As I left the track, my legs aching in the best way, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. I wasn't sure where this journey would take me, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was on the right path. I was taking back control, one stride at a time, and it felt incredible.