Page 1 of Aim for Love

prologue

MOLLIE

The trail dips down a ravine,the single track surrounded by tall grass, then immediately straight back up a rocky hill. It looks challenging. It looks—maybe?—impossible.

I don’t hesitate. My momentum and peer pressure push me over the ridge, flying through the downhill stretch, then I stand up from my seat to tackle the incline. My thighs burn from the climb. My breath comes in gasps. My heart is going to beat right out of my chest. But I’ve got it—a bit farther, a little more intensity.Push!

Look at the trees lining the trail. So many different colors of wildflowers. It’s gorgeous.This distraction works for about 10 seconds. The scenery isn’t moving fast enough.

The loud music in my ears urges me on. I try to use my butt muscles, like my instructor said. I’m moving…very…slowly. This is harder than I expected. The pedals are barely moving, and sweat is dripping down my forehead into my eyes. It’s still so far. One of my legs is cramping.

I keep going. A little bit at a time, I keep moving up the hill. Gravity seems to push me back as fast as I can push the pedals. I’m gasping for air.

One word starts to echo through my head:No.

This istoohard. I’m never going to make it.

No, says my head. And my pounding heart and my cramping legs.No.

I hit the button to release the pressure and fly up the remainder of the leg without any resistance, ducking my head as everyone around me in the spin class celebrates reaching the top of the trail shown on the big screen at the front of the room. I don’t deserve any celebration. I wimped out.Again.

Sophie, on the bike directly in front of me, turns around to whip her towel at me. “That was great! We’re going to be so ready for this trip.”

Nora, two bikes over, raises her towel in the air and pumps it.

I put my towel over my face and silently scream.

one

HUNTER

I’m readingthis book about living slowly that might do some good if I had a copy for everyone this morning. The tourists are always in such a hurry. They vacation in a small, mountain town to get away from their busy, stressful lives but bring all that pressure and impatience with them.

One family is disinfecting every exposed part of their bodies in the corner. Nearby, there’s a group of women pouring over the tour schedule with highlighters. And then, as inevitable as time, a dad is coaching his kids—poorly—in front of a guide who knows more about the subject than he does.

We see the same types over and over in the tour business, and some of the guys get pretty cynical about it. That book reminded me to focus on the connections between us.

Whether people are drawn here for peace or adventure, Telluride, a town that changes slowly, tucked between massive mountains that are relatively young, has seen it all. I try to channel that ability to weather anything when tourists get on my nerves—which has already happened on day one.

I chose axe throwing as the first event of the tour. It’s a good opportunity to gauge who we’re working with, a surprisingly telling activity to see how athletic people are, or at least whether they’re body aware and understand kinetic linking.

Warming up my throwing arm, I start drawing the group’s focus by practicing a few times, using my own axe. The ones offered here all have nicks in their edge and the weight in the handle feels off to me now that I’m used to my own. It’s easy to hit the bullseye every time if you can repeat the same steps with every throw, which my own axe allows me.

And because they know me here, they let me throw some trick shots, such as two axes at the same time.

A group of slack-jawed women have gathered to watch me.

“It’s about body memory,” I assure them. “Not skill.”

That’s not 100% true, of course. But it’s true enough to give them some hope they can do it. It will help if they understand the concept that energy travels through connected joints and muscles, like a coordinated sequence or links in a chain, to create optimal movement. However, it’s impossible to tell by looking at people who’s got a background in sports or natural athletic ability. Thus the activity we’re about to engage in.

Now that we have the attention of the group, I give the floor to Scott, one of the other guides from Aspen Adventure Center, who goes over basic safety instructions and then asks for a volunteer to go first.

The group of three women start shoving each other, all of them teasingly trying to persuade another to raise their hand.

“Mollie will do it!” blurts the blonde, and the other two push the third in front of them.

The weakest link, I presume. The woman who always ends up with the short stick, or slightly on the outside of group decision making. She’s wearing leggings that emphasize her curves, and has a brown pixie cut. She looks more nervous than the casualsituation calls for. I smile at her, but she looks sweaty and distracted. Scott and I exchange a brief look.

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