Chapter 2- She thought training was the easy part
The track was already hot by the time I arrived...
Not the comfortable kind of heat—the kind that clings to your skin, settles into your lungs, makes every breath feel heavier than it should.
Most runners hate that.
I don’t.
Because out here, everything makes sense.
Run faster.
Push harder.
Get better.
No negotiations. No hidden angles. No second meanings.
Just results.
“Times are up!”
Coach Navarro’s voice cuts across the lanes, sharp enough to snap everyone out of their own head.
I slow to a jog, heart still pounding, and head over with the rest of them.
No one says anything.
No one ever does.
But everyone looks.
I scan the sheet quickly.
Then again.
There it is.
Not on the team.
Not yet.
But close enough that it matters.
Close enough that I can already feel what it would be like to cross that line.
“Cardoso.”
I glance over. Coach is watching me, expression unreadable behind his sunglasses.
“That was better,” he says. “Much better.”
A pause.
Not accidental.
“You keep that up, and things start to change.”
I nod once.
“I will.”
And I know I will.
Because this is the one place where effort actually leads somewhere.
No shortcuts.
No manipulation.
No… complications.
“Yo, Odee.”
Mike jogs past me, flashing a grin.
“You’re creeping up on us.”
“Good,” I reply. “You should be worried.”
He laughs, but there’s a flicker of something else there.
Competition.
Respect.
Maybe both.
Amira joins in, wiping sweat from her forehead.
“He’s right,” she says. “You’re getting close.”
Close.
It’s a dangerous word.
Close means pressure.
Close means expectation.
Close means something is about to shift.
“I like pressure,” I say.
And I do.
Out here, it’s simple.
Earn your place.
Or don’t.
We finish the session together, easy laps, loose conversation. The kind that doesn’t matter—but somehow still does.
For a while, I forget everything else.
Who I am outside this track.
What I’ve already done today.
What’s waiting for me tonight.
For a while…
I’m just here.
And that’s enough.
Until it isn’t.
Because the moment I step off the track, I see him.
Waiting.
Like he knew exactly when I’d be done.
The shift is immediate.
Subtle—but absolute.
The runner fades.
The other version of me steps forward.
The one that doesn’t rely on effort.
The one that creates outcomes.
“You took your time,” he says as I approach.
“I always do,” I reply.
It’s not a lie.
He studies me for a second longer than necessary.
Like he’s trying to figure something out.
He won’t.
They never do.
“Tonight still works?” he asks.
“It does.”
“Good,” he says, adjusting his sleeve. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Of course you are.
I don’t say it.
I don’t need to.
Instead, I give him a small, controlled smile.
“You should be.”
That’s enough.
It’s always enough.
I walk past him without stopping.
Without looking back.
Because I already know what tonight is going to become.
And more importantly…
I know exactly what I’ll do when it does.
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