Tera Childs - Goddess Boot Camp

Since finding out, running makes me think about how he died.

About how, even though he knew there would be consequences for using his powers, he loved football so much he was willing to risk it. To risk us ."

I still can't believe he loved football more than me and Mom.

"How we doing?" Griffin asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I shake my head back into the moment.

"That's our halfway mark for today." I point at a low-hanging tamarisk tree at the edge of the beach.

"What's our time?"

Lifting my wrist. I check my watch. It reads 1:42 PM. Not good

"Crap." How could I be so stupid? "I forgot to start the stopwatch."

"No problem." He flashes me a quick smile. "We can start logging our pace tomorrow. Today can be a warm-up."

"I don't know what's wrong with me," I say, matching his strides with every step. It's not like me to mess up a training session like this. "Every time I get to the starting line lately, it's like my brain goes to mush."

"You're worried about your powers," he says as we reach the tree and turn to run back the way we came. "Understandable."

"Yeah," I agree, although he's only half right. "I know."

I am worried about my powers… but not for the stupid test. Whatever consequences I'll have to face if I fail the test are pudding play compared to smoting. That's irreversible.

"You'll pass," he insists. "Just like you made the cross-country team last year. Just like you got your B average. Just like you master everything you go after with your whole heart."

"This isn't exactly the same." It's not at all the same. "I can't pass this test by running faster or studying harder."

"You'll find a way."

"But what if I-" Aargh. I'm tired of worrying about this. "Forget it. Let's just focus on the running, okay?"

He's silent for a long time and I think he's going to let it go. Which is what I want. Right? Except something inside me is willing him not to forget it. Then he asks, "What's really bothering you, Phoebes?"

Nothing, I-"

"It's your dad, isnt it?"

My shoulders tense. I haven't really talked about this with anyone since I found out. Not even Mom. She seems just as willing to keep the topic buried as I am. But maybe I need to talk about this. About him.

Finally, after what feels like hours of tension, I say, "Yeah. Kind of."

"Tell me."

As our sneakers push into the pristine sand, I try to form the sentence. Try to figure out how to express what I'm feeling. How can I tell him that I'm terrified every second that I'll cross some invisible line and pay the ultimate price for my mistake? Everything I come up with sounds wrong, childish. Like a scared little girl.

"I-" I want to tell him. Really I do. I want to bare my soul and have him tell me everything will be all right and I won't get smoted to Hades if I screw up. But what if? What if he can't reassure me?

What if he can't make a promise he knows he can't keep? I don't think I can face a confirmation of my fears. "I can't."

"That's okay." His voice is soft and quiet, like our footfalls in the sand. "I'm here when you're ready."

And just like that, with one little promise, I feel a million times better. Knowing he's there for me makes the fears fade into the background. Even if it's only for a little while.

Thanks. I don't have to say the words out loud for him to know.

"So," he says, in a cheerful let's-get-past-this-dark-moment tone. "Tell me more about our training schedule."

I flash him a quick smile, thankful for the distraction. Knowing my luck, the more I worry about the whole smoting thing, the more likely I am to accidentally smote myself.

"It's a tiered program." I explain, launching into the more comfortable topic. "We build up our mental and physical stamina on an accelerated schedule, increasing the workout a little each day. By the time race day is here, 26.2 miles will feel like no big thing."

Because the long-distance race in the Pythian Games is marathon length-and the trials are just two weeks away-we have to train hard and build our endurance quickly. Griffin has never run anything longer than a cross-country race, and even though I've run in marathons before, I've never raced a marathon. Running to finish and running to win are two totally different things.

Per Pythian Games rules, Coach Lenny can't actually train us until after the trials, but he helped me develop this training strategy. If we don't make the cut, he's promised to make our lives miserable when cross-country season starts up in the fall.

"Sounds good."

I'm glad Griffin and I are going through this together. Even though I've been running all my life, the idea of actually racing those 26.2 miles is a little scary. That's like running a race from downtown LA. to Malibu. It feels less intimidating knowing he's by my side.

"Wanna stop by the bakery on our way back?" he asks. "Aunt Lili made some loukoumades she wants you to try."

"Mmm" I say, my mouth watering at the thought of the decadent little doughnut balls. "I think your aunt is trying to fatten me up."

Griffin's aunt is a descendant of Hestia and, true to her goddess-of-the-hearth heritage, operates an amazing bakery in the village. She makes more varieties of bread every day than most people have ever even heard of. Walking into the store is like walking into a fresh-baked dream.

Lately I've been her favorite taste tester.

"She's just relieved that you eat." he explains. "Adara wouldn't even go near the bakery in case the carbs could seep into her body by osmosis or something."

1 fall silent

Adara is still a dangerous subject. Not only has she not forgiven me for "stealing" her boyfriend-go figure-but Griffin is still friends with her. I'm not jealous or anything, I just don't understand how he can actually like her. She's never been anything but an evil harpy to me.

Griffin, clearly unaware of my mood swing, says. "Aunt Lili is excited that our nutrition plan requires lots of carbs. She thinks that means we'll be in there to taste-test every day."

"Hmm," I grunt noncommittally.

"I didn't have the heart to tell her we need complex carbs, like pasta and potatoes." He sounds completely unconcerned by my silence. "Breads, maybe. If she uses whole grains. But sugars and sweets are not exactly ideal training fuel."

When Coach Lenny asked us to try out for the Pythian Games, we agreed to divide up the training prep work. I'm in charge of physical training sessions-running, weight training, stuff like that. Griffin is in charge of our nutritional program. Which is probably a good thing, because I have a major weakness for things like Aunt Lili's treats, the occasional Twinkie shared with Nicole, and-the worst weakness of all-ice cream. I'd eat ice cream at every meal if I could.

It's definitely a good thing Griffin's the diet dictator.

More silence as we both fall into a contented run.