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We were separated once we got near the starting line.  He was hosting the thing and had to wade into the center of the chaos, so I waved him on, hanging back.
I could do a 5k, I knew it.  But I hated that I’d be the slowest one, and everyone knew why just by glancing at me.  Even after years of dealing with it, it was a difficult pill to swallow.
Still, I swallowed it every day and did my best.  Today was no different, just a bit more public.
There might have been people I knew there, I wasn’t sure.  I didn’t look for anyone.  I didn’t want to slow anyone down.
I suddenly wished I hadn’t come.  It wasn’t like I’d really be spending time with Tristan.  But it was also too late to back out.
Still, I briefly considered hailing a taxi and just cutting out.
For some reason I didn’t.  For some reason I stayed.
I caught some glimpses of the spectacle that was Tristan and all of the girls from his show towards the front of the line.
The assistant/showgirls were all wearing white belly shirts and white hot pants, as they posed with him for photographers.  Briefly, I got close enough to see him putting his arms around some of them for the pictures, and by them, I mean that one of them was Mona.
I got far away after that, wondering why he needed to have ten showgirl/assistants in his act, and why they all had to sport double Ds.  It was depressing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I was at the very back when the race started.  It only made sense.
I started moving briskly as soon as the starting shot was fired.  I didn’t look up or to the side, just down at me feet as I trudged along
I’d been doing this for about five minutes when I saw his shoes come into view, walking beside mine.  “You don’t have to slow down for me,” I told him without looking up.
He grabbed my hand.  “Stop it,” he said quietly.
I kept going, kept watching the ground, and moving.
“Is your knee hurting?” he asked.
“It’s fine,” I said.  It was sore.  It was always sore, but I was very used to that.  “I’m not what I used to be, huh?”  That had slipped out, and I wasn’t happy about it.
I tried not to look at my bum knee or my barren belly.
“Stop it,” he said again, halting me in the middle of everything.  “You’re everything you were.  You’re still you.  The rest are details.”
I wanted to take strong exception to that statement, but I couldn’t think of a single thing to say that wouldn’t come out sounding like self-pity, so I kept my peace, and started walking again.
“Is there a reason that every single one of your assistants is sporting a huge rack?” I asked him.  I was more than slightly perturbed by this.
I glanced at him, and was gratified at how uncomfortable he suddenly looked.
“This is Vegas.”
“That’s the reason?  This is Vegas is the reason?  Did you pick these girls out yourself?”
“I did.  I had to make sure myself that every single one of them was competent.  They don’t just roll props out.  Some of them are really talented.”
“And they all just so happened to have double Ds?”
“This is Vegas,” he repeated.
“That’s disgusting.  My opinion of you in general just took a nosedive.”  I’d meant it sassy, but it came out a touch angry, and I realized that’s because it was.  I was bothered by this preference of his.
He stopped me again, giving me a stern look.  “Listen to what I’m saying.  They have huge racks, because girls that audition to be magician’s assistants in a Vegas show already bought themselves huge racks before they ever showed up to try for the job.  Do you get it?  Hell, most of them now have butt implants too.  I chose the most competent girls that auditioned.  Bust size never even entered into it.”
I was somewhat appeased, and curious about something he’d said.  “Butt implants?  You’re making that up.  No one would actually do that.”
“I don’t get it either, but they do.”
“How is that even possible?  How could someone get an implant in a spot that they sit on?  Doesn’t that seem like a bad idea?  What if you sat down too hard and popped the implants?  What if you fall and land on your ass?”
He laughed.  “I have no clue; I just know it’s a thing.”
We walked on for a bit, when he said suddenly, “Close your eyes.  This is the fun part.”
I squealed as he grabbed me by the waist, setting me up on his shoulders like it took no effort at all.
I clutched at his head and closed my eyes, but I’d already seen what was coming.
“Keep your mouth closed,” he said, a smile in his voice.  “And your eyes.”
That was easier said than done.  When someone threw colored powder at you, it was hard not to gasp.
When I opened my eyes again, all I saw was pink.
I was pink.
I looked down to find Tristan’s head and the rest of him, pink.
“How many paint throwing stations are on this thing?” I asked him, laughing.
“At least five on the way, and I think it’s a free for all at the end.”
“You know I saw this coming, right?  If you thought you were pranking me, you failed.  It’s called a Color 5k for Charity.  Wasn’t hard to figure out.”