All the Lies - Charlotte Byrd Page 0,31

had a nice conversation, but I also don't want to send her the wrong message.

I don't know why my thoughts keep focusing on Emma. She's the last girl that I should be thinking about.

Alex is a lot of things and he has a lot of flaws, but he's also a friend. Emma is his significant other. Maybe she’s not engaged to him anymore but whatever is happening between them, it’s very new and very raw and I can’t let myself think about her.

It's early morning when I climb out of bed and immediately slip on my running shoes. I haven't always been a runner, but I've gotten into quite a funk over the last few months and the only way out is to actually wake up and force myself to go.

When I was in high school, up in Seattle, I used to be on the track team. I ran hurdles and the two-mile run. I even did cross country. Long distance running was never my thing, but I always wanted to do a marathon.

I step outside of the hotel and turn on my watch. I've been tracking my mileage, however embarrassingly minimal.

I try not to think about it.

Just set the watch to an outdoor run and put one foot in front of the other, I say to myself.

My hotel is small and boutique-like, with no rooms under $500 a night. There's a nice pool and a hot tub as well, but it's in the low 60s in Santa Monica and filled entirely by out-of-staters.

The breeze coming off the ocean feels good against my skin. It wakes me up even if I don't want to.

There's a road going above the cliff with a view of the ocean, but I take the steps down and run along the water line. The sand is dark brown, almost gray, matching the early morning weather.

It's not warm, but it's not cold either.

The humidity makes the air thick and I manage to run without struggling for breath for over a mile and a half. Pushing myself hard, I feel the roaring of my muscles with each step.

Running out here feels so different from running back home. It's not just the sand under my feet, providing additional resistance and making my muscles work harder.

It's more than that.

The city is full of people. Most not awake yet, but I know that they will be emerging out of their apartments soon. So far, there are a few occasional homeless people walking with their bags of stuff in the park just near the ocean.

I swallow hard and remember my own life back on the streets in San Francisco. I had just graduated from college and I needed to get away from life. I had worked hard all of my life.

I did everything that I was supposed to do and I’d had enough. Maybe I read Into the Wild with Christopher McCandless a few too many times, but I was inspired to strike out on my own. I didn't have many material possessions. I gave up my apartment and I paid off the last of my debts on my credit cards.

I packed a small bag and drove down from Seattle all along the coast.

Instead of sleeping in hotel rooms or short-term rentals, I slept in my car. The first few nights were difficult and uncomfortable, but I had my books to protect me from all the evils in the world.

Books and music, that's all I needed back then.

When I got to San Francisco, I parked my car in long-term parking and made my way around the city. I knew that I wasn't really destitute the way that many of the people were out there. I wasn't abandoned by my family. I didn't have mental health problems. I was a tourist. I was there to see what life was really like.

What was it like?

It was hard, cold, and without much comfort.

The days were too long and the nights were even longer. I met a few friends, but then they didn't turn out to be that friendly at all. One of them stole my bag and another stole my wallet. It was then that I decided that city life wasn't for me.

I managed to get back to my car where I had some money stowed away. Then I drove south. I drove until I got to Santa Barbara. I walked into the first restaurant they had on the beach and asked for a job. I needed money to get by and they needed