“From a marketing standpoint, it will be good to have a hook to keep people interested. As is, there’s no finish line.”
We fell into silence, the four of us looking in different directions, each lost in thought. I’d liked the project as it was—telling stories, sharing triumphs and failures—but I saw their point. The last thing we wanted to do was leave people bored. I repeated Natalie’s words in my head, seeking a good idea. Raise the stakes. Keep them interested. Finish line.
“What about a race?” The three other women turned their attention to me. “A 5K or something. It would fit with what we’ve been doing, we could each talk about training, and there’s a literal finish line.”
I expected a derisively arched brow from Claire, but her expression remained impassive.
“Do either of you run, now?” Maricela asked.
“I don’t,” Claire said.
“I don’t, either,” I said, sitting straighter. “Well, I just started.” I imagined Wes’s smile when I told him I was going to sign up for a race. He’d be proud of me, and that thought was motivating. “The narrative could evolve. We’d be moving past the apps toward something else.”
“I don’t want to make this about one of you winning or losing,” Maricela said thoughtfully.
Claire and I shot each other a meaningful look, knowing damn well we were competing, and probably one of us would win the position and the other would lose. We didn’t comment on that, though, turning back to Maricela.
“I don’t think one of us would have to win or lose. We could frame it as competing against our own doubts,” Claire said.
“Against our own roadblocks,” I added. “Plus, those races are usually big, with lots of runners. Maybe there’s a community aspect to it, too.”
Maricela smiled widely. “I like this.”
Natalie plucked at her keyboard, tapping and swiping furiously. “Me, too. Okay, you two are using FitMi and HottrYou. I’ll reach out to see if they’ll jointly sponsor a 10K to keep them connected. That way readers can follow your story, but maybe get involved themselves.”
Claire and I exchanged a look. “Or a 5K?” Natalie didn’t register my question and turned to Maricela, and I took the moment to address Claire. “You’re okay with this?”
“Yeah. It’s a good idea,” she whispered. I knew a little part of her was pained to give me the compliment. That’s what I would have felt. “We could involve other writers to talk about running fashion, technology in the races, strategies for motivation. I could see a lot of collaborative opportunities.”
“I don’t know if my coach will be proud or confused,” I joked, though I knew which was right.
“Honestly, I’ll be glad to have something else to focus on away from the platforms. HottrYou coaching isn’t all that impressive or interesting. Your guy is really good?”
My guy . . . if only. As a coach, he was resourceful and knowledgeable, and I’d really seen that since day one. When we first started hanging out, I had a hard time thinking about any of that without letting my mind wander to his intense eyes, easy smile, and broad chest. Now, though . . . I knew the way it felt when he teased me to make me laugh, or how he always offered to help with dishes when we ate at my place. The way he listened so intently was inexplicably linked with everything else. In hundreds of tiny ways, I kept seeing how good a guy he really was.
Claire eyed me strangely.
“He’s very attentive.”
“The app itself is great, and my coach responds with a few sentences once or twice a week when I check in. But it’s all stuff I could have googled.” Claire glanced back at her phone, her lips pursed, and I got the sense there was something else she wanted to say.
Maricela brought us all back to the project, so I didn’t have time to find out what else Claire was considering. “I like this plan. Natalie will work with you to iron out the details.”
“Guess you two need to get to work!” Natalie chirped.
34
“ONE MORE SPRINT. One minute as hard as you can. You got this, Britt.”
Her cheeks reddened as she approached the end of a high-intensity interval on the elliptical machine. She panted. “I can’t.”
“There’s no ‘can’t’ in my gym. You ready?”
She fixed me with a look that would melt ice, shaking her head, but ticked up her speed, her breath coming fast. “Hate you,” she panted.