Page 12 of In the Long Run

GEN

There’s something special about being up early.

It’s my favourite time of day. I creep past Caleb’s open door because he didn’t finish work until eleven, but my feet flatten against the hardwood floors when I open my phone and find his text about spending the night at Lawson’s place.

We only have a few flatmate rules – don’t use each other’s stuff without asking, make sure all extra-curricular nocturnal activities and guests are respectful and not obnoxiously loud (this was implemented after he brought home a cowgirl from a costume party who wouldn’t stop yeehaw-ing) – but the only one that really matters is our promise to always let each other know if we’re not coming home.

Now that I don’t need to worry about disturbing Caleb, I flick on the lounge room light, blinking a few times until the charcoal leather couch and faux designer coffee table come into focus.

My dry washing from yesterday is still in the basket and I rifle through it, searching for my favourite running top, a seafoam long sleeve that was a Christmas present from Meredith and Bernie.

Supposedly this brand has the best sweat wicking technology.

It’s silly to bypass the stack of similar tops in my drawers, but Meredith always says this colour complements my skin tone.

Wanting to look nice has nothing to do with the fact that Knox is going to be there.

The shirt’s wedged underneath endless pairs of running tights.

Mum might be right about me needing to make more effort with my appearance.

At least I exercise in my workout gear, unlike the legions of people who wear activewear daily and never break a sweat.

That’s got to count for something, right?

And, while I’m on this little journey of self-reflection, I’m going to give myself a bonus point for maybe making a new friend.

Something slippery coils through me at the thought of Knox being my friend. I bat it away, shuffling into the kitchen.

Caleb’s already stocked the coffee maker and left a mug under the spout for me.

Anyone who says you need a lot of friends has clearly never had a truly platonic soulmate.

Though part of that is accepting they will tease you at every opportunity.

Caleb has added a body to the printout of Knox’s Army ID on the fridge, and let’s just say the muscle-to-camouflage-loincloth ratio is chef’s kiss.

I stuff a few tissues and the spare key I keep looped on a hair tie into the waist pockets of my running tights while I wait for my coffee, tidying away the clean dishes and watering the plants along our windowsill.

When the coffee machine beeps, I take my drink out on to our front balcony.

Morning colours streak across the sky and a misty haze hangs above the water.

The scent of sage and rosemary from our balcony herbs mixes with the faint trace of lavender from Eugene’s courtyard. It’s quiet and picturesque and perfect.

Then I see him . Holy moly, a person could find religion watching Knox stretch.

He’s folded his body in half, his fingertips touching the ground between his splayed feet as he leans to one side, stands and repeats the motion.

Everything about him screams power and strength.

My coffee sits untouched on the verandah rail as he jogs on the spot and adds in some arm circles.

Every motion is controlled, precise. He moves with a surety and confidence that can’t be anything other than attractive.

Madeleine and Chouquette sniff the ground around him, and he stops to talk to them, scratch their heads. When he pushes a foot in front of his body and drops into a low lunge, I do my best to not stare at his ass.

And by my best, I mean I do absolutely nothing.

He tilts his hips and thrusts forward and I reach for my coffee but end up with a handful of freshly planted tarragon.

‘Get it together, Gen,’ I whisper to myself.

I ignore the tiny voice in my mind that sounds an awful lot like my mother and whispers something about how maybe with the right person, things would just be right?

But how can I trust myself to make a decision like that when I’m still living with the aftermath of my last two mistakes?

I stow my backpack with Meredith’s flyers under a leafy gum, glancing around the crowded park in front of me.

‘Are there always this many people?’ Knox asks as we line up for the pre-run briefing.

‘Pretty much.’ It’s a guess. I’ve only been to parkrun a few times. Social running’s still a new concept for me. I fiddle with my watch, getting ready to record the activity.

The Run Director gives a brief speech about the course – it’s an out and back, which isn’t my favourite; I’ll take a loop every single time – and the standard run through of safety information and rules.

I survey the group around me and spot the Annas, noticing that I’m not the only one watching them.

‘What’s your plan?’ Knox asks.

I haven’t gotten any further than: ‘run’. Bernie’s still working on my marathon training program, and I always do my long run on Sundays so today’s five kilometres is going to be a cruise along.

‘I’m going to take it easy,’ I say. ‘Don’t feel like you have to run with me or anything.

’ While most of my thoughts about Knox’s quads have revolved around how they’d make an excellent shelf to sit on, I’m also confident I won’t be able to keep up with him.

Embarrassing myself in front of Knox isn’t on today’s agenda.

‘My buddy’s over there.’ He points and there’s Brody standing next to the Annas. He’s not the only guy hanging around the willowy blonde bombshells either. When Knox catches Brody’s attention, he starts making his way over to us.

‘How are my favourite lovebirds?’ Brody asks, slapping Knox on the back and lifting my hand to kiss it.

‘We’re fine. I mean, I’m fine. We’re not a “we”.’ There goes the plan to not embarrass myself. My hand flops back to my side. ‘Do you normally come to parkrun?’

Brody slings an arm around Knox’s shoulder and pulls him into a headlock, ruffling his hair. ‘Couldn’t resist spending time with this bonehead. Gotta bank as much time as I can before he leaves again.’

‘And bum a free breakfast afterwards?’ Knox pushes away from his friend.

Brody’s grin is instantaneous. ‘If you insist, mate.’

‘Eugene’s not up to cooking,’ Knox warns.

‘As if I’m going to pass up a chance to watch him make you his bitch boy in the kitchen. You should join us, Gen. Word on the street is Forty rocks an apron.’

Their easy friendship is endearing, but I don’t want to intrude.

‘I have some work to do, but thanks,’ I say, thinking of the pile of papers I brought home from Eugene and Knox’s last night.

Not to mention the influx of invoices that need to be settled for my new bookstore clients.

I want to get a head start on them before end of the month busyness begins.

The starting horn goes off and everyone jogs forward, arms rising in unison to activate sports watches, because does a run even count if there’s no record of it?

Two hundred metres from the start, Knox is still next to me.

Brody took off like a gunshot, throwing a confident ‘See you at the end’ at us.

‘Don’t let me hold you back,’ I say to Knox, waving him forward. ‘I’m fine on my own.’

In fact, after the last few years, I’ve learnt it’s much safer that way.

‘I’ll meet you after? We can walk back together. Or get a ride with Yeti?’

I nod and purposely slow down, letting the distance between us grow until he’s nothing but another dark-haired head among the crowd.

The Annas are scarily gorgeous. Five kilometres of everything from pavement to a section of muddy fire trail and they could still sashay down a runway and make the other models look tired.

One of them was even pushing a double pram, proving that not all heroes wear capes.

My calves are splattered with mud and beads of sweat trickle down my forehead.

I wipe my face with the neck of my shirt, pushing away the strands of hair that are stuck to my skin.

‘Just go up and say hello,’ I mutter, using the stack of pamphlets as a fan. ‘Mention the run club, invite them along.’

Wet grass squelches under my feet and I step carefully around the softer sections. Not sure why I bother though. My socks are already wet, which all runners know means my day’s ruined. Hopefully I can avoid visiting Blister City.

I catch snippets of whispered conversations and even a couple of sneaky selfie attempts as I edge closer, weaving between the clumps of people stretching and chatting.

‘Hi,’ I say too loudly when I finally reach the Annas.

They smile politely and murmur greetings, and I wonder what it’s like to be them.

To have people constantly watching you. I don’t really have to think about it too hard, though.

The days after everything went to shit with Tim are burned into my memory.

But that was notoriety and scandal, not interest or esteem.

And I never signed up for it. I never signed up for any of the crap he put me through, yet I was the one who lost everything. My job, my work friends, my confidence.

‘Are you okay?’ one of the Annas asks, jolting me back to the present.

I launch into my spiel, stammering about Mere’s gym and run club. My sentences are littered with ‘ums’ because I’ve never spoken to anyone famous before and these women are TikTok royalty.

The Annas accept the pamphlets, flipping them over and talking about how run clubs are all the rage and how their feeds are full of them.

‘They’re the new Tinder,’ one of the Annas says, with a twinkle in her eye. I think she’s Anneke, but she might be Annaliese. Annabeth is the one with kids.

‘Oh my God, yes. My friend started going to one last year and now she’s engaged to a guy she met there,’ Maybe-Annaliese says.

‘It makes sense if you think about it.’ Annabeth crouches to pick up a dropped sippy cup, handing it back to a snowy-white haired toddler with bright blue eyes.

‘Relationships are always stronger when you have things in common. And someone with a commitment to cardio? It can only mean good things in the bedroom.’

We all laugh and for a split second I picture what it would be like to be friends with the Annas. I bet they’re not short on friends though.

‘So you’ll consider coming along?’ I ask. Meredith would be sending calendar invites right now and trying to sign them up for the gym’s newsletter but that’s not me. This has been enough effort for my introverted self.

‘Sure.’ Anneke slides the pamphlet into the side pocket of her leopard-print tights.

I breathe out a sigh of relief, knowing there’s an emoji-heavy text message coming my way when Meredith hears the good news. ‘Thanks so much.’

Anneke’s phone rings and she checks the screen. ‘Oh, damn. We have to go. The photographer’s moved today’s shoot forward. Sorry to cut this short, Gen, but we’ll see you soon, yeah?’

‘Absolutely.’ I nod.

Buoyed by the confidence I always feel when I can tick something off my to-do list, I march up to another group. I can do this. Be friendly and nice. Talking to strangers isn’t so scary when you have a purpose or something to hide behind, even if it’s an A5 pamphlet.

I’m approaching another group when Knox and Brody arrive, bracketing me between their bodies. Not going to lie, it’s a pretty good sandwich to be a part of. A fine sheen of sweat gives them both the kind of glow my tinted moisturiser promises and rarely delivers.

‘What are these?’ Brody plucks a flyer from the pile in my hands.

‘My sister’s started a run club in the lead-up to Brigitte’s Run.’

‘Gen’s doing the marathon,’ Knox says, and I swear there’s something like pride in his tone.

‘Damn. That’s badass. When is it?’ Brody asks.

‘Mid-September.’

Brody pulls out his phone, which has one of those massive cases – the kind that you could drop off a fifty-storey building and it’d bounce. ‘Interesting. I’ve been thinking about signing up for that myself,’ he says, before shooing us away when a pretty blonde heads towards him.

‘Is he always like this?’ I ask, arranging the remaining flyers into a neat pile.

‘Yep.’ Knox lifts his chin and gestures towards my hands. ‘Want some help handing those out?’

People are starting to leave, calling out goodbyes as they break away from the grassy knoll that surrounds the marshalling station.

‘Please.’ I hand him half of the remaining stack.

It’s apparent immediately that no one can say no to Knox.

The key is his piercing eye contact. Forgetting what I’m supposed to be doing, I watch women flick their ponytails and bat their eyelashes as they take the flyers.

A brave redhead squeezes his arm. Not wanting to look like a weirdo or address the annoying pinching feeling underneath my ribs, I spin on my heel and thrust my own pile of flyers at everyone I pass.

When I’m done, I wait far enough away from all the parkrun volunteers that it doesn’t look like I want to talk to them.

Soon Knox makes his way over to me. His cheeks are red and he shakes his head a couple of times like he’s having a silent conversation with himself.

When he reaches me, he passes me the last few flyers, and for a split second I imagine slipping my palm into his.

Walking back home together. Having someone.

But I know from previous experience it’ll end in tears. My tears, so no, thank you.

Brody bounds over, his big booming laugh racing ahead of him. ‘What time should I get to Run Club tomorrow to help you set up?’ he asks.

I falter, missing a step and stumbling. ‘You don’t have to come, Brody.’

‘First of all, my friends call me Yeti. And yes, I do. I’ve got to start training. I just signed up for the marathon. So did this clown.’ He hitches his thumb towards Knox, who raises his hands in a ‘what the hell’ gesture.

‘I might not still be here then. My leave’s finishing in early September, unless Eug needs me to stay longer.’

‘So you fly back and visit. Check on Eugene. Run 42.2 kilometres. Make a weekend of it. It’ll be good for you.’

‘Yeti.’

‘Forty.’

‘Eugene and Celeste agree, too, by the way. Got the official stamp of approval from the group chat.’ Yeti’s lips stretch into a grin that splits his face in half as he squishes in between us, throwing his arms around our shoulders. ‘It’s going to be so much fun. So, tomorrow. What time?’

‘Six-thirty,’ I say.

‘We can pick you up.’

‘Oh, no, that’s okay. I’ll meet you there.’ And damned if some of my nerves about tomorrow don’t ease, knowing there will be two familiar faces in the marathon group.