Brody - Ellie Masters Page 0,6
be an amazing day for a run.
I’m hoping to get in thirty or forty miles.
When I run, I run.
It’s something I’ve always done; my form of meditation. There’s something about pushing the body and the mind to their limits that settles me. I need the challenge, the solitude of a long run, to quiet my thoughts. Most people train for a year to run a marathon. I run one every week. Once a month, I’ll do a hundred-miler and burn through exhaustion, punishing my body until it sings with accomplishment or gives up in defeat.
It’s a mental game I play with myself.
Once a year, I take part in an ultra-marathon somewhere in the world. It gives me a chance to travel and forces me to keep my brutal training regimen going. Usually, I wake early each day and do something short, five or seven miles. Just enough to get the blood in my body pumping. I will often also take an hour after work to get in more miles a few times a week—short six- to nine-mile jaunts.
After that, I hit the clubs, meeting up with my boss, who’s also my best friend, to let off steam and find willing female flesh to lose myself in for the night.
The drive inland is exquisite. I take the top down on my Porsche and let the wind run through my hair. When I pull up to Mom’s little cottage, it’s a surprise she’s not there, especially knowing I was coming. I don’t know who this new beau in her life might be, but they’d better not be doing the sleepover thing. At least, not until I can check out whoever caught her eye.
The key is under the rock I painted for her when I was five. I let myself in and place my duffle on the bed of the spare bedroom. A quick change and I’m in my running gear. I head to the kitchen to leave her a note. A thirty-miler sounds like the perfect distraction for my troubled mind. When I hit the kitchen, I find a note Mom left me.
B-child,
Settle in.
Will be back before noon—maybe.
Love ya,
Mom.
Short and sweet, she doesn’t waste words. I scribble a reply telling her I’ll be out for a couple of hours on a run. Asher and Cage think I’m crazy with these runs, but it’s the perfect way to zone out. I fill the small water bottles that go around my running belt and head out.
Crisp California air welcomes me. I grew up running these roads and know the perfect loop that will challenge my body and reset my mind. I set off, feet pounding the pavement, lungs chugging, heart pumping. My arms swing and my stride lengthens as my body warms up.
I keep to the back roads that remain unpaved. Tourist traffic has only grown over the years, making running on the roads dangerous. Not that I mind. I prefer running on dirt over asphalt.
My run takes me along La Rouge property. I’ll make a full circuit of our family’s lands by the time I’m done; then I’ll head up the forest trail Asher uses for his side business. We have about a score of horses and offer trail rides for eager tourists looking for something other than yet another wine tasting.
The first five miles pass in a blur. The next five, I barely process. My mind zones out, and I’m all about the physical needs keeping my body in motion. Vines cover nearly all the land in the valley, stretching as far as the eye can see.
La Rouge is a moderate player in the local wine scene. We’re too small to be corporate. Too big to be considered family owned, even though we are. Our land does well. Asher knows how to get the most from his grapes.
I run past the property lines of two more wineries before making my first turn. I keep to the dirt roads the farming equipment uses and enter the property of Atwood Estates. Unlike La Rouge, it’s one of the smaller wineries in town. Like La Rouge, it’s family owned, and like always, guilt stabs through me. I’ll never forget what I did to Grace Atwood.
My stride lengthens as I get my second wind. Atwood Estate’s crop looks good. Surprising, considering how most vineyards struggle with the drought, but I see why. They invested in supplemental irrigation. Drip lines in addition to standard delivery options. Lucy Atwood is a savvy businesswoman and good friends with my