From: WM, just love

“Put on a windbreaker, just in case,” Listening to the forecast, exiting the bedroom. I head downstairs, turn on the lights, draw the curtains from the bay windows, and see a grayish hue in the sky where the sun should be. “It’s not even dawn.” I yawn, hearing my stomach growl.

I head to the kitchen, grab some pieces of bread, and put them in the toaster. I plug in the espresso machine, pop the lid, and toss out the previous filter. I open the cupboard, replace it, and refill it. While brewing, I head to the pantry and see my secret stash of whey protein, cookies, and creme. I take out my “winner blender” and place them both on the countertop. The recipe is simple, whatever the recommended amount, double that. I add chocolate milk, two scoops of creatine, and a good amount of “Berries and Creme” to the blender. The result is “Creme Royale.” I pour the shakes into cups and place the rest in the fridge for another day.

I look at the empty dishwasher and then back at the full sink. I tried to ignore the mess, but made eye contact with yesterday’s “Tour of Italy”, floating in a stew of dinner’s past. I knew what needed to be done. The toast slings, as the last dish is put away. I wipe my hands, then grab a knife. I plate it. Grabbing the jar, unscrewing the lid, and dunking the butter knife. Scooping out just enough, making sure it spreads as creamy and as smooth as promised.

There were a few bananas left over from last week’s trip to the farmer’s market. A little brown never hurt anyone. I peel and dice, gently placing them along the surface area of the buttered toast. The honey, also from the farmer’s market, drizzled down, making contact with the peanut butter underneath. I grab a pinch of sea salt, gently sprinkling it over the honey, adding a shimmer of presentation. The espresso beeps, I refill and take a well-deserved coffee break. I hear footsteps slowly coming down the stairs.

“They said that it’ll get worse before it gets better.” She says, placing her duffle bag on the couch before heading to the kitchen.

“Yeah, but we still got to go,” I say, drinking my espresso, and putting the empty dishes in the dishwasher.  

“Did you make me one?” She asks, walking towards me. Before I can respond, she wraps her arms around my torso, placing her ear on my chest, listening.

“I made you a milkshake,” I say, breathing slowly.

“Those aren’t milkshakes.” She says, snuggled against my body. “I like milkshakes.”

“I thought you liked to win?”

She says, “I don’t like to win, I win.” Holding me tighter.

“Then you’ll win,” I say, rubbing her back.

We hear thunder. She looks up, kisses me on the cheek, and says, “Thank you.” Grabbing her breakfast and her duffle bag. I clean up the kitchen and hand her the finished milkshake as we head to the garage.  

Cats and dogs splashed as they made contact with the pavement. It was louder than the gate, and the clouds were grayer than the expression. We looked at the elements and back at each other. “Here we go!” I say unlocking the doors and turning on the engine. I can see her sighing as she opens the car door.

She looks at her phone and says, “It said we shouldn’t take -” but the storm interrupts her as she tries to give directions. She tries again but keeps getting picked on by the storm. Frustrated, she pulls up the directions on the console and then folds back into her seat. I see the exit and begin to merge onto the ramp, she yells “No” but her voice is muffled by the timed roar of thunder.

“Accident ahead, estimated time in traffic, 40 minutes.” The GPS responds.

“I want to go home.” She says, already exhausted before starting.

Fifteen minutes of undisturbed weather washed every car on the highway. After a while, we both got tired of listening to the same songs. I turned off the radio and looked at her untouched Tupperware. “Not hungry?”

“No.” She responds, her stomach growling.

“Why are you acting like this?” I ask, equally exhausted. The question lingers for another five minutes or so until she musters the courage to respond.

“I’m scared.” She whispers.

Suddenly the storm calms, “Estimated time of arrival 15 minutes.” The GPS recalculates.

I pull over to the side of the road and put on my hazards. “Why would you be scared?”

She fidgets with her windbreaker, looks at me, and asks, “Do you think I’m ready?”

I look at her and laugh, “It doesn’t matter what I think.” Turning off the hazards, signaling and merging back on the highway, and heading toward the exit.

The look of shock on her face said everything. I watched as she silently reflected, gathering herself. She turns on the stereo, takes out her phone, and connects to the Bluetooth. She turns on her playlist titled, “Kickass” which she uses for spin class, and proceeds to get in the zone. She opens up the Tupperware and tears into her lukewarm breakfast. The shock from the honey hitting her taste buds jolted her enthusiasm. Rocking to the rhythm of “I Wanna Dance With Somebody”, she takes a breath and goes to grab her protein shake. While sipping, her eyes open wide. “Is there espresso in here?”

I smile, “If you finish what you start, you’ll always win.” Taking the exit toward the event parking lot.

“Not as many people as I thought there’d be,” I say, observing the lack of cars in the parking lot. We pull up to the registration booth and see someone working. I put the car in park and let down the window. “Excuse me, we’re here for the Memorial Half Marathon.”

“Oh yeah, we decided to reschedule because of the storm. Wait, did you say Half Marathon?” The man asked.

“Yeah, the one from the website,” I responded.

The man sighs in embarrassment. “You must have been one of the early signees. A mistake on our part, the half marathon was for Memorial Day. This is the Patriot’s Day Memorial 5K, we had a whole thing about the name confusing everybody. Make sure to look at your confirmation email and call the number below. Tell them that you’re one of the early signees, and they’ll give you a full refund.”

“Thank you, sir,” I responded, driving away.

“What did he say?” She says, feeling the energy from the protein shake.

“It’s a 5K, and it’s rescheduled.” I laugh.

“What do you mean 5K?” She says, her eyebrow twitching from the espresso. “Are you saying I’ve been training for something else this whole time?” 

“No, I’m saying you’re ready.” The look on her face warmed my heart.  I pull into one of the parking spots and pull up the forecast feature. “It looks like we have about 90 minutes until the weather picks up. How about we grab a quick jog, grab some food, and head back home?”

“Okay, but I get to pick the movie.” 

“Sure.” 

We exit the car, lace up our shoes, and head toward the track.