Finding My Happy Pace (Toronto Series #8)

By Heather Wardell

If thirty-year-old Megan were any more of a doormat, she'd have footprints on her back. She helps anyone and everyone, no matter the cost to herself, and she's always been that way. Even the thought of withholding her assistance makes her feel sick. Worse, it makes her feel like she's a bad person, selfish and unkind.

She takes up running purely to avoid gaining weight, but as she trains with her cute but heartbroken coach Andrew she becomes more able to do things she'd never thought she could, both physically and emotionally.

The day before she runs her first marathon, though, her best friend's demands result in the biggest challenge yet to her developing assertiveness and Megan must decide: cave in as she always has before or stick to her new-found 'happy pace' in running and life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heather Wardell
• Release date: May 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476465760

Heather Wardell

Want a free monthly story and updates about Heather's books? Copy bit.ly/HW-NL into your browser's address bar to sign up.Heather is a natural 1200 wpm speed reader and the author of twenty-two novels. She came to writing after careers as a software developer and elementary school computer teacher and can’t imagine ever leaving it. In her spare time, she reads, swims, walks, lifts weights, crochets, changes her hair colour, and plays drums and clarinet.Generally not all at once.

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Book Description

If thirty-year-old Megan were any more of a doormat, she'd have footprints on her back. She helps anyone and everyone, no matter the cost to herself, and she's always been that way. Even the thought of withholding her assistance makes her feel sick. Worse, it makes her feel like she's a bad person, selfish and unkind.

She takes up running purely to avoid gaining weight, but as she trains with her cute but heartbroken coach Andrew she becomes more able to do things she'd never thought she could, both physically and emotionally.

The day before she runs her first marathon, though, her best friend's demands result in the biggest challenge yet to her developing assertiveness and Megan must decide: cave in as she always has before or stick to her new-found 'happy pace' in running and life.

Author's Note

Finding My Happy Pace is the eighth novel in my Toronto Collection. While the books can be read out of order, this one includes significant spoilers for my earlier book Planning to Live, so if you haven't read that one yet you might want to pick it up first!

If you'd like to read all of the Toronto books in order starting with my free novel Life, Love, and a Polar Bear Tattoo, the Also By Heather Wardell link in the Table of Contents will give you the information you need.

Whatever you choose to do, I wish you lots of happy reading!

Heather

FINDING MY HAPPY PACE

Chapter One

Amanda's call woke me from a sound sleep. Do you know what he said?

Struggling to regain consciousness, I said, What? Who?

"I told him I thought I might be pregnant, just to see what he'd say, and he laughed and said he'd never marry somebody stupid enough to get knocked up without meaning to."

Obnoxious on his part, and of course it took two to get knocked up, but I felt sure James had known she was trying to trap him and had done a surprisingly neat job of sidestepping. I wouldn't have thought he had it in him.

Megan!

Her sharp voice startled me. What? I'm here.

Good. Stunned, right? I know, he's such a jerk. That's why I need your help tomorrow afternoon. He's going to his parents at three for his cousin's birthday and I want to have his stuff on the street when he gets back. I won't stay with a guy who wouldn't support me and my baby.

The non-existent baby she'd only have conceived to snare said guy. My stomach twisting, I sat up and rubbed my eyes until they could focus on the clock. Seven-fifty. I'd set my alarm for eight. How did she always manage to do that? Amanda, I can't. Tomorrow's my race. I'm running 26.2 miles starting at seven in the morning. Even by three, I won't be in any kind of shape to move his stuff.

She didn't speak, and I sank back into bed feeling proud of myself. I'd told her clearly and without fuss that I couldn't help and why. I'd tried so many times and now I'd finally managed it. She would understand and everything would be--

But I need you, she said, her voice full of tears. I finally see it this time. He'll never be who I want him to be. Come on, I need you. I can't do it alone and I don't know anyone else who'll help me.

I shut my eyes, wishing I hadn't answered the phone.

I'd truly thought I was ready to confidently take care of my own needs.

The sincerity and passion in her voice told me she truly thought she was permanently ending her relationship.

No doubt we were both wrong.

When I didn't speak, because the battle raging within me still had no winner, she said, Megan, please. I get how unhealthy this is now and I won't let him come back.

She had said almost exactly those words at least three times before. Each time she'd welcomed him back into her life. But what if this time she really meant it? Amanda, I can't, I said, then winced at the indecision in my voice.

She heard it too, no doubt, because she told me again and again that she appreciated everything I'd done before and that this time would be different.

I held out as long as I could, but I'd grown up never refusing, the consummate yes girl, and though over the last few months I'd realized she was taking advantage of me eventually I said the one thing I knew I shouldn't.

Okay. I'll be there.

Thanks. You're the greatest.

The greatest sucker.

*****

I spent the morning reading and packing up my gear for the next day, including shower stuff and a change of clothes so I could go help Amanda, while regretting over and over that I'd agreed. When noon rolled around, I had a carb-heavy pasta lunch then headed out into the crisp October air to pick up my race kit with my running buddies, leaving a little early in the hopes I might get to see Andrew alone.

At the subway station, though, I lost that extra time to a long and barely moving line to buy tokens. I read my latest book-club novel on my phone as I waited, trying to lose myself in it to tune out the grumbling people around me. Did they think their complaining would help? It couldn't make the wait any shorter or less annoying for them but it was annoying the stuffing out of me. Not even my book could distract me from--

Someone tapped me on the shoulder.

I looked over, and a man who looked rather like my grandfather smiled at me and said in a befuddled voice, Is this the line to buy tokens?

I nodded, and he said, Thank you, dear.

I smiled and went back to my book, but before I could get into the story I noticed the man didn't leave. Instead, he took a tiny step forward, so he was still partly beside me but also inching in to cut in front of me, and stood still.

The line starts back there, I said before I thought about it.

What? The sweetly confused tone vanished from his voice in just that one word.

I looked back and pointed at the end of the line, easily ten people away. That's where the line starts.

He gave a disgusted huff and stomped off to where I'd indicated, and I went back to my book feeling a twinge of pride for having calmly protected my place in line. It only lasted a moment, though, before my frustration over having given in to Amanda made it disappear.

I kept reading, trying to distract myself from my feelings, and eventually I got my tokens. A short subway ride and walk later, I stood with Jeanine under a huge Welcome, MarathonToronto participants! banner in the lobby of the hotel hosting the race expo. When Andrew arrived a minute after me, he smiled, his blue eyes warm but something in them telling me he wasn't any clearer about what had happened between us the night before than I was, and said, Well, ladies, it's race weekend. Are you excited?

Ecstatic. Jeanine yawned. Exhausted. Let's get our kits.

We followed her to the appropriate lineup, and soon we'd each picked up a reusable shopping bag with the race logo emblazoned on it and settled down in a quiet corner where we could check out our loot, especially the three most important items in the bag.

First, the plastic chip we'd each lace onto a shoe to time our progress through the race. Second, our official race bibs, rectangles of thick waxy paper printed with our race numbers and first names, which we had to wear on our shirts to prove we were registered. Third, and most exciting, our black race t-shirts.

No wearing this shirt before the race, or during it. Jeanine shook her finger at me. Most people consider it bad luck.

Andrew had told me that during one of our long runs alone. No worries, I'm wearing my 'happy pace' shirt anyhow. A wave of warmth, nearly melting the cold discomfort of my aggravation over Amanda, hit me at how sweet Andrew had been to custom-order the special blue shirts with his 'find your happy pace' motto emblazoned front and back and how cute he'd been when he'd handed them to us last weekend so we could try them out before the race.

Me too, Andrew said. Jeanine's the odd one out. Big shock there. She swatted him, smiling and trying to hide it in a mock frown, and he laughed and added, Of course, if you have a lucky shirt you have to wear it for the race. Then you can wear your happy pace one when the race is finished.

She nodded. At which point my pace will be passed out on the couch. Sounds happy to me.

They smiled at each other, but fear filled me at the thought of the challenge to come. So much further than I'd run before. Could I really do it?

I'd come apart so badly that morning with Amanda, after all. I hadn't changed enough to stand up to her. Had I truly changed enough in the months since my birthday back in March to survive a marathon?

Chapter Two

About time you got here.

Amanda was joking, but also clearly frustrated, and I felt terrible. Sorry. The grocery store was crazy. I'd taken even longer because a woman with a huge cartload of stuff had cut in front of me in line. I hadn't tried to stop her; I'd have felt bad doing it, because she was frantic and grumpy and kept muttering, I hate shopping.

I hadn't wanted to be shopping myself. I'd intended to spend my birthday savoring the second-last day of March break before going back to my students on Monday, first reading and relaxing at home then trying to keep that relaxation as I had dinner with my parents and siblings. But Amanda's panicked call insisting I help her make something called 'engagement chicken' for her boyfriend so he'd finally propose had put a serious dent in my afternoon.

I'd had no choice, though: when your best friend calls, you have to go.

I dropped the grocery bags on her kitchen counter. They didn't have flat-leaf parsley, so I got the curly stuff.

She stared at me. But the recipe says flat. It won't work otherwise.

Amanda had been talking for weeks about this recipe that supposedly had mystical powers to make a man propose. I couldn't imagine how that could be possible, and honestly couldn't think of anything worse than having a guy like James propose, but they'd been together four years now and as Amanda had said repeatedly since discovering the recipe, I'm going to be thirty in the fall and I have to get married before I'm too old.

I could only assume she didn't realize she was slapping me, single and five months older than her, in the face every time she said those words.

We can cut the parsley up into tiny bits and--

She shook her head. It's a garnish. Look, go to the store near me and see if they have it.

Her neighborhood was a maze of one-way streets and twisty alleys. I don't know how to get there.

Turn right outside my building, then left at the second Chinese restaurant and right again after the cupcake bakery. Not the regular bakery. Then through the alley with the red sign over it and-- My face must have shown how lost I was. Fine. I'll go. You get the chicken started.

She grabbed her coat and purse, pulled on her boots, and said, James'll be here at six and the chicken takes two hours, so don't fool around.

The door slammed behind her.

I stood in the suddenly silent kitchen, feeling guilty I'd made her go out when she hadn't wanted to, then thought to check the time. Three-forty-five. She might end up serving dinner late because of the-- no, it was just a garnish. I hadn't ruined everything.

She'd printed the recipe so I looked it over then set to work rinsing out the chicken. At least she had bought most of the ingredients herself this time: when she'd decided to make her first-ever cake for Valentine's Day I'd even had to provide her with the flour and salt. But today she'd needed me to pick up her forgotten lemons and fresh sage and of course the apparently vital parsley. Flat-leaf, naturally.

A little sick shiver ran through me and I could almost hear my mother say, Come on, Megan. Don't be mean.

I poured myself a glass of water to wash away the icky feeling and kept working. By the time Amanda returned, nearly forty minutes later, the chicken was in the oven and I'd cleaned the kitchen and was relaxing with a book on my phone.

Smells good in here, she admitted, kicking off her boots and depositing several plastic bags on the floor. And look, I got it! She dug in a bag and retrieved the parsley.

Nice. What's the other stuff?

She pointed at each bag in turn. Wine, candles, and a couple bottles of nail polish since I saw a sale at the drug store.

Something about this rubbed me the wrong way, but before I could figure out what she sniffed again. It really does smell good. So what else do I have to do?

The potatoes are washed and ready to be baked. I glanced at the clock. Actually, they could go in now. My meat thermometer's in the chicken, so keep an eye on it. When it hits whatever temperature the recipe says, you'll know the chicken is done. So I guess a salad and whatever other veggies you want. And maybe dessert?

She gave me an evil grin. I intend to be the dessert.

I didn't need to hear that.

Don't be such a prude, she said, laughing.

It wasn't prudishness. It was James. The mere idea of him having--

I pushed the thought aside before it could make me sick. I hadn't much liked James when I met him a few weeks after I met Amanda, and in the nearly two years since that feeling had devolved into a hatred that brought a red haze before my eyes whenever I thought about him too much. So I thought about him as little as Amanda would allow.

Anyhow. You should be all set.

I hope so. It's time he mans up and proposes. She switched on the oven light and peered in at the chicken. Looks awesome. Too bad you didn't make it for Chad, then maybe he wouldn't have left.

Trying to sound like a tough girl instead of myself, I said, He didn't leave, I dumped him.

After I'd been supporting him for nearly a year. After I'd found out he was cheating on me. He'd left my apartment to buy beer without taking the cell phone I'd bought for him, and when the phone rang I answered because I knew he was waiting on a job application and I didn't want him to lose out on a possible interview. To my horror, the caller told me she was Chad's girlfriend and demanded to know who I was.

In the two months since, I hadn't forgotten the shame of that moment or the even deeper humiliation of Chad's shock when he returned and I kicked him out. His 'I never thought you'd get rid of me' had more truth in it than anything else he'd ever said to me. He'd thought he could do anything he wanted and I'd keep him around. The worst part? I'd considered it. After all, I hadn't given him much attention while my sister had yet another surgery. But in the end I'd known that no matter how justified he might have been in feeling neglected I wouldn't be able to stand the sight of him.

Amanda waved her hand. Well, yeah, but whatever. She giggled. With a name like Chad you should have known he was no good.

Actually, I should have known because he was friends with my brother Brandon and pretty much his equal in arrogance and self-centeredness. I made myself a vow: never again would I date someone associated with Brandon or his mixed martial arts gym. I'd done it a few times and though Chad had been the worst the others hadn't been much better. Those fighter guys were nothing but meatheads and jerks.

When I didn't speak, Amanda said, But he wasn't all that bad, I guess. He was pretty cute.

Yes, he was, and I hadn't thought he was bad at all. I'd liked him, a lot, admired his drive and strength and assertiveness, and I'd thought he liked me. But apparently he'd only liked my salary and my willingness to share it with him.

Well, anyhow, he's gone, I said, not wanting to discuss it any more. And I should be gone too. Time to get ready for dinner.

She shuddered. I can't imagine getting stuck with my family every month. You should tell them you won't go. Stand up to them!

Amanda must have forgotten, but I'd tried that back in December when she wanted us to go to a concert on a family dinner night. My mother had been horrified I'd even asked to reschedule our dinner, and devastated I 'didn't want to see the family'. She'd given me such a guilt trip that I'd not only skipped the concert despite Amanda's disgust but also went to visit my parents twice more during the month to try to make amends.

I was far better off just doing what she expected of me.

Chapter Three

Megan. You got the iPod you wanted. Don't be a bean counter. Let your brother have the hat. He suggested I buy it for you, after all.

Suggested it for himself, more like, knowing I'd have to give it up if he decided he wanted it. It was ridiculous-looking, but it made me laugh every time I glanced at it and I wanted to keep it. I looked from my smirking brother to my exasperated mother. But...

She shook her head, clearly disappointed in me. She was probably right to be: why did a thirty-year-old girl need a foam hat shaped like a dinosaur head?

But then, why did her twenty-eight-year-old brother need it either, and why should he get it when it had been part of my birthday present?

Before I even finished my mental question I knew the answer: because that was how it worked in our family: Brandon got everything he wanted and everyone worried about Kim and I helped out and didn't make waves. I would ordinarily not even have tried to keep the hat for myself, and knowing I'd upset Mom made me feel bad. Not just unhappy or uncomfortable, but bad. A bad person. You're more the dinosaur type anyhow, I said to Brandon, trying to make a joke. So go for it.

He didn't bother thanking me, but slapped the hat onto his head and gave a mighty roar.

I turned my back and looked at Kim, rolling my eyes. She returned the gesture but I felt like she was as annoyed with me as with Brandon. Typical big sister, unimpressed with her young foolish siblings' antics.

Still, I was delighted to see that she looked healthier than she had in years, although still pale from the heart surgery she'd endured three months ago, the heart surgery that had lost me Chad because I'd spent so much time with Kim that he'd felt neglected. The surgery had stolen a friend from me too, because I hadn't been able to take care of her dog while she went on vacation as she'd wanted me to, but at least I still had Amanda. I'd barely seen her, other than at work, until she'd needed my help with the cake on Valentine's Day and then today with the engagement chicken, but she hadn't complained about my absence and I appreciated her thoughtfulness.

But though the surgery had cost me, it had cost Kim far more in pain and fear and worry, so seeing her looking so strong and peaceful felt great. We were all hopeful this final treatment would do the trick, and so far so good, but her whole life had involved surgeries and hospitals and special care and I wasn't convinced it was over yet.

So, Megan, the big three-oh! What changes are you going to make this year?

My dad, always the peacemaker, the smoother-over of situations. Not sure yet, I said, then remembered what I'd been considering the week before. I think I'll start exercising though.

Brandon reached over and poked my stomach. Good call.

I shoved his hand away. Don't touch me.

Unfortunately, my fingernails accidentally scratched him.

You did that on purpose, he said over my immediate apologies. Jerk.

"I didn't, and I am sorry."

While my mother checked Brandon's arm to make sure he wasn't bleeding, Dad said to me, What kind of exercise?

I shrugged. At my physical last week my doctor said I'm healthy. I turned to Brandon and added, And pretty much at my ideal weight. Ignoring his Yeah, right I looked back at Dad. But he also said I should be working out regularly. I'll find something.

Good. You don't want furniture disease. Dad grinned at me.

I grinned back but rolled my eyes too because I knew he expected it. Definitely not.

You know what it is, right?

I did, because he explained it every time he said it, but I loved the face he made when he explained so I said, Remind me.

It's when your chest, he said, pointing at his own, falls into your drawers. His hands dropped to his lap and I giggled at his half-shocked-half-horrified expression.

You should run. Brandon had apparently recovered. It's less effective than fighting but it'd be okay for you.

I nodded. I was considering it since I did a bit in high school but none of my friends run so I'm not sure how to get started.

I am. Andrew.

The name sounded familiar but I couldn't place it.

See? I knew you didn't listen to my MMA stories.

I did listen, actually, during the monthly dinners I dreaded because I always came away with a vicious headache, but keeping track of the huge variety of guys Brandon trained with and fought with at his martial arts gym was impossible. Remind me.

You mean tell you, since you don't listen. Andrew's been fighting around two years now. He's a middleweight so we don't fight each other but from what I've seen he's not bad.

His grudging tone suggested Andrew might be better than Brandon himself even though Brandon was in a heavier weight class but I wouldn't push him to admit it. That way lay a lecture from Mom. So he's a fighter? But you said I could run with him.

Brandon nodded. He has a group for guys who need more conditioning. He'd probably let you join if I asked, as a favor to me.

Surprise at my brother's unusual generosity flickered through me before I realized he most likely