Moving Target

Chapter 233. Carstalked

RAFAEL

I had run this route, or a version of it, before every competition for fifteen years.

Not the same streets, never the same city twice in a row, but the same architecture underneath it. Forty minutes. Light cardio, nothing that taxed the legs the day before a match mattered.

There was no music in unfamiliar cities and no headphones. A coach had told me once, early on,