Hit Count by Chris Lynch

Author:Chris Lynch
Language: eng, eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Algonquin Books
Published: 2015-04-14T16:00:00+00:00

A New Year

“You want to come running, with me?” I said into the phone as I pulled on my socks.

“Yes, I do,” Sandy said.

“Listen, I’m okay with that, Sandy, but I’m gonna tell you now that I have to keep up my pace. If you can keep up, then great, but you can’t expect me to slow down. Holidays are over. This is training for real now, not for fun.”

“Okay, sir. Yes, sir. I’ll try not to be a drag on your training, sir.”

“Good,” I said, ignoring her mockery because the “sir” thing sounded pretty nice. “I’ll come by your place in a little bit. While you’re waiting, you should do some stretching. Hamstrings, Achilles tendons, calves . . . Do you know these stretches, or will you need me to show you when I get there?”

“Ohhh,” she drawled “ I will neeeed you to show silly little me.”

“Hey, wise guy, I just don’t want to see you get hurt. And it is cold, but don’t overdress. Layers are key. If you come outside in some old bulky sweats—well, you might as well just go right back inside again.”

“Arlo?”

“Yes.”

“Are you trying to make me regret this idea? Because if you’d just rather not have company on your run, then I’d rather you just came out and said it. Because I’d hate to think you would think you needed to go to all this trouble just to discourage me. Or worse, that you are seriously this much of a snore on the subject.”

I paused long enough to let her think about her behavior.

“I am not a snore, on any subject. And I would love your company.”

“Good. Shut up now and get over here.” She hung up then, which was probably for the best.

By the time I had reached Sandy’s house, she was out front and running through her stretches of all the important areas.

“Well done,” I said.

“Thanks, Coach. How long do you usually like to run?”

“Sometimes three miles, sometimes five.”

“How ’bout we do three today?” she said, bouncing up and down and toggling her neck muscles all around.

“Of course,” I said, giving her a minibow. “Remember, though, don’t tear out at too quick a pace or you’ll never make it.”

“Right,” she said. “Okay, I’ll watch it. So from right here if we go straight up Belgrade, to the private tennis courts on Cypress, go around the tennis courts, and come straight back, that’s a solid three miles right there.”

“Really?” I said as she stretched her calves once more, pushing up against a maple tree in the corner of the yard.

“Really,” she said when she was done. “Ready, and we’re off.”

And so she was.

“Pace yourself,” I reminded her, hoping at the same time she wasn’t planning on a lot of chatter during the run.

As it turned out, there wasn’t another word of chatter until the run was done.

“Okay, okay, okay,” I said, striding up to the front of her house at least two minutes behind her. She was sitting on the porch

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