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Rebecca sends the article to her after the NYC marathon, typing out this is crazy!!! in the body of the email like the friend she’s sending it to is someone she met normally and not because they kept running into one another at various marathons.
Dani reads it on her break, sits in the tiny break room at the back of the campus Starbucks, hunkered down over her phone. Doesn’t believe what she’s reading at first.
The Barkley Marathons: A Survival Guide.
That’s the title of the article.
At first, she thinks it’s a joke.
5 loops, 100 miles, 60 hours.
Then Rebecca texts that her brother’s roommate’s friend did it. Only got a Fun Run—three loops, each of them 20-some miles.
Only.
It’s a joke, not a suggestion. But Dani hardly thinks of anything else for weeks. Tries to imagine what that would be like, running an unmarked trail through the Tennessee wilderness. It’s hard to picture. Tries to research it, but the whole thing is very secretive.
Texts Rebecca: how did your brother’s roommate even register??
Brother’s roommate’s friend, Rebecca corrects, then: let me ask him.
The info she comes back with is absurd.
There’s an essay you have to write. Maybe a quiz. $1.60 entry fee. All of it sent to some obscure email address at a very specific time.
Dani makes up her mind, just like she did when she was in eighth grade and joined the cross country team, a litany of things (versions of herself) she wanted to run from stacking up behind her.
Some people smoke. Some are addicted to cough syrup. Others listen to Gregorian Chant music.
Everyone has something. Dani runs. Some weird form of masochism, maybe. Likes the struggle. The threat of failure.
100 miles in 60 hours offers plenty of each.
--
Her letter of condolences arrives a week after she sends her Why I Should Be Allowed to Run the Barkley essay to some obscure Hotmail account.
Thinks maybe she’s made a mistake when she reads the first line:
It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that you’ve been selected for the 2021 Barkley Marathons.
--
“You’re gonna die,” Edmund says.
“Maybe,” Dani says.
He’s attempting some latte art. His leaf looks like a blob. The woman it belongs to is getting impatient on the other side of the counter.
“You don’t even hike,” he says.
Dani shrugs. “I’ll learn.”
Edmund finishes his art and hands the latte over. Glares when the lady doesn’t leave a tip. “My mom bought me one of those little mini-espresso makers,” he says. “You’re gonna need all the caffeine you can get.”
--
He orders a custom sign that says Dani’s Fueling Station. Drives home one weekend to dig out an old Iowa license plate from his parents’ garage like the letter asked for. Buys the flannel shirt the letter also asked for.
“This guy sounds awesome,” he says. “Top-secret marathon, creepy essay writing, and now he wants a license plate and a shirt? I mean, everything about this screams that you’re—”
“—going to die,” Dani finishes, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I got it the first hundred times you said it.”
--
Dani’s mom probably only lets her go because Edmund is going—because she thinks it’s some romantic trip or something. Dani catches up on the classes she’s missing while Edmund drives them to Tennessee. He’s a terrible driver.
She probably has a better chance of dying in a car wreck than in the middle of the woods during a top-secret ultramarathon.
--
The guy who runs the marathon—Laz—makes a lot of jokes about her running number being “unlucky thirteen.” When she hands over the license plate, he asks if she brought him any corn.
The course isn’t marked at all. She has to rely on some scrimpy cartography she learned on YouTube during the drive, copies the Master Map on her own map as close as possible. Runner Twelve lends her a ruler so she can make grid lines.
“First time?” Runner Twelve asks. It’s humid for April—Tennessee is an adjustment—and her pretty brown hair is frizzing a bit at the ends, making it wavy and finger-soft. Her accent is just completely unfair.
“That obvious?” Dani asks, heart drumming beneath her tongue. Even with the mask, this woman is way too pretty.
“A bit,” says the woman, then she gestures to herself. “Jamie.”
Dani mimics the action. “Dani,” she says.
They don’t shake hands. They bump running sneakers instead.
--
“Wait,” Edmund says. “Number eleven or fifteen?” He twists his head around at the makeshift campground—the runners and the companions they’ve brought, working out of their cars, waiting for the conch to sound.
Laz could blow the conch anytime between Friday at midnight and noon on Saturday. Once he does, they have an hour until the race starts. It’s 10 o’clock on Friday night. Dani’s freaking out.
“Number twelve,” she mutters. “And shut up.”
“There isn’t a number twelve.”
Dani reaches out, places her hand flat on the top of his curly head, and turns it in the correct direction. “Right there.”
“The back of her head is nice.”
Jamie is facing her friends, her back to them.
“Be careful. It’ll be hard to run with an itchy crotch if you wind up doing it in poison oak,” Edmund says.
“Please don’t talk about my crotch,” Dani says.
--
The conch sounds off at 3 AM.
Edmund jumps awake in his lawn chair like he’s been electrocuted. He starts messing with his “minipresso,” trying to make her coffee.
Jamie drinks a Gatorade as the man she’s with loads up her backpack.
Dani starts layering her socks. She’s read horror stories about the briars along the trail.
--
“Nervous?” Jamie asks as they line up.
The starting line is just a rusty, yellow gate.
This is the most people Dani’s been around in a year, everyone pressing close with their masks still on.
“Very,” she says.
Jamie laughs. “Me, too. Last time, I only made it two loops.”
Up ahead, Laz fumbles a cigarette between his lips. Once it's lit, the race will start.
“You can stick with me, if you’d like,” Jamie says next. “However long. Can’t promise I know the course perfectly, but—”
“Yeah, totally,” Dani rushes to say, far too eager to spend the next 60 hours trailing after this beautiful stranger. “If that’s okay.”
Even with the mask in the way, it’s obvious Jamie’s smiling. Dani wonders if she’s running from something, too.
“That’s okay,” Jamie says.
Laz lights the cigarette.
--
Most spots around the course have names. Dani knew them all before she showed up. Now they’re marked on her map.
She just wasn’t expecting the names to be so...accurate.
“Pillars of Doom,” she says, watching her footing. “No kidding.”
It’s a sort of naturally-formed bridge, flat rocks hovering above the leafy valley below. There are big gaps between the rocks.
“Careful,” Jamie calls. She waits on the other side. Pulls her mask off, tucks it into her pocket. Seeing the bottom half of her face for the first time nearly trips Dani up.
“Sorry,” Jamie says when she catches up. “Is it okay if I take my mask off?”
Dani nods, pulling at her own mask. Can’t think of a polite way to say fuck yes.
--
Laz plants books along the loop. They’re meant to rip out the page that corresponds with their running number to prove they’re going the right way. Jamie finds the first one under a log.
“Always with the smart-ass titles,” she says, ripping out page twelve of the book.
It’s Where the Sidewalk Ends. Dani’s page has a drawing of some sad kids, a sinking boat.
--
Making it up “Danger Dave’s Climbing Wall” is a feat worth putting on a resume. Dani makes a mental note to do just that when she gets home. Jamie chugs almost an entire bottle of water at the top. Dani gets lost looking at her hands, her mouth.
“We make a good team,” Jamie says.
They had to help each other, pull each other up.
Jamie’s very pretty; Dani’s very sweaty and tired. It’s still Loop 1.
She laughs, nervous. “Yeah. We do.”
--
She learns things as they go.
Jamie is Dani’s age, has two brothers. Works in a flower shop in London. Has a cat named Ginger. Brought her two (married) best friends along because they insisted, want to make sure she takes care of herself during.
“I think they’re trying to make up for my whole...terrible upbringing thing,” she explains, ripping page twelve out of Die Softly. “Owen packed enough socks for me to wear three pairs every loop.”
Dani sticks page thirteen in a Ziploc bag. Stuffs it in her pocket. “I think Eddie just wanted to play barista in the woods.”
“Eddie your boyfriend?” Jamie asks.
Dani hopes she’s not imagining the keen interest in Jamie’s eyes. “No,” she says. “No boyfriend.”
Jamie stares. “Huh. Good to know.”
--
Part of the race involves going beneath an active prison. Dani’s only okay with this in theory.
“I’m scared of the dark,” she says as Jamie leads her through the tunnel under the penitentiary.
“Me too,” Jamie says. “Come on.”
She throws out a hand. Dani grabs it.
--
“Seven hours and fifty-four minutes,” Laz announces when they reach the yellow gate again. “Making good time.”
Edmund is practically bouncing by the time Dani gets to camp. The Dani’s Fueling Station sign hangs crookedly in the mouth of their tent. “You’re alive!” he yells, throwing his arms around her. “And sweaty.” He pulls back with a grimace.
Dani ignores him. Some of the briars cut through her socks. She has long gashes on her shins she needs to clean.
She’s so tired.
They only have 52 hours to go another 80 miles.
She’s working up the courage to ask Jamie if she’ll put up with her for another loop when Jamie calls her name from her car. Says, “You wanna head out in 20 minutes?” while Hannah helps change her socks, while Owen shovels oatmeal down her throat.
Relief like poison, Dani calls back, “Yeah!”
Edmund has that twinkle in his eye that she hates. The one that says I know something you don’t want me to know.
“Does she like espresso?” he asks. “I’m gonna make more espresso.”
Dani digs through the trunk. “Do I need to cut you off?” she asks.
Edmund doesn’t answer.
--
Loop 2. The place on the map marked “Zipline.” New numbers, same books. Jamie rips out page 52 from The Body. Back on the trail. Jamie asks about Dani’s classes, job, family.
“What made you want to do this?” Jamie asks.
“I like to run,” she says.
“Well, for the record,” Jamie says when they’re nearing the yellow gate again, the sun blinking down in the trees behind her, “you’re good at it.”
Dani blinks. “Thanks.”
Bone-weary and run-sore, the world looks golden, soft. Perfect.
--
Jamie says she only needs 20 minutes before they start Loop 3. Dani insists on 30.
“How’s it going ?” Edmund asks, rubbing Biofreeze on Dani’s shins while she eats straight from a can of spaghetti-o's.
“I’m dying,” she says.
“You’re under-caffeinated.”
A shadow falls over them. It’s Owen, hands stuffed into his pockets.
“Hi,” he says. “Sorry to interrupt. Owen.” He looks tired behind his mask. He thrusts a hand out and Dani shakes it. “Jamie said you might have caffeine.”
Edmund grins. “Dani. It’s happening.”
“Oh my God.”
He turns to Owen. “Welcome to Dani’s Fueling Station,” he says, standing to grab his minipresso.
Dani can see Jamie roll her eyes from across the campsite.
--
Half the runners have already quit. A couple head out with Dani and Jamie this time.
It’s getting dark. Dani’s headlamp bobs on the ground ahead of her, lighting the way. It’s very quiet.
“The first time I ran a mile, I puked,” she blurts, feeling so stupid she wants to die.
“Well, hey,” Jamie says, “you’re evolving.”
The next book is called The Idiot.
--
Testicle Spectacle, Raw Dog Falls, Danger Dave’s Climbing Wall, Jamie too pretty for her own good, confessing to always clapping along with the Friends theme song. Dani laughing, a stitch in her side, talking about cross country in high school, student teaching disasters. Jamie yawning, Dani sharing some of the coffee Edmund hid in her pack.
“Terrible barista,” Jamie says, looking the thermos over. “And flirt. Didn’t even put your number on the side.”
“Next time,” Dani says like there’ll be a next time. Smiles till her cheeks hurt.
--
Back at camp. Dani insists on an hour of sleep. Edmund is right at home serving everyone coffee.
It’s 7 AM and her tent is full of strangers.
Jamie’s tent is nice. Dani didn’t know they made double-wide sleeping bags.
“I like the extra room,” Jamie says, “but this works too.”
They lay down side-by-side, tired and sore. Dani wonders if 38 hours is long enough to call it love.
--
“Not even two days and you’re already sleeping together,” Edmund says, helping her tape up her battered feet.
Dani nods to an empty spaghetti-o’s can, the dollar sign drawn on it in Sharpie. “Is that a tip jar?”
Edmund sighs. “I just want to be appreciated.”
She finds a quarter in the gravel as she’s lacing up her sneakers. Tosses it in the can. “There,” she says. “Now do your job, coffee boy.”
--
The briars are easier to see in the sunlight.
“I'm so tired,” Dani says. She knows now why she hadn’t been able to imagine it.
“Don’t quit on me now, partner,” Jamie says, a vision in dirt-smeared running gear with a messy ponytail.
Partner.
Something tugs in Dani’s stomach. 43 hours, them vs. the world, and they're still only seven letters to each other.
--
Son-of-a-Bitch Ditch. A break. Dani’s got a granola bar. Jamie’s got something called PowerGel. Just them for miles and miles. Sitting in the leaves. So close Dani can smell Jamie’s soap, the spring air, something florally; the wilds of this world condensed into one woman.
“This is terrible,” Jamie says, finishing off Dani’s coffee again.
“Seems like you really hated it,” Dani teases.
Jamie crinkles her nose. “Still no number on the side.”
Dani’s heart is fit to burst. “As soon as I have my phone back,” she says. “After we win.”
“Holdin' you to that.”
They make a toast right there, in the middle of nowhere.
--
It could be perseverance or willpower or it could just be Jamie—the primal urge to impress a pretty girl—but Dani is one of two runners who’ll be heading out on Loop 5.
“I’m really proud of you,” Edmund says at camp. He has the worst coffee breath in the world.
She hugs him. “I need dry socks.”
Apparently, she’s out. Owen offers her an extra pair, saying, “Any friend of Jamie’s…”
With two runners on the last loop, they’ll each start in a different direction. It’s already dark. Jamie won’t meet her eyes.
It’s supposed to be a race now. Really, really. Dani feels sick.
Takes her time getting ready. Hugging Edmund. Letting the other runners pat her on the back. Fills up an extra thermos— Hawkeyes —and takes it over to Jamie’s camp.
“Won’t have mine to steal from,” she says.
Jamie nods. “Guess not.”
Dani doesn’t hug her. She wants to. She doesn’t.
--
Jamie takes the last loop counter-clockwise. Dani leaves clockwise a minute later. Everyone at camp sees them off. She’s tired. So tired.
Imagines Jamie making her way down Rat Jaw alone. Watches her feet on the Pillars of Doom.
--
It’s worse doing it alone. Dani wants to give up. Thinks of that first mile, eighth grade. How she kept running. From something, someone. Didn’t know what.
Knows now: Beth, the shift manager; the girl in the tutoring center; her advisor and the pictures she keeps of her wife in her office.
Mainly: herself.
Thinks of Jamie coming towards her on this, their victory lap. Her pretty eyes and her pink lips. The way she scrunches her nose up when she laughs. Anticipates her around every corner.
Not running away this time.
Well, hey, she thinks; you’re evolving.
--
It's easier to run towards something. After a while, there’s a figure in the distance.
“Fancy meeting you out here,” Jamie says at the top of a hill.
“I’m gonna kiss you,” Dani tells her. “If that’s okay.”
Jamie looks surprised, then delighted. “That’s okay,” she says.
Dani takes two tired steps into her space and kisses her, tastes the coffee on her tongue, the tang of that weird PowerGel .
Jamie’s hands cup her face as she kisses back. Laughs against Dani’s mouth. Says, “This is a really long first date.”
Dani laughs. Thinks about the finish line, closer than ever.
--
Jamie beats her by two minutes. That just means Dani gets to run into her arms.
“Whoa,” Edmund says, bright in the afternoon sun. “What did I miss?”
“We snogged a bit,” Jamie tells him.
Owen snorts. “Classy.”
Jamie flips him off. Kisses Dani again, right there in front of everybody gathered. Rests their foreheads together while Dani romanticizes FaceTime calls and plane tickets. Considers mastering the art of standing still.
Arms wrapped around Jamie’s neck. Kissing the tip of her nose. “We won,” she says.
Jamie grins. Says, “Yeah, we did.”
In their victory picture with Laz, they're still wrapped around each other.
--
Sleeping for twelve hours at a Holiday Inn. Holding hands at a Starbucks while Edmund pours his can of tips into the tip jar. Dani borrows a pen from a barista and writes her phone number on the side of Jamie’s cup. Kisses her goodbye in the parking lot, making promises to call.
Leaving Tennessee, her phone buzzes.
Hey, lucky thirteen, Jamie’s texted.
Edmund’s talking about caffeine crashes at a red light. Dani smiles at her phone. Types hey, hits send, and the light turns green.
