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saveyourblood · 5 years

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Stolen Dance | Ch. 7

Summary: “Maybe this was a pipe dream, a delusion you’d soon awake from or a phase you’d outgrow. You didn’t really care. For a brief moment in time, you were in love. That’s what you chose to care about. That what you made matter.”

The one where you’re a paramedic, he’s an FBI agent, and the time you spend together is borrowed.

Word Count: 4.9k

Song: Can’t Carry This Anymore - Anson Seabra

Warnings: Reader has PTSD, angst... ya know, the good stuff.

_____________________

Baby steps: your new two favorite words.

Healing was hard. You’ve known that for awhile; ever since your dad died, you were learning new ways to cope. What you haven’t known for awhile, though, was what it was like to heal with someone beside you.

When you were in pain, you tended to isolate yourself (hence your breakup). You internalized everything: thoughts, emotions, opinions… you became nothing but an empty shell of anger, and you expressed it in unhealthy ways. You wanted that to change. And Spencer wanted to help.

The two of you were in an awkward limbo of unknowing. Weeks had passed since you broke down in front of him, but the two of you haven’t kissed since the night before you broke up with him. You hugged a lot, and sometimes he slept over, but it was only to hold you. You weren’t sure if he was your boyfriend again. In your defense, though, he didn’t seem to know either.

Group therapy was his idea. It was something you contemplated in the past, but each time, you ultimately decided against it. Spencer managed to persuade you this time around, even finding a group for you to attend. Turns out, there’s a lot of veterans in DC.

“Hi,” you said as you stood up and waved awkwardly. “My name is Y/N. This is my first time here. I served as a medic in the Army for 5 years. For 18 months of that, I was deployed as a combat medic.”

“Where’d you tour?” An older man asked. The bottom of his cane was pressed to the floor, both hands holding it in place.

“Syria,” you answered.

A black gentleman let out a long, low whistle. “You must have seen some shit, girlie.”

You sat back down. “I didn’t come here for the coffee.”

Practically everyone in the group burst out into laughter. You thought you even saw the therapist chuckling to himself.

In this group, men outnumbered women by quite a bit; there were 3 women, including yourself, and 7 men. You could have gone to their all-women meeting later that week, but you decided to save that one for later. For now, your horizons were broad.

These men were gruff, blunt, and cut-and-dry — everything you expected from older vets that lived through what you did, maybe even worse. You could see why some female veterans felt more inclined to attend a women’s group; they were still tough as hell, but there was a certain courtesy they retained. It was as though men lost that courtesy somewhere along their service. You didn’t mind, though. Most of them reminded you of your grandfather.

“And who’s the handsome man you brought with you?” A woman with long, grey hair asked. Her smile was wrinkly, and her voice rough: a smoker, you assumed. She smiled at Spencer. “Your husband?”

You laughed lightly as you shook your head. “This is Spencer. He’s… my friend.”

The man with the cane snorted. “Friend. How do you feel about that, boy?”

“I’m quite alright with it,” Spencer assured.

He was a fish out of water in a setting like this. You were happy he merely introduced you to this place, let alone sat beside you the entire time. You were truly lucky to have someone like him in your life.

Turns out, you had a lot in common with basically everyone in the group. All of them were deployed at some point, mostly to Afghanistan or Iran. Some even served in the Vietnam War. Regardless of location, though, you all shared the same trait: none of you came back the same person you left as. Something happened. Something changed you.

“I try to be better,” Marge, the woman from before, said. “I try to do good, not let the past weigh me down. I helped a lot of people. I try not to think about the people I hurt.”

You pat her shoulder briefly. She brushed fingers with your hand, a silent way to show appreciation.

“What about you, kid?” Rudy, the man with the cane, asked. “You’ve been pretty quiet.”

You considered. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It cost me everything.”

“That’s no explanation, sweetheart,” Abraham, the black man, said.

“Lucky for her,” the therapist intervened, “we’re out of time.”

“It takes at least two sessions to unlock my backstory,” you joked with a shrug. “Sorry, boys.”

You and Spencer stayed for a bit afterwards, drinking more cheap coffee and sharing a few lighter, easier words with other attendees. Marge managed to pull Spencer aside, and whatever the two were talking about, they both seemed interested. You smiled fondly.

When the men you were surrounded by noticed, they began to make a few jokes about how Spencer was clearly more than a ‘friend’. You took it as your excuse to leave.

“‘Two sessions?’” Spencer quoted on the way out. “Do you want to come back?”

You nodded, a small smile on your face. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Spencer put an arm around your shoulders. “I’m proud of you, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Spencer.”

For maybe the first time in your life, you were proud of you too.

_____________________

You and Spencer walked into the office to find what seemed like everyone except the BAU there. People in camouflage and suits alike swarmed in the bullpen, taking every possible floor space. You’d be lucky to make it to your desk, let alone find it empty.

“What the hell..?” you muttered to yourself.

Spencer briefly grabbed your hand. You quickly realized it was only to pull you across the room and to the stairs. However, you didn’t miss the slight squeeze he gave you.

“Guys, this is Dr. Linda Kimura, Chief of Special Pathogens at the CDC,” JJ explained when you and Spencer entered the briefing room.

“CDC?” you repeated in disbelief.

“Hello,” she greeted. “I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances.”

“What circumstances, exactly?” Spencer asked.

“We should get started,” Hotch said.

Everyone, including you, picked up a file from the table.

“Last night, 25 people checked into emergency rooms in and around Annapolis,” Garcia said. “They were all at the same park after 2PM last night. Within 10 hours, the first victim died. “Less than 16 hours later, 11 more are dead.”

“Lung failure and black lesions,” you said, reading the chart. “Anthrax?”

“Anthrax doesn’t kill this fast,” Spencer disagreed.

“This strain does,” Dr. Kimura said.

“What are we doing about potential mass targets?” Emily asked. “Airports, malls, trains?”

“There’s a media blackout,” Hotch replied.

“We’re not telling the public?”

“We’d have a mass exodus,” Derek said.

“The psychology of group panic would cause more deaths than this last attack,” Rossi agreed.

“Yeah, and if it does get out, whoever did this might go underground or destroy their samples,” Spencer said.

“Or he didn’t get the attention he wanted and might attack again,” Emily argued. “Doesn’t the public have a right to know that?”

“Next time, we’ll all be dead,” you said, mostly to yourself. You looked up to find everyone staring at you. “This attack was supposed to be quiet — he’s testing his strain, seeing how effective it is. The next time he strikes, too many people will be dead for anyone to keep it quiet.”

“The best way to stop a future attack is by profiling him as quickly as we can,” Hotch continued.

“What do we know about the strain?” Spencer asked Dr. Kimura.

“The spores are weaponized, reduced to a respiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs,” She explained. “Odorless and invisible.”

“Sophisticated,” Rossi noted. “Only a scientist would know how to do that.”

“The size of these lesions are doubling in a couple of hours,” JJ said, looking at the before and after photos.

“It’s not the lesions I’m worried about,” Dr. Kiruma said, “it’s the lungs. We don’t know how to combat the toxins once they’re inside. The reality is, we may lose them all.”

“The remaining survivors have all been moved to a special wing at Walter Reed Hospital,” Garcia said. “Our offices will become a small command center.”

“We’ll be working with scientists from Fort Detrick,” Hotch said. “Determining what strain this is will help inform who’s responsible.”

“My team is in charge of treating all victims,” Dr. Kimura said.

“Reid, Y/L/N, go with Dr. Kimura to the hospital, interview the victims,” Hotch instructed. He gave everyone else their instructions before picking up a tray on the table. “Cipro. Everyone needs to take it before we go.”

“We don’t know if it’s effective against this strain, but it’s something,” Dr. Kimura said.

You and everyone else reached for a plastic cup containing two white pills. You also grabbed a cup of water from the table.

“This is really happening?” Prentiss asked in disbelief.

“We knew this could happen,” Hotch stated calmly. “We’ve prepared. We’ve done our homework. This is it.”

You outstretched your pill cup to Spencer’s. “Cheers?”

He clicked his cup against yours.

You followed Spencer into a hospital room. Dr. Kimura gave you both a basic rundown on her and her symptoms.

“Hi, Abby,” you greeted, a few steps behind Spencer. “My name’s Y/N, and this is Spencer. We work for the FBI. Is it alright if we ask you a few questions?”

Her lips were grey, and her eyes lost a lifelike sheen. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think a zombie was lying in bed rather than a person.

She nodded once.

“Abby, I’d like to do a memory recall exercise with you to take you back to the park, if that’s okay,” Spencer explained slowly and calmly.

She nodded again.

“I need you to close your eyes.”

Abby closed her eyes.

“Yesterday, you rode your bicycle to the park,” Spencer started. “How did the Sun feel on your skin, the breeze through your hair?” Can you describe for me what you heard, and the people you saw?”

“It was warm, windy…” she rasped out. “There were guys, football… kids… sin me free me.”

You and Spencer shared a look.

“Free me seen mock me free,” she stuttered out.

“Okay, you just rest,” you said gently. Abby tried to speak again, but you shushed her before she could. The poor girl looked terrified. “We’ll leave you alone.”

You walked out of the room, Spencer shortly behind you.

“What’s causing her aphasia?” He asked.

“Kimura said it has to do with the part of the brain the anthrax is attacking,” you answered. “...She also said a few other patients showed the same symptoms before they died.”

“We need to find that cure.”

You watched outside as Kimura tried to revive the 17th victim. She was unsuccessful.

“38-year-old history teacher,” she said with a sigh as she stepped out. “He’s leaving two kids behind.”

You and Spencer followed her to the nurse's station, where she began to look through some paperwork. “This strain is duplicating every 30-45 minutes. It’s poisoning the lungs, which causes massive hemorrhaging and organ failure.”

“Extreme bacterial amplification,” Spencer agreed.

“Huh,” you said absentmindedly. The gears in your head were turning.

“What are you thinking?” Spencer asked almost immediately.

“It’s… weird,” you said, mostly to yourself. “You have to test a strain like this, see what quantity is needed to get the desired effect. What kind of scientist tests on a large group of people in an uncontrolled atmosphere? This man is psychotic, but he’s not stupid.”

“Scientists work their way up to human testing; they start on rodents, advance to larger mammals, and then at some point, they start a very small trial run on a small number of people.”

“What are you saying?” Dr. Kimura inquired.

“This wasn’t a trial run,” you said, “and it wasn’t his first attack, either.”

“We would have known about a previous anthrax case,” she argued.

“Not if it presented itself as something else.”

Dr. Kimura managed to find you both an empty room to make a phone call.

“Two days ago, two people in two seperate Baltimore ERs and one person in a Philadelphia ER slipped into comas and died suddenly,” you said as soon as you heard the line pick up.

“Y/N, slow down,” JJ said. “Is Spencer with you?”

“Hello,” Spencer said awkwardly. “Who all are we talking to?”

“Me, Rossi, and Hotch,” JJ replied.

“The cause of death on those three patients was meningitis,” Spencer explained. “Doctors didn’t do further testing because the illnesses presented themselves as meningitis, but we think they could’ve been caused by anthrax.”

“Did they show the symptoms we’re seeing now — the lesions?” Rossi asked.

“They all died within 3 hours of being admitted,” Spencer continued. “The bodily functions expired too quickly for lesions to appear.”

“The first patient from the park died 10 hours after exposure,” Hotch spoke up.

“He could have used less anthrax on more people at the park,” you theorized. “The higher concentration, the faster this shit kills. If enough was used in a more controlled environment, it could easily shut down every system in the body within a few hours, leaving no time for physical symptoms.”

“What are their names?” Hotch asked after a brief moment of silence.

With the help of a few higher-ups in the military, the team found the best lead so far: a disgraced scientist who proposed a 50-billion dollar plan to fight any potential chemical warfare. His main concern? Anthrax. Derek and Spencer were assigned to visit his home while Prentiss and Rossi visited the company he worked for. Staying at the hospital would be useless, so you decided to tag along.

_____________________

Dr. Lawrence Nichols’ yard was tidy; he had a sprinkler going, and the rose bush in his backyard seemed to be trimmed recently. The three of you explored the outside of the house while men in hazmat suits secured the inside.

Derek got a phone call. Spencer stayed behind to listen in. You continued ahead.

Past a few decorative shrubs, you found a sliding glass door. Bright, fluorescent lights were on inside, lighting up a room with grey walls.

“Hey, guys,” you said, turning your head over your shoulder in an attempt to carry your voice.

Either they didn’t hear you, or they were ignoring you. You shrugged, sliding open the door and stepping in.

“Whoa.”

Not only was the room practically spotless, but it was filled with equipment — you guessed at least a couple thousand dollars went into the contents of the room, probably far more. To say this guy knew what he was doing would be the understatement of the century.

After scanning the walls and multiple tables, your eyes landed on the floor. It was composed of white tiles that shone under the light. Nicholas seemed to be a real neat freak. By the leg of a table, though, there was an inconsistency: a dark liquid was spilled.

Frowning, you stepped around to take a better look. Within a few steps, the entire sight came into your view, and it was far from a pretty one. A white-haired man in a suit laid dead on the floor. It could only be Nichols.

Your hand flew to the holster on your side. You grabbed your pistol, raising it to the air. You did another sweep of the room, and unsurprisingly, you came up empty. The lab was impressive, but it was small. It would extremely difficult for someone to hide in it.

You returned your gun to its holster. Crouching down, you took a better look at Nichols. You guessed he’d be dead for awhile now. The blood on the floor was brown and tacky rather than red and thin, and rigor mortis had already set in. You weren’t particularly educated in the field, but you could say with confidence he’d been dead for at least a day.

Looking closer, you noticed something beside him. It was a vile, much like the others on various tables in the lab. This one, though, had a bright yellow label on it. It also contained a thin, white powder. And, it was shattered into pieces.

Anthrax.

“Y/N?” You heard Spencer call.

The bushes that covered the lab entrance shook. Acting on instinct, you moved to the door and slammed it shut.

“Y/N?!” Spencer asked, this time more frantically. He rushed to the door, reaching for the handle.

“Get back!” you shouted, fumbling for the lock. “Spencer, you need to get out of here.”

“What’s going on?!” He protested, feeding off of your panic. When he realized trying to pry open the door would do no good, Spencer began pounding on the glass with his fist. “Y/N, open the door!”

You managed to lock the door, and a brief, small wave of relief washed over your body. You looked up, locking eyes with Spencer. His palm was pressed flat against the door, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth slacked open.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

A swarm of people were outside the house within ten minutes. You could take the three various vehicles, the dozens of soldiers and CDC members swarming around. What you couldn’t take was Derek, Hotch, and especially Spencer staring at you from across the yard.

Hotch picked up his phone and held it in front of him. You phone rang a few seconds later.

“Sir, I’m so, so sorry,” you apologized immediately. “I… I really fucked up.”

“Y/N, we’re going to get you out and to the hospital,” Hotch said.

“What? That’s stupid,” you disagreed. “I’m staying here.”

“Like hell you are!” Spencer argued.

“Listen, Doogie: I’m infected. I’m more useful if I’m infected in Nichols’ lab than if I’m infected in the hospital. I can poke around in here, but I’m no prodigy with an eidetic memory. I need your help, Spencer. Will you help me?”

Spencer looked down. You sighed in defeat, hanging up the phone so you could continue exploring the lab.

Your phone rang again. You picked up.

“How can I help?”

“I see two different desks — one is cluttered, the other is immaculate,” you said, looking between the two. You took a notebook off the first desk, opened it, and placed it next to a stack of papers on the second, clean desk. “There’s two sets of handwriting, too. I think he has a partner.”

“Can you figure out which one is Nichols?” Spencer asked.

“Well, based on his lab, I’d guess he’s the neat freak,” you thought aloud.

“Read a few of the papers Nichols wrote,” Spencer instructed. “Does anything strike you as odd?”

You skimmed through the papers left on his desk, muttering to yourself as you did so. By the third page, you found something that seemed… weird.

“He wrote down instructions,” you told Spencer. “How to sterilize equipment, store samples… it’s all stuff he should know.”

“He doesn’t have a partner — he has an apprentice,” Spencer said. “Good job, Y/N. I have to call Hotch, but I’ll call you right after, okay?”

You smiled weakly. “Okay.”

Once they secured and sterilized the area, Spencer was allowed to sit on the other side of the door. He wanted to come inside, but you preferred this. You wanted to see him as his dorky, charming self, not someone in pounds of a bright orange suit.

“It’s ironic,” you said, your back pressed to the glass. You took off your jacket awhile ago, but sweat still soaked your shirt. “For the first time in almost a decade, I decided to get help. Now, I’ll be dead before I can even see the results.”

“Don’t say that, “Spencer argued softly. “You’re not dying. Kimura and her team will be in soon, and they’ll find the cure. You’re gonna be fine.”

“Maybe,” You said. You didn’t believe it, but you didn’t want to upset him, so you let it go. Therapy taught you to choose your battles. “But if I’m not fine in a few hours, I want to say I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Spencer was sitting directly opposite from you, so the glass felt warm. Despite your already elevated temperature, the heat was soothing. If you closed your eyes, it felt like you were touching him.

“For breaking up with you, for pushing you away, for… everything,” you laughed bitterly only to fight back tears. “I love you, Spencer Reid, and I’m sorry I haven’t been showing it lately.”

“You can show it when you’re out of here and safe in my apartment,” He promised. “Actually… in our apartment.”

“I’m moving in with you?” You asked with a genuine laugh.

“Yes, and you’re not allowed to say no,” Spencer said. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

“I don’t like my apartment that much anyways,” you said.

The two of you shared a chuckle. Your laughter quickly turned into a violent cough. Spencer went silent

You fished your phone out of your pocket, dialing a number you now knew by heart.

“Hey, Y/N,” Garcia said after picking up. Her voice was soft and sweet.

“‘Y/N’?” You asked. “No witty Garcia greeting for me?”

“I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are,” she replied.

“Garcia, can you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“I can’t call my mom,” you said. “Ever since I joined the Army, she’s been paranoid — if I say one word in a weird way, she’ll be on the next plan to DC. I can’t put her in danger like that.”

“What do you need?” Garcia asked.

“I need you to record a message for her in case something happens,” you said softly.

“Oh, Y/N, nothing’s going to happen to you,” Garcia said. The optimism in her voice sounded real. “You’re gonna figure out who did this, and we’re gonna treat this strain.”

“I hope you’re right,” you said with an exhale, “but… just in case.”

“Okay. Give me a sec,” Garcia said. You heard her clicking away at her keyboard, pulling up the right program. “Ready.”

“Hi, Mom,” you said, stopping to cough. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, but I know I should say something. ...I guess more than anything else, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for moving halfway across the country, I’m sorry I don’t call you back, I’m sorry I don’t let you in on much.

“I’m sorry I left so soon after dad died,” your voice caught. You cleared your throat. “I just… I had to get out. I know you say it’s okay, but it wasn’t. We were going through hell, and we should have done it together. You’re an amazing mother. I’m sorry for being such a shitty daughter. I just… I hope you know how much I love you. I love you more than anything, mom. I’m sorry it ended this way. I’m just really, really sorry.”

Ten minutes later, Dr. Kimura and a few other people were inside. You stood up, taking in her airtight suit.

“You look good,” you said sarcastically. “I’m going to a banquet next month. Can I borrow your outfit?”

She chuckled. “I haven’t worn this in a long time.”

“How are the patients at the hospital?”

“Let’s worry about you,” she said instead. “Are you in any pain?”

“No, I feel fine,” you said. “I don’t need anything.”

“Are you sure?” She asked. “We can at least try to make you comfortable.”

“Narcotics cause drowsiness and nausea,” you said. “I’m still here because I want to be useful.”

“Y/N!” Spencer said, tapping the glass to get your attention.

You turned around to see him with his phone pressed against his ear.

“The three ER patients all went to the same bookstore before being admitted,” Spencer told you. “They found traces of anthrax in the vents.”

“How can I help?” Dr. Kimura asked.

“Dr. Nichols was a former military scientist, which means he was most likely secretive and paranoid,” you said, stopping to breathe. “Odds are, he hid the cure from his partner in a place he wouldn’t suspect. Look for things that are obvious, hidden in plain sight.”

Your phone rang in your pocket. You turned to Spencer again, who raised his eyebrows. You picked up your phone.

“I’ve got Garcia on the line,” he said. “Rossi and Prentiss don’t think the accomplice was a coworker.”

“Okay, uh…” you frowned, thoughts jumbling. You retraced your steps back to Nichols’ desk to look for more clues. “I see a framed photo of Nichols teaching.” You looked in the file holder, coming up with nothing. You then looked through the basket in the corner and found a binder. “I see syllabi and assignments going back to the 70s.”

“He valued himself as an educator,” Spencer said.

“A teacher,” you whispered in thought. You dug through one of the drawers, looking for something you saw earlier. “I didn’t make the connection before, but he has a study on anthrax. There’s red ink and notes in the margins — it’s graded, like how a teacher grades a paper. Nichols wouldn’t open his lab to just anyone, but he might let someone in if they were interested in learning.”

“He appealed to Nichols as a student,” Spencer agreed. “Nichols is helping him with his thesis.”

“I can look up local PhD students,” Garcia chimed in.

“Check the sciences — biochemisty, microbiology,” Spencer instructed.

“Cross-checking with names of former employees or customers with grievances at the bookstore…” Garcia said. “Nothing, my doves.”

You coughed loudly, covering your mouth. “Here, listen to this,” you said after recovering. “‘Each household should have gas masks and a 2-month supply of cipro.’”

“That’s verbatim to what Nichols said,” Spencer spoke. “The partner’s adopted Nichols’ views to his own.”

“The chapters are on setting up triage and mobile emergency rooms,” you said, flipping through the paper. “Last time I checked, science students don’t write about city preparedness.”

“Garcia, cross-check with students in social studies — public policy, urban planning,” Spencer said.

“Hot to trot,” Garcia said. “Chad M. Brown, studied public policy, graduated from University of Maryland. He’s a former employee of the bookstore, no steady job, was slapped with a restraining order from his ex-girlfriend.”

“He’s our guy,” Spencer said. “Y/N, get out of there.”

You hung up, looking over and smiling faintly at him. He returned the expression.

You stood up. A wave of coughs rolled through your chest, each hack more violent than the last. You eventually pulled your elbow back to see your paled skin splattered with blood.

You felt dizzy. Your ears began to ring. Vaguely, you heard Spencer call your name, but it sounded like you were underwater. You knees buckled under your own weight.

The world went dark.

_____________________

You can’t see anything, so your other senses are amplified.

The smells.

The sounds.

Sweat, urine, blood, rotting flesh.

Rodents scurrying across the dirt, brushing across your ankles as they went after the real prey.

This place is hell on earth.

You’d rather die than spend another second here.

_____________________

You woke up to a steady beeping sound. You frowned, briefly opening your eyes only to squeeze them back shut. The room smelled sterile. The bed you laid on was hard, but it was draped with soft sheets. Other than the fact that it opened in the back, the standard gown you were wearing was surprisingly comfortable too.

“Welcome back,” Spencer greeted faintly.

You rolled your head to face his voice, eyes still closed. You finally noticed the cannula feeding oxygen into your nose, as it pressed against your cheek. Still, you smiled, and it wasn’t forced. “Hey.”

“You scared us, kid,” a deeper yet just as warm voice spoke up.

You tried opening your eyes again. You could faintly make out a tall, stout man with his arms crossed. “Hey, Derek.”

You tried sitting up, only to hiss in pain and reach for your side. Spencer put a hand on your shoulder.

“Take it easy,” he said softly, only moving his hand away when you laid back down. “They had to put a chest tube in — your lungs were starting to fill with blood.”

“Kimura said if they found the cure minutes later, your heart could have stopped,” Derek said.

“Where was it?”

“Nichols’ inhaler,” a voice from the doorway spoke up. Dr. Kimura stood there, a small smile on her face. “You were right: it was hidden in plain sight. And now, both the strain and the cure are going to be locked up in Fort Detrick along with other chemical warfare.”

“The other patients?”

“They’ll be okay,” Kimura assured, “just like you’ll be.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Kimura said before dismissing herself.

“Well,” Derek said after a brief silence, “I’m starving. You two want anything?”

Spencer shook his head.

“Coffee, please,” you said.

“Coffee for the lady, comin’ right up,” Derek said, then left. He closed the door behind him.

Spencer scooted in closer, running a hand over your hair. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for things that aren’t your fault,” he scolded gently. “I’m just really, really relieved. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered. You moved your gaze to the ceiling, swallowing thickly. “I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“I’m ready to tell you what happened in Syria.”

_____________________

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thelazyperfection-blog · 7 years

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&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;strong&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;TEN THINGS RUNNING REEBOK RAGNAR NIAGARA TAUGHT ME&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/strong&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;

My newest post has been published on https://thelazy.me/2017/05/23/ten-things-running-reebok-ragnar-niagara-taught-me/

TEN THINGS RUNNING REEBOK RAGNAR NIAGARA TAUGHT ME

I’ve started & restarted this recap so many times already. I don’t know where to start, so I decided to try something different and share some things I learned during the Reebok Ragnar Relay race! Buckle up–this is gonna be a long one!

FRIENDSHIP MATTERS

Have you ever met those people who say they don’t need friends? They’re lying. No matter how introverted I can be at times or how unsure I am that I want to be around a group of people for a long period of time–I still need friends.

I’ve wanted to run a Ragnar relay race for years, but simply didn’t have enough running friends to form a team. Sometime last year that changed and I met a ton of runners (that I actually liked!); Ragnar announced their return to Canada and I immediately freaked out with excitement! I joined the Ragnar team as an ambassador and quickly assembled my team complete with a few people I only knew from the online world.

Throughout every moment of this race: the planning, the even more planning, the excessive planning, the decorating, the millions of messages and questions, and then during the actual race part, all I could think was how amazing my friends are. This race has so many logistics that it could easily end in frustration if you had the wrong team. Lucky for me, my team rocked and showed me once again that friendship truly matters!

Probably the best decision I made was asking Cathy to be on my team! She designed all of our graphics and then she and her husband (who, btw, made an Instagram account the morning of the race just so he could follow along….) printed all our decals at their print shop, Gawck. We definitely had the best-looking vans at the race!

Her graphic skills definitely helped our team, but more than that, Cathy did so much behind the scenes. I got too much credit as the captain because honestly, I couldn’t have done it without Cathy! She was always there to jump in when I needed help making a final decision, she went to the captain’s meeting because I couldn’t make it and she was my sounding board during every bit of the planning for this race!

I KINDA, SORTA LIKE TO BE IN CHARGE

Okay….this is not a new revelation or anything, but I guess I really learned during the planning and execution of this race that I actually enjoy planning stuff like this. It’s not a matter of wanting everything to go my way; but more a matter of the “fun” of organizing a team. Reebok contacted us a couple months before the race and as we began working with them as our team sponsor, I truly enjoyed dealing with the details. I’ve been in charge of lots of things in my life like directing school choirs or dramas and working with groups of women to pull off events, but this was a little different and I enjoyed learning so many new things!

That being said, I probably (read…definitely) spent too long obsessing over the race details and not enough time on my training!

I NEED TO HYDRATE MORE (aka Leg 1)

Van 1 left for their 9AM start in Cobourg early Friday morning & Van 2 headed to Bowmanville after hitting Starbucks for coffee and breakfast sandwiches. I was the first runner for our van and was hardcore nervous! It was fairly chilly on Friday and the rest of my team was in sweatpants and hoodies while I stood waiting in my tank and shorts. I overheat when I run, but it was dreary and cloudy with no sign of the sun so I didn’t really think much about being too hot.

As we were waiting for the first van to get closer I realized I hadn’t had any water. It was 12:30 and I had had a couple of coffees, a breakfast sandwich, and a cookie. We had tons of water in the van, yet for some reason, I hadn’t had any! Major rookie move right there, so I tried to drink what I could before I ran out of time!

It wasn’t long before Ben came into the exchange to pass off to me.

I took off and began my 7.8k run. It took me exactly five minutes to realize that the clouds had parted, the sun was out and I was not in shape to continue running a 5:20/km pace. I slowed down, took a few walk breaks and focused on trying to get to the guy in the red shirt ahead of me. I kept him in view until I caught him a little after 5k and we started chatting! Chris from California and I ran the rest of the way together until the very end when he told me I could sprint past him into the exchange. Thanks Chris!

As I passed off to Cathy, I saw Anson and J standing off to the side so I ran to hug them. It was so nice to see my family waiting to cheer for me. Lisa gave J a cookie so she’s probably his favourite now!

(Then I realized my head was pounding, I didn’t feel so great and I needed to drink a few bottles of water to rehydrate–lesson learned!)

HAVING FUN IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN BEING FAST (aka Leg 2)

We had some fast people on our team–these people win races; yet, they were willing to put aside any aspirations of winning to simply have a good time. As the night legs started happening and the headlamps, tail lights and safety vests came out, I started to feel nervous. Now, I am not a nervous person. I like running in the dark and hate early morning runs, but I don’t usually run somewhere brand new to me in the dark. Michelle told all of us girls that if we wanted someone to run with us that we could have someone and it was no big deal.

Ben easily agreed to run with me during my 5.3km night run, so instead of passing off to me after running his 12.7km leg, he just kept running.

This was my favourite leg of the race because I wasn’t alone. I got to know Ben a little more (we are basically best friends now) and I have no idea how long the run took because I didn’t wear my watch or take my phone. I am in no shape to worry about speed right now–enjoying the run is exactly what I needed!

SLEEP IS ACTUALLY OPTIONAL

We finished our night legs around 4AM and drove to the next major exchange in St. Catherines where we tried to go to sleep at 5AM. I had (so kindly) given Michelle my blanket to use while we were driving and when we stopped the van to sleep she was curled up so nicely in it that I didn’t have the heart to take it away. I laid myself on the floor between the front seats and fell asleep. I woke up thinking I slept for hours and checked my phone. Yep. I slept for 42 whole minutes!! I sent Carmy a few texts to see how their van was doing, thought about how cold the van had gotten, tried to roll on my side which didn’t work (cramped quarters I chose to lay in!!!) and eventually fell back to sleep for another half an hour. Around 6:30 everyone started to stir and Lisa and Cathy shared how they didn’t actually sleep at all. We figured out that there was a Starbucks close by, so we headed there to get some breakfast. My stomach wasn’t feeling so great so I opted for a peppermint tea only since my next running leg was soon.

I changed in the Starbucks and we headed back to the exchange point. Somehow along the way those few minutes of sleep felt like hours and hours. My adrenaline was real during this race & I never once felt exhausted. This time sleep was actually optional!

PEOPLE IN BOSTON SHIRTS WILL ALWAYS PASS ME (aka Leg 3)

After we got back to our exchange point I knew I needed to put my socks and shoes on. I was dreading it because I had a blister on the inside of my right foot in the same spot I usually get one after a long run. It hurt to put my shoe on, so I made the choice to use one of the pins from my race bib and pop it. I stuck one of Michelle’s moleskin bandages on it and put my socks and shoes on. I hobbled to the bathroom where I spent far too long (TMI…sorry!!) and hoped I wouldn’t miss Ben coming into the exchange!

I didn’t have to wait for too long before Ben came charging into the exchange, did an epic jump and passed me the slap bracelet (which I never wore btw. I just carried it in my hand!).

I headed off down the road into the wind and waved to an elderly man mowing his lawn. He waved back and cheered for me which totally made my morning! Everything was going along fine until just after the 1km to go sign. The path went over a bridge and then curved to the left, but the road kept going straight. In Ragnar rules, you always stay straight unless there is a sign telling you to turn. I hesitated for a few seconds because I was on a path (I couldn’t run on the road where I was) and the path turned. I saw a lady in a tutu out of the corner of my eye and was instantly annoyed that someone in a tutu was so close. Then I saw that she was wearing a Boston Marathon shirt. My judgemental self chilled out and immediately gave the speedy lady in the tutu permission to pass, but she didn’t. She stopped dead and looked at me. Neither of us was sure where to go so I sent my van a message and asked, “is the exchange by the water or no?” Krysten replied, “NO!” and I knew where to head! The tutu-clad Boston runner beat me into the exchange, but that’s okay–she ran Boston! She can pass me all day every day!

HUGS ARE MY JAM

I used to hate hugging people. I’m not sure when it changed, but sometime in the past 5 years I have gotten over that completely. Now I hug people when I first meet them. I hug my friends to say hi and then again to say bye. My van decided that we needed to have exchange dances, but they decided this when I was out for my first run so I kinda missed the memo! When they told me after I said that I would pass off to Cathy with a hug. Sure that seems boring, but to me it was perfect!

When I finished my final leg, Michelle was there instead of Cathy because they had switched legs! Michelle didn’t know my ritual so the hug didn’t happen, but as soon as I passed off the bracelet I turned and saw Nancy standing there in a volunteer hat. Nancy is one of my favourite people ever and I knew she was volunteering, but I was still so happy to see her! Getting a hug from her as I finished my part of Ragnar was pretty special to me. Maybe I didn’t have a special dance, but hugs? Those I can do!

I NEVER WANT TO DRIVE FOR A RAGNAR RACE

I don’t mind driving at all, but I seriously don’t ever want to drive for a Ragnar race. Both of our drivers are runners who didn’t get to run during Ragnar. The way that they stepped up to drive for us with literally zero complaints was amazing. Leanne drove my van and how she put up with us is pretty impressive. I probably would’ve slammed on the brakes, pulled to the side of the road and demanded that everyone BE QUIET! Leanne and Maria deserve a medal and if there’s one thing I wish Ragnar would change is that the drivers don’t get anything–not even a race shirt. They deserve just as much as the runners in my opinion! Their jobs are not easy!

I LOVE SEEING MY FRIENDS SUCCEED

I focus way too much on myself just like probably 98% of the population does. I’m selfish and I’m not afraid to admit it; but, lately, I’ve started to notice how much I genuinely love to see my friends succeed. Sure, I would like to do well myself, but my own Ragnar legs were quickly forgotten once my teammates started running! Seeing Courtney make up lost time for us by running so much faster than she knew she could; seeing Cathy take on a longer leg than planned to help Michelle out and then seeing Lisa power through the final leg after overcoming a year plagued by injury had me overcome with joy.

I had exactly nothing to do with their successes which made it even more thrilling to see. My friends were fighting through their runs and I loved seeing it!

I LOVE BEING PART OF A TEAM

I knew I was going to be emotional to some extent but I didn’t expect it to hit me quite so hard! We cheered as Courtney headed out for her final leg and then jumped in the van. I pulled out my phone to text my team and my eyes filled with tears as I typed these words:

“Courtney’s on route. We are headed to the final exchange before the finish.”

I am not sure what happened but the emotion of it all overwhelmed me. Realizing that 14 people worked together to accomplish one goal meant so much to me. Stopping at each exchange and seeing people laughing and talking with each made me so happy. I am an observer. Sometimes I joke that my excellent memory helps me not be fooled, but it’s really probably my observation skills more than anything. I remember people nervously biting their lips before their runs; people talking too much to try to make it look like they were comfortable; and people staying back from the crowds just watching what everyone was doing. I was laughing and having fun the entire time, but I was watching too.

I know that my team could’ve placed in our division if they had really wanted to. I know that I was the slowest runner on the team (I’m not an idiot!!)! I also know that they all did Ragnar because I asked them and honestly, at the end of the race–it overwhelmed me to realize that this race wasn’t about running. This race was about love. It was about friendship. It was about a team.

Shortly after we crossed the finish line, I did an interview with Reebok. I don’t remember most of what I said (pro tip–try to speak coherently on camera after not sleeping for over 30 hours!). I do remember talking about running the night leg with Ben & how it really made me realize that we were a team. It was no longer one van running and then the second van running after they were finished. During that night leg, our team blended into one as we worked together to get closer to the finish. It was in the darkness that I truly learned what a Ragnar Relay race is all about.

*This post is sponsored by Reebok Canada but as always, all opinions are my own. A special thank you to Reebok for taking care of our team during our training & on race day.

#Ragnar Niagara #Running #Uncategorised

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