Present tense — Zara pt. 5
I was about halfway through my “highlight reel” of experiences that were serving as a last gasp to see if Zara and I could make it work together. We’d had the camping trip, the wedding, and the marathon. Now it was Canada Day weekend at her family cabin, and then our big trail race together.
I was thrilled to be invited to Zara’s family cabin for what was also her birthday weekend. She’d met my parents once at a Passover dinner, but that was within a larger group of other people, and Zara hadn’t expressed much desire to see that side of me since. I figured family stuff was a little too personal for her. So the fact that she was now inviting me to not only meet her parents but stay with her family for a long weekend seemed like a very big step forward to me.
Before that though, there was an outdoor charity event to raise money, honour, and celebrate people like Zara’s sister Melody who were living with her particular disease. Melody was a big fundraiser and advocate for her cause, and even did some interviews on TV. I was happy to support her.
While I was there, I met Zara’s parents. Her dad was a talkative guy who seemed like he enjoyed being busy and getting things done. When her mom saw me, she said, “Oh you must be Alan!” and hugged me right away. So I was mentioned, I thought. That’s nice. I met some more of Zara’s friends, some of whom I’d met already, and was happy to become a repeat appearance for them.
As Zara and I were looking over which prize packs to put our tickets into (“oooh, date night, hmmm…”), I found it especially hilarious that the junior hockey team that just announced they were moving away from Winnipeg had random merch thrown into every single package. I mentioned this to anyone who would listen, and no one seemed to find it as interesting as I did. Or interesting at all. You gotta know your audience, Alan…
The event went seamlessly. But where my focus truly was, was on the gifts I wanted to get Zara for her birthday. I’ve always been someone who loved giving gifts to my partner. I remember constantly trying to top what I’d done the year before with every set of gifts I gave Daniela. She was into her book club? I researched the best book club books that I thought suited her tastes. She got her first record player? I sought out all her favourite bands and got those records for her to begin her collection. We went shopping and she lingered on a product at Sephora? I surreptitiously snapped a picture of it and came back a week later to snag it.
I spoke with a fellow gift giver at a separate time in my dating life who seemed to get it:
(That is how people who are both in communications flirt with each other, by the way. Full sentences. Proper grammar. I missed the use of emojis, but we had to have standards!)
I wanted these gifts to be next level. I wanted them to show Zara that I cared for her and recognized her to be the amazing person I knew I saw. It didn’t matter if some insecurities kept getting in our way — she was a beautiful person inside and out and deserved to be told as much.
So, what did I know about Zara that I could connect to these gifts? She was an incredible runner. She enjoyed puzzles. And she loved and missed New Zealand. Those were solid starting points for gifts.
I began with running. I knew she had particular likes for her running gear, so I wouldn’t buy her any basic running stuff like shorts or shirts. I’d probably get it wrong. Instead, I decided to buy her a bunch of little things, each around $5–$10 to create a sort of post-run “foot care” package. I got a spiky massage ball that she could rub her feet on (which was so good I ended up using it on myself first, falling in love, and then had to buy a second one that was actually for her). Some toe socks which I knew she had mentioned as being curious about, but even if they weren’t a hit, no big deal. An anti-blister foot balm (because I had rubbed her feet after runs and dear god, she needed them). And finally a lavender roll-on stick for “foot health” that probably didn’t do much but at least smelled nice.
Those were just appetizers. I was looking at a list of the best books of the year and came across an author, Eleanor Catton, who was born in Canada but grew up in New Zealand. How appropriate! She had written a new award-winning book called Birnam Wood. It seemed to really embrace the surrounding New Zealand environment, which I knew Zara was familiar with from her extensive trail running. I thought that would be a great pick.
Next, I got some puzzle books. I knew she loved the New York Times crossword, so I got two books, one of which was called “Crosswords for a Long Weekend” which I found very apropos. But she had shown me her books before that included a variety of puzzles, so I got a different one too, called Murdle, about solving murders with logic. I was secretly hoping she’d like that one the most and it would inspire her to try that murder mystery video game together that we’d talked about a bit, Return of the Obra Dinn.
Finally, I had my piece de resistance. I’d been to Zara’s cabin with her in the winter, and she’d shown me their record player and her dad’s extensive record collection. I recalled her slightly lamenting that it was all her dad’s music, and none of her own (but she vibed with it anyway). I knew back then if I made it to her birthday, that I would get her a record of her favourite band. Throughout the next few months, I took note of the band she most loved to play when I was at her place, this indie disco band called Parcels. I discovered that Parcels had a double album called Day/Night. Two albums in one — good music and good value. The perfect choice. That would be my “final” gift for her (in that I would force her to open it last).
That was it. My birthday gifts for Zara. I wrapped them all neatly, made a homemade card on some colourful paper, found some extra accouterments like ribbon and sprigs of lilac (yes, I fucking love giving gifts, have you not been paying attention) to make them all truly sparkle, and counted down the days until it was time to leave.
Our texting was still a bit stilted for my liking. I always felt like I had to initiate and running topics still worked best for a sustained conversation. So when it was the day before I was going to head out and I saw she was sending me a rare first text of the day, I was pleasantly surprised. I looked at the message. “Excited to see you tomorrow :)”
I sent back “Me too 🙂” and couldn’t help but beam for a few hours. She so rarely expressed herself like this to me, even with a simple, fairly tame message like that. I figured she was slowly getting more comfortable sharing parts of herself with me and letting her walls down. I loved to see it.
But why wasn’t she always like this? I slowly talked myself back down to Earth and started my over-analyzing. After so much time with Zara, I had come to some conclusions. We prioritized different aspects of life and those priorities shaped who we were. They weren’t necessarily incompatible, they were just different.
It seemed as though Zara was a very event-based person. She wanted to do interesting things and have exciting experiences. She could travel alone somewhere, and make some friends there who might improve things, and they might not. But she was going to have a good time regardless. And it seemed like when she invited me out to do fun things with her, I made those experiences a little better. Like I would turn an 8/10 night into an 8.5 or 9/10 night.
Whereas for me, I was a very people-based person. It mattered far less what I was doing, and far more who I was doing it with. All my best memories were about sharing something with someone else. I didn’t take solo vacations, because I wouldn’t have someone special to share it with. So to me, a Zara-less night might be a 5/10, but a Zara-filled night would be a 10/10, with our activity having just a small bearing on my rating.
The issue with that was that if I had my way, we could end up sitting at home watching Netflix far too often. Because she was always seeking out exciting things to do, it forced me to match her energy — and come up with fun things to do I thought she’d enjoy. At its best, we could complement each other well. But we were sometimes on different wavelengths.
So when she said she was excited to see me, I wondered how excited she truly was. Maybe she was excited for me to add a little bit of spice to her day. Maybe she was only excited because I was bringing a big fan and it was hot in her bedroom. But I admired her outlook. It took a confidence that I lacked. There was no moral judgment on which way of thinking was “better.” She saw things she wanted, and she got them or did them. I wanted to be more important to her, sure, but I couldn’t force it. As I knew by now, every time I tried to get closer, it would just push her away.
The next day, I drove out to their cabin, loudly singing in the car and feeling invincible. I shamelessly sped most of the way there. In their resort town, cars weren’t allowed inside, so everyone had to park at a parking lot outside the entrance. Zara met me there with a cart so we could haul all my bags, including my big stack of gifts which was coyly hidden away from her (ie. not hidden at all).
Right away she started excitedly telling me about the fun time out she had the night before. Her, Melody, a friend of Melody’s, and that friend’s father were all out at a bar. They were hanging out, having a great time, and the friend’s father was buying lots of shots. Zara then said “some guy” huddled up to them and wanted to take shots with them too, but they all found him a bit creepy and didn’t know what to do with him. He just kept inserting himself into their group.
“Here, look,” Zara said and pulled out her phone.
She then showed me photo after photo of some 50-year-old guy in between Zara and Melody, as they posed for selfies together.
“We didn’t know what to do!” she laughed. “That eventually got him away!”
I awkwardly smiled as I stared at the photos. They weren’t wildly inappropriate or anything. They just looked like friends posing for selfies.
But I suddenly realized… there were now more photos of this guy on Zara’s phone than there were of me. Ten photos, nearly cheek-to-cheek with Zara, posing, laughing, having a wild, drunken night. We’d had those nights too, but we had far less photographic evidence than this. We had maybe a single photo of us, from the Jets whiteout, where we were taking a picture “together.” Like close together.
Ugh. How was I in my mid-30s and having to talk about relationship steps like we were in eighth grade? Clearly, she knew how to whip out her phone and take a photo. So why did she seem capable of doing this with everyone except me? More than capable of it. Excited by it! There were aspects of us that were mature, healthy, and even inspiring sometimes (to me, at least). But others just made me feel like we were perpetually stuck in teenager mode.
I brushed that aside though, and settled into their family cabin. From there, it was a breezy long weekend. Zara and I cozied up (well, not too cozy) on their chair swing, drinking craft beers and doing crosswords together. Her dad proudly showed off all the new renovations and adjustments to the cabin he’d made, and he seemed like a solid guy. Her mom was more quiet but seemed appreciative that I brought her a bottle of white wine, which she liked.
The four of them seemed like such a family unit. Like one cohesive group, instead of a bunch of individuals. It was nothing like my family. We all liked each other, don’t get me wrong, but I think the last time we all did something together was when we all crowded around the TV and watched the first Clinton vs. Trump debate.
But there they were, everyone hopping onto bikes and cycling to the beach so we could see the sunset together. I was so surprised. They were tight. It was very sweet. And it made me feel more special that Zara had invited me into it.
At dinner, I got to see their whole dynamic a bit more at play. Zara had warned me before about how her dad hadn’t really given her much affection as a kid, and that shaped how she came to relationships now. She mentioned a bit about how her dad was a bit gruff and aloof. Like he would say offensive things without really thinking about it.
Zara’s dad said how he was reading this new book on Conrad Black, a big conservative Canadian figure, and he made some sort of offensive comment I can barely remember. Zara and Melody both were like “Daaaaaad! You can’t say that!”
They chastised him and argued a bit, their dad staying very matter-of-fact and detached the whole way through. But Zara and Melody both seemed to enjoy the argument with their dad. They sounded smart and knowledgeable with everything they said, he didn’t push back much, and eventually, the topic moved on and all was forgiven. It seemed like the kind of thing that happened every night and was just part of the charm of who they were.
The next day, Melody, Zara and I went out on a big hike on a nearby island. It was like a whole triathlon worth of activity. First, we all biked through the woods to a far beach, then trudged through the water to get to the very quaint Elk Island. We had to work together to find where the hiking trail began from the beach into the woods, but we eventually got there. It was a long, scenic hike through the woods, where we all played word games and casually chatted, but it just felt comfortable and low-pressure. I was able to just enjoy being with Zara and Melody, and not feel too much like I was auditioning to be chosen to stick around.
Eventually, we got through the woods onto the other side of the island and found ourselves on a beach. We were all hot and sweaty, so we stripped to our underwear and waded out into the water. Yeah. It was very collectively sexy. THANK GOD I was wearing some good underwear (some trunk-cut boxer briefs with a simple blue triangle pattern). After that, we grabbed some food from our bags and sunned ourselves on a big pile of rocks as the waves splashed against it.
This was one of the many times when I was with Zara where I thought, this is perfect. It was like an indie movie romance or something, like a mumblecore film from 2011 with a hipster folk-pop soundtrack. Solid dialogue. Fantastic mise-en-scene. But it was real. Now it all felt so easy and natural. I loved these parts with Zara, and no one else I’d dated had offered me anything like this.
Later when we were back home and no one else was around, Zara slyly beckoned me into her room for some private fun. While this would ensure an R rating for the little indie movie we were creating in my head, I needed very little convincing it was the correct decision.
That night, we went to the dock to watch the Canada Day fireworks together. We were lying down on our backs, listening to the waves splashing up against us, as groups of teenagers huddled around each other, whispering, laughing, and being their awkward selves. I couldn’t help but look at how much closer other couples were to each other. Well, that was fair, we weren’t a couple, right? I was just some guy watching the fireworks with Zara, staying at a cabin with her family. I tried to enjoy the moment… but when fireworks are going off around you and the person you most want to be with just can’t let you in, it’s hard to do. The longer it went on, the less romantic things got.
I started to think that either she was doing her best to work through her issues, or every second we spent together was essentially a lie. And I didn’t want to believe she was lying to me.
The next day was day three at the cabin, and I was starting to feel much more comfortable there. I could chat with both of her parents easily, and it felt like the family was incredibly welcoming to me.
It was also Zara’s birthday. As we woke up in bed together, I wished her a happy birthday and said she must be excited about all her incoming presents. I asked when she wanted to open them. “Hmm, could be anytime!” she coyly responded.
We went out into the kitchen for breakfast with the family, and she received a gift from her sister — a pair of running shades that she’d already picked out for her sister to give her. Running gear. I knew she’d be particular about it! She tried them on and loved them. When she came back to the bedroom, she saw my bag of gifts splayed out on the bed. “Oh wow! Hmm, let’s get to these later,” she said.
No problem. My gifts wouldn’t be as quick as unwrapping a pair of glasses, so might as well wait for a better time to do it.
We spent the day exploring the area. She took me to some of her favourite spots, like a giant sandy hill where she enjoyed watching sunsets in the past. We stood out there, staring at the beach, debating whether we should wake up early tomorrow to see one, but were quickly dissuaded by the incessant bugs flying around our faces and biting us. We went to the beach as well, going for quick dips, laying on our towels, reading some beach books, and not-so-sneakily drinking beer that heated up quickly in the hot sun.
At some point, we got back to the cabin, and I offered to give the gifts again, but Zara still didn’t think it was the right time. Instead, we decided to accompany her parents to play some doubles tennis together. I’d played some low-stakes tennis matches with Daniela and Dylan, which mainly involved trying to tease and flirt with them the whole way through while not looking completely incompetent. So I thought this could be fun too.
Their tennis club is where a bit of the “country club” elitist vibe of the beach town came out, but it was still very charming. There were a bunch of engraved bricks with people’s names on them (from a fundraising effort for the courts) and Zara’s family had two with the family’s names in the lobby area. The newly constructed set of tennis courts looked pristine. We went out onto the court, and it was clear quickly that Zara’s parents spent a lot more time playing tennis than I had. Zara warmed up with her dad, and I warmed up with her mom. She chased down a few errant balls from my awful returns, and I was thinking, “Oh god, do not embarrass yourself. Pull it together!”
I teamed up with Zara’s dad, and she played with her mom in our doubles match. I rallied a bit, but mainly stuck to safe shots. Then thankfully, I was given a gift. One of Zara’s serves smacked her mom right in the back of the head. We all gasped, but I secretly breathed a sigh of relief. As long as I didn’t hit the ball into someone’s head, I wouldn’t do the most embarrassing thing for the match. Thank god!
The rest of our tennis game was fun. It was interesting to see Zara doing something competitive in a Type-1 fun sort of way and to show her my competitive side too. But soon we were all tired out and headed back to the cabin.
We all ate dinner together, and I motioned again to possibly open up the presents, but Zara still wasn’t quite ready. For the night, she had a fun plan. Some of Melody’s friends were here and we were all going to go out on a boat together and chill out on the lake. We met up with her friends, biked down to the dock, and hopped on the boat.
We drove out far into the lake and I got to know these new friends. Everybody was laughing and sharing stories. Someone asked Melody how the cabin was, and she started talking about it, but then ended with, “Except Alan never uses the outdoor shower!”
Everyone laughed, and I awkwardly smiled, looking around. “What?” I said.
“You keep using the indoor shower!” Melody said.
“What? Indoor shower? I didn’t know…” I sputtered, totally confused. When I was at the cabin in the winter I’d used the indoor shower. And Zara hadn’t said anything about using a certain shower.
“Yeah, we were all saying wow, he must hate showering outdoors,” she added with a laugh.
I looked at Zara and said, “I didn’t know I was supposed to use the outdoor shower!”
Zara stared at me blankly and lightly smiled, but didn’t say anything back.
I got so embarrassed, so fast. Why didn’t Zara say something to me? Clearly, the family had been talking about me breaking some sort of cabin rule for three straight days yet no one had told me. I could see Zara forgetting to mention it at first, and then correcting me afterwards. But she never said anything. Instead they all just… what? Laughed at me? Assumed I was “too good” for showering outdoors like an asshole? Why didn’t Zara say anything to me??
“Well, I didn’t fucking know, why didn’t you tell me?!”
I looked at her, expecting some response, but… nothing. However, I didn’t want to cause a scene or ruin the fun vibe going on. So I quickly tried to pivot to a reaction of like “Oh, stupid ol’ me,” which at least worked in moving the conversation along and not sucking all the energy out of the outing.
But I was kinda done. Why is she so unable to communicate with me? Sure, serious relationship topics are scary. But this?! I tossed my sunglasses over my eyes, even though the sun was going down in about five minutes, and didn’t engage much for the rest of the night. I just kept thinking, why didn’t Zara talk to me? Now I look like I’m some disrespectful water-waster. Oh god, I thought back to when I stepped out of the shower the day before and her mom went “Oh, I didn’t know anyone was in there,” and I realized it had a whole new context that I kept replaying in my head. Oh my goddddd, this was so embarrassing. Why?! Why didn’t she say anything to me?! I was replaying every look from the family now after my showers. Agh!
I knew in the past when I’d had disagreements with partners, I would go very quiet. I’d stop looking at them in the eyes, and basically just disengage for a while. I could feel myself going down this well-worn road, as we eventually biked back to the cabin.
I tried to find excuses to be on my own, (oh yeah, these clothes could be folded better, let me do that…) as the night wound down. Zara didn’t try and talk to me, but I didn’t give her much of a chance to. People began to go to bed, and that’s when Zara said “Hey, why don’t we open your presents now?”
I looked at her and couldn’t even fake excitement. “Sure, sounds good.”
Her dad was already in bed, and her sister was in her pajamas and barely keeping her eyes open as we huddled into the den. Zara began opening the presents one by one. Now, instead of the amount of presents slowly leading up to a big climax, they just seemed to extend my humiliation. Near the end, her mom walked by in her robe and saw one of the crossword puzzle books. “Oh, wow, that looks good,” but soon went back to bed. Zara tried to talk the presents up a bit, as she could tell the excitement levels were low, but it didn’t help much.
Finally, she got to the last gift. “Oh, I bet this is a record.” Yup. It was. She opened it. Yup. A record. You knew it. Great. She said thank you, and we all hustled off to bed. Within minutes we were asleep. Well, I stared at the ceiling for a few hours, but close enough.
It was such an anti-climax to the sweet moment I wanted to give her. Selfishly, as someone who loved giving gifts, I also wanted the joy of giving these all to her in a grander way, but that moment seemed robbed for me too. I suppose I’d built it up in my head to be something bigger and more meaningful than it truly was. I couldn’t hide my disappointment though.
Once I got back home, I was feeling pretty resigned that this wasn’t going to work. But I wanted it to, I so badly did. I truly felt that our issues were not compatibility-based, they were about a choice. Choosing to trust another person. If we could do that, the positive parts would crush any of the insecurities in our way. But it just wasn’t happening.
I still had that race though. The race we’d booked months ago. The race I’d been training for almost every day. The race Zara had so sweetly helped me out with and would be the culmination of our efforts together. I was putting this race on a pedestal. So much for not building things up.
I had turned this race into something more than a race. Somehow I had made myself believe that if I could show her how dedicated I was to learning and training for this race that I was completely unprepared for mere months earlier, in a sport I had no interest in until I met her, then it might show her how dedicated I could be to her. I felt like I was running to keep our relationship alive. I wanted to excel at it and say, “See?! We could do this together! We can run together, now and into the future! And I will always put the work in when it comes to you!”
I’d certainly put the work in for this race. And I was ready.
The next week, I was back at their family cabin for the race. We spent the night in, just chilling and preparing our bodies.
We stretched out in the den and did a crossword together. Zara was insanely good at them and knew a bunch of common words based on vague clues. She was certain one of the words for the puzzle we were doing was EPOCH. As we kept finishing the rest of the puzzle, it was becoming clear EPOCH was not the answer to that clue. But she stubbornly refused to change it. She was adamant EPOCH was right. We kept getting answers that contradicted EPOCH, and it was soon obvious that she was wrong. At first, I softly suggested it might be a different answer, but after the fourth word confirmed it wasn’t right, I was dying trying to hold in my laughter. Because her frustration was so low-stakes, it made it hilarious. I’d never seen Zara get this annoyed and flustered. It was like she was mad at the puzzle designers for tricking her since EPOCH was clearly a more appropriate answer there! She begrudgingly accepted defeat at the very end. She kinda leaned into the joke by the end, too. It was adorable. I wanted more of that side of her.
Her parents eventually went out. We made dinner together and curled up on the couch to watch a movie. We’d both mentioned wanting to see Meet The Parents months ago, and that was right up on the Netflix homepage. Something we mentioned doing months ago actually being followed through on?! Hell yes. We clicked it on and watched.
Dear god, the amount of correlations to our situation did not stop! Greg, the main character, tried to propose to Pam after dating for nine months. When I heard that I went “Nine months, hmm…” and looked at Zara as we both laughed. We had been dating for nine months by now.
Then Jewish Greg met non-Jewish Pam’s family. The family loved their cats, whereas Greg was not a cat person. There was an incident with improper plumbing usage in the parents’ home with Greg at fault. The hits kept coming.
Zara and I were laughing the whole time. It was lovely. I felt like we hadn’t cuddled up and watched something together in so long.
As the night wound down, she started showing me a photo album of herself at the cabin as a younger girl. She told me stories to go along with all the memories of her past. Part of me loved hearing about her past and asking probing little questions every few pictures to find out anything I could about her.
But another major part of me couldn’t help wondering what the purpose of this all was. Does she really want me to know more about her? Why? No seriously, why — what does she really want from me in this moment? Just some casual attention? Or something deeper? It just made me sad that I couldn’t actually enjoy what could be a sweet moment between us. Most of my trust was gone.
Eventually, we had to go to bed. The plan was to wake up early and drive to Grand Beach. 100 people had signed up for the 15K race, and I just wanted to not embarrass myself. I half-jokingly told Zara that once the race started, she needed to pretend not to know me. I didn’t want to change my pace by trying to keep up with her, or show off for her, or anything like that.
Race day came, and we drove to the starting spot with no issues. We were stretching, getting ready, and I was sizing up the competition. Everyone was decked out in all this brand-name gear from trusted trail runner-approved companies. They were such a niche community and I was so not a part of it. I was getting intimidated seeing how hardcore everyone appeared. They all had water packs and gels and fancy gear that I didn’t even recognize. But I had my bright orange shirt and the fanny pack Zara had given me, and was feeling excited.
Finally, the countdown to the race began, and it was on. We all got bottle-necked together at the start, and everyone had to find their pace. I was passing some people, and others were passing me by, as we all tried to figure out the right order that worked for us. After about 10 minutes, I’d passed everyone I needed to pass, and been passed by everyone who needed to pass me.
We got into the heart of the woods. It had rained earlier and everything was a bit slick. The trails flowed up and down. Nothing too treacherous, but certainly not easy. I was 10 meters behind a guy with the same pace as me, and he was behind a group of four women ahead of him. I squinted ahead. Of course… Zara was at the head of those four women.
Damnit! Now I was second-guessing myself. Am I keeping pace because this is the right pace for me? Or do I feel like I shouldn’t pass Zara? Or do I feel like I couldn’t pass Zara, and so I should always stay behind her? I tried not to focus on that aspect. Fortunately, Zara made it easier when after 30 minutes she blasted ahead of her group and out of my sight.
I passed a station of water and bathrooms, and a bunch of the people ahead of me peeled off to take a break, including the guy who was directly in front of me. I seized the opportunity and plowed ahead, stopping for nothing… until my shoelaces became untied. I quickly stopped to tie them back up, and the guy almost gained back all his time on me. But I zipped off and didn’t let him overtake me.
Soon I was overtaking more and more people. But the grass was so slick, that my shoelaces kept getting untied. I kept having to stop and tie them (Zara would later say I should have double-knotted them, but I wasn’t able to think clearly because I was deep into race mode, and instead just ended up re-tieing them six separate times. Whoops!).
Some of the trails were steep. I’d go rocketing down like a cannonball, where one wrong step on a twisted root could mean a bad spill. But I was killing it. I kept getting updates in my earbuds from my running app. My pace was great, just like I had trained for.
Around an hour into the race, I got to an incredibly steep uphill climb where I saw Zara again. She was walking up the hill, but I was able to sort of run fast enough to overtake her. Woah! Could I beat Zara in this race?! I suddenly really wanted to beat Zara in this race.
It started to rain as I got into a section with incredibly long grass. The wet strands wreaked havoc on my laces, but I got out of there and thought I was making pretty good time. And the race was almost over!
Back onto the trails, and I could hear some breathing coming up behind me. Ah, shit. So much for that lead. “On your right,” shouted Zara as she cut in front of me and pulled out an extra gear that I couldn’t believe existed. She’d later tell me it was a trail-running move with a catchy name like “burn ’em and bury ‘em” or something. It meant that when you overtook someone, you needed to turn on the jets and create a big gap so they wouldn’t be able to follow you as well. And it worked perfectly on a newbie like me.
We got into the final stretch leading to the beach. I could see Zara way out ahead of me. I couldn’t catch her, but I looked back and saw that no one else was catching me either. I tried to kick it into overdrive, but I didn’t have much. Signs and volunteers all pointed out the homestretch of the race route as it led to some steps down to the sandy beach. As I hustled down the stairs, two people were walking up the other way, holding towels without a care in the world. In the middle of the race?! My race?!! I muttered way too loudly, “Get the fuck out of the way!” like an asshole, and blew past them, solidifying my status as a piece of shit.
But that didn’t matter now. I could see the finish line off in the distance. Zara was closing in on it, but I was closing in on Zara. Not enough to overtake, but enough to make it close. I gritted my teeth as the wet sand clomped onto my running shoes, pulling me down and making every stride harder and harder. But I was increasing my speed all the same. I now had total tunnel vision as all I could see was the finish line.
I plowed through the end victoriously! The racers who were already done and other volunteers who were huddled around clapped. I fist-pumped in acknowledgment and half-collapsed into myself, holding my hands onto my knees as I tried to catch my breath. A few seconds later, I heard Zara’s mom say, “Oh, Alan’s there.”
Zara and her parents came by, not realizing I had completed the race just 23 seconds after Zara. I wished someone had seen me complete it, but still, I was thrilled. We high-fived (I’ve always thought couples high-fiving is super lame, but this type of moment was an exception), and let the energy of the race flow through us. It turned out I got 12th place for men, 14th overall, while Zara got 2nd place for women, 13th overall. And she was less than one minute behind the women’s leader! I was in awe, and insanely proud of her.
I tried to rehydrate and could see Zara was in her happy place once again, surrounded by trail runners doing what they loved. I gave her some space. She was with all her running friends and feeling the high of a great race for her. I felt like I had done what I’d set out to do, in terms of the race at least. I certainly didn’t embarrass myself.
Zara invited me to take a picture together under the finish line. Her mom grabbed her phone and we posed. I wanted to put my arm around her or hug her tightly or something, but we just didn’t do that stuff. She’d never shown she was comfortable with that, and I didn’t want to force it, especially in front of her parents. She didn’t get too close anyway, so it made the decision easier. We stood side-by-side, big smiles plastered on our faces, and I could at least be happy about that.
She later posted it to Instagram and tagged me, and it felt so nice to be acknowledged. I added it to my story, and even Sophie got excited. “👀 did I just see what I think I saw?!📸👫” she texted me. After everything, she was still pulling for us to work out.
The race was over, but it was still very early in the morning. We met up with a friend of hers who I’d seen before, and it was great that she remembered me. Later, we went into town and got some well-deserved sustenance in the form of fries and milkshakes. As we were walking by, I saw an old high school teacher of mine and pointed him out to Zara. She said he was like a local “celebrity” of the town that everyone knew of. We walked up to him to say hello, and his eyes lit up. “ALAN!” he shouted and he gave me a humungous hug that lifted me straight up. He invited me and Zara to his cabin to have a quick drink and we all caught up and explained how our respective lives intersected and crossed paths with one another. I kept trying to telepathically get him to make me sound like the greatest catch in the world to Zara, and I thought he did a pretty good job at that.
Eventually, we headed back to the cabin. There was no set plan for when I had to leave, we decided we’d just play it by ear. I could stay the night if I wanted, but it would mean an early morning to get back into the city for work the next day.
We tossed Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me on, which aged much better than we expected. Again we were cuddled up together on the couch, laughing and feeling cozy. Her parents caught the tail end of the movie too, but they were heading out for the evening and said their goodbyes.
The movie ended, and we were alone again. We sat there, a soft blanket over us, triumphant in our relative victories at conquering the Grand Sand 15K race. I smiled at her. We had the cabin to ourselves. The high of the race was still a bit there, but with the hours of recovery now some energy was back too.
Zara then moved to the opposite couch. We talked for a bit about nothing in particular. We’d made a fairly bland vegetarian lasagna the night before, and there was more of that to eat if I wanted, she said. Okay. We ate the lasagna, chatting away delicately, as I tried to figure out what was going on. Why had the mood changed suddenly? We were so cozy on the couch, even with her parents hanging around. Now that they were gone, I figured we’d get cozier.
I kept hoping, pleading for some sign that this could work. I kept delaying and delaying over the last few months, refusing to accept that it wasn’t working. I’d now painted myself into a corner, with the race as the final bit left with no paint on it. Please, Zara, just give me some sign that you are interested in me. Something!
“So, I guess you should be heading home soon, huh?”
And that was it.
“Yeah. Sounds good,” I replied.
I packed up my stuff and within five minutes we were out the door as she walked me to the parking lot by the entrance to town.
“Well, I guess this is it,” I sighed.
“Bye,” she said as we dryly kissed on the lips. I’d seen Mormon side-hugs with more passion.
I drove home, resigned to the inevitable. The next time I saw Zara, I’d be breaking up with her.
We talked a little more. I was still willing to accept any sign that this could work. Even if it couldn’t, I was grateful for what she’d given me. I sent her some words to that effect:
She was flying to see a friend in B.C. soon, so I knew I had to get our talk in before that. A week or so later, I asked if I‘d be seeing her anytime soon, and she offered later that night as an option. It was pretty rare that I got a “tonight” offer from Zara. I felt like she knew what was coming.
She came by, and we politely talked for a moment, but then I said what I needed to say — that it wasn’t working. Underneath my words, it was like I was begging her to not accept this breakup. To put up some fight. Like I wanted her to say this was the wake-up call she needed, and we can make it work. But it was too easy. I may have said the words, but she was the one breaking up with me.
As we talked it out, she said she wanted to make it work, but she just couldn’t get over her past relationships. I had the feeling that’s what was going on. It made me sad, because if that was true, then the answer was right there. This wasn’t some major incompatibility. This was such a solvable issue. Her heart just wasn’t in it, I supposed.
I told her that when I looked back at the whole year, I had no doubt she would be one of the main things that defined it for me. But I doubted I’d even make the top 10 of her list. I just never seemed important to her.
It was a shame. Yes, parts of me were miserable when things weren’t going right. But I couldn’t deny that there was a significant part of Zara that made me improve myself, and do things for myself I wouldn’t normally do. And I loved those things. I had to be the best version of myself because I thought she deserved no less. She made me want to be a better man. And I would get to keep that.
I loved so much of who she was. When she was at her best, she was courageous, determined, loving, and considerate. But it was her imperfections that made her stand out even more to me. It was that she had her insecurities and was trying to fight them, trying to let me in, to show me her vulnerabilities in whatever ways she could. Those imperfections made her more special than someone who might seem “perfect.”
Being with Zara helped me realize there really is no perfect person out there waiting for you to find them as they are. Zara, like me, was a very imperfect person. The question was whether we were willing to put the work in for each other.
I was.
Zara wasn’t.
We said we’d keep in touch, and maybe without the expectations of a relationship, things could work better.
We said goodbye and hugged tightly. Tighter than we ever had before.
Mmm, one last breadcrumb.
It tasted so good.
And I was never one to turn down bread…
