The track was a blur of activity, filled with students stretching and chatting animatedly in small groups. I felt conspicuously out of place as I joined the throng, trying to remember to move with the natural grace my body seemed accustomed to.
“Okay, let’s do some warm-up laps!” a coach yelled, clapping his hands.
I fell into stride with the others, pushing forward even though my mind wasn’t in it. They ran easily, laughing over their shoulders, their steps fluid and strong. I could feel Grace's strength in every movement, how this body seemed built for speed. But my thoughts were elsewhere—on Mary, on what I’d say to her if this didn’t work.
“Pick it up a little, Grace!” the coach shouted as I lagged behind.
I nodded, feeling the sweat drip down my neck and soak into my tank top.
I pushed harder, feeling the burn in my legs as my feet pounded against the track. I had been a decent runner back in high school. Decent enough to make varsity for a while, but not like this.
This was something else.
The wind whipped through my hair as I picked up speed, passing teammates effortlessly. It was incredible. This body was incredible.
“Damn, girl! You’re fast!” the blonde girl exclaimed as I crossed the finish line well ahead of everyone else.
I tried to catch my breath and smile convincingly.
“Way to go, Grace!” the coach called out again, looking impressed.
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