Chapter 2: Just a Coincidence?

The Alameda Running Festival was scheduled for October 25^th and 26^th, with a 10k scheduled on Sunday. I filled out the entry form and sent it in with my fee. I had no idea how many people would turn out for this event, but I suspected they would number in the thousands. It was listed as a “fun run,” meaning there was no prize money, simply a ribbon and recognition. That was fine with me. I wouldn’t likely be in line for a prize anyway. I was there for the change of pace and the exercise.

It was a cool morning and overcast, fortunately with no wind. I was in my usual running gear of nylon running vest and shorts, hoping we wouldn’t have to stand around too long before the run began. I had one strategy and that was to get as close to the front as possible in order to avoid the mass of stragglers that always were at these events. I was reasonably successful, recognizing that there were usually a few “hot rods” up front, vying for the lead and wanting to win if possible. I’d done my stretching exercises a little earlier than normal, but I couldn’t feel any tightness as I began to run. It didn’t take long for my body heat to take away the chill and my muscles to loosen up.

I had a time in my head for this run, but I knew it would take a couple of kilometers before I could check my watch and see if it was a reasonable target. It was about the four kilometer mark when I became aware that someone was pacing me off my right shoulder. That wasn’t unusual, but more often than not, they would drop back or pass me, wanting to run at their normal pace. In this case, that didn’t happen. I finally took a look over my shoulder as we rounded a street corner and saw who it was.

My shadow runner was a woman; quite tall and very blonde. She looked like she was quite comfortable at my pace and stuck right where she was over the next couple of kilometers. I could barely hear her foot fall, telling me she was an accomplished experienced runner. I looked back again and smiled, getting one in return. The impression she gave was that she planned to stay there for the duration.

My target for the run was to be somewhere between thirty-two and thirty-four minutes, and I wondered if that might not be too much for the woman. But as the kilometers passed, she remained right there on my shoulder, pacing me step for step. I could have gone faster, but there was no point. I wasn’t trying to win, and now, intrigued by the woman running with me, wondered what it was all about.

We began to pass some of the early sprinters who were slowly running out of gas. Six point two miles was no easy run, especially on city streets and up and down hills, although they were modest in size. I’d scouted out the course earlier just to prepare myself for what we would encounter and decided it wasn’t too tortuous a route. I picked my pace and stuck with it. There was a hill coming up at the eight kilometer mark and I wondered how my running mate would make out. It was about a half kilometer long, but this far into the race, it would probably be a real challenge for some of the other runners.

As we began to ascend the hill, I checked over my shoulder more than once to see how my shadow runner was doing, but I saw no signs that she was weakening or under stress. In fact, she looked like I felt: this was just a morning run in nice cool air, nothing special. I smiled as I looked back at her and once again she gave me a nice smile in return. I was distracted enough to almost trip over a manhole cover, but caught myself before I fell.

That got me back to paying attention to my own running and not hers. When we crossed the finish line, we were among the first thirty, I estimated. The time was 32min 41secs, a surprisingly good time in my opinion. I looked back for her as I began to walk out before stretching and found her once again almost right beside me.

“Hi ... you ran very well this morning,” I said. “I’m Kyle Richter,” I added, bending over, my hands on my knees.

“I ran well because you gave me a great pace. Thanks for that. I’m Gabrielle Lamont,” she said, holding out her hand.

I shook it and returned her smile. “What made you pick me?” I wondered.

“Well, you’re easy to spot,” she grinned, “and I saw you moving toward the front of the pack, so I decided to follow you. It took me a few minutes to catch up to you through the crowd, but once I did, I realized you were running the perfect pace for me.”

“Glad to be of assistance,” I grinned. “Now, let’s look for a place to stretch out.”

“Over here,” she suggested, pointing to a brick building a few yards off the end of the race.

As we stretched, I had a chance to examine her more closely. She was tall, perhaps over six feet I thought. She was also beautiful. Not cosmetically beautiful, but naturally beautiful. Her body was lithe and yet she had all the curves any woman could possibly want. She had pale blonde hair piled in a bunch on top of her head and held with an elastic band. Her eyes were blue and her face was long rather than round. She had a great smile showing nice teeth. All in all, she was lovely.

“You’re staring,” she said without looking at me.

“Guilty. You’re very attractive. I apologize,” I said simply.

“No need. I’m flattered. You’re a very handsome guy.”

“Well, that’s a first. I can’t recall any other girl or woman suggesting that. Usually I get asked how tall I am, or how’s the weather up there.”

“How tall are you?” she grinned.

“Six-seven.”

“I’m six-two,” she admitted with a sly smile.

“Can I interest you in a coffee and a muffin if we can find a place?” I asked.

“Sure. Let me get my bag. What about your clothes?” she wondered.

“Same place as yours, probably; in the locker area behind the announcer’s stand. Let’s have a look.”

We found both our sport bags just where they were left, clearly marked. I had no intention of changing, merely pulling my jeans on over my shorts and slipping on a sweatshirt over my running vest. Gabrielle had a pair of sweats that she pulled on. We walked down the street toward a small café a couple of blocks from the podium. We were among the early finishers, so we could get to the café before the crowd overwhelmed it.

“I have a confession to make,” she said shyly as we sat at a table with our hot drinks and muffins. “I know who you are.”

“You do? How?” I wondered.

“I saw you at the plant cafeteria the other day. I understand you’re our new Dow representative.”

“Which company?” I wondered before it dawned on me. “You work for Diamond Stream?”

She smiled. “Yes, I’m in quality assurance. It was easy to spot you, walking beside Rex and wearing your Dow polo shirt.”

“Wow, that’s quite a coincidence. You’re very fortunate to work there. That’s a fabulous company with an incredible future from what I hear.”

“I think so, too. What about you? Where were you before you took over from Rex?” she asked.

“Actually, I’ve worked for Dow as an intern when I was in college, then the past two years I’ve been learning my responsibilities with Rex. But when you saw me I was being introduced as your new Dow rep. I’ve been living in Michigan until I was assigned to this western territory.”

“Welcome to the West Coast,” she smiled. “Where are you living?”

“I’ve got an apartment in Hayward, but I’ve been out here before. My parents moved to Davis just before my junior year in high school. I went to college at Sacramento State and Geary Polytechnic, so I’ve lived here since I was a teenager.”

“Oh, so you’re no stranger to California then,” she noted.

“No ... my Dad was a manager of the Dow operation in Davis, and he helped me get the internship at Dow Midland. When I graduated from Geary, I was given a permanent position with the technical field rep group. I teamed with Rex for almost two years before I was booted out on my own,” I grinned.

“Rex is very well respected at our company. I know he had a lot to do with getting John Smith and Dow together.”

“That’s right. He’s taught me a lot in the past few months. I enjoyed working with him,” I said.

There was a pause as we sipped some hot chocolate and enjoyed our fresh-baked muffins.

“What’s your background?” I asked.

“I’m from Klamath Falls, in Oregon,” she said. “I got a math scholarship at Berkley and when I graduated, Diamond Stream was just getting started with production here. I applied for the position of QA assistant, reporting to the production manager and got very lucky.”

“Any kind of scholarship at Berkley is something to be very proud of,” I offered. “I’ll bet that got someone’s attention.”

“Probably at least got me a serious interview. Anyway, I’m grateful that I was chosen because it’s a good job with a lot of variety.”

“What kind of variety?” I wondered.

“Oh, implementation of Statistical Process Control in manufacturing to start with. I’m also responsible for maintaining the continuous improvement program. We’re always looking for ways to improve our product and processes. A lot of my time is spent in assembly. It’s a complex machine, with very tight tolerances. We can’t use robotics for everything, so we need to improve our manual assembly techniques.”

“That would keep you busy, I’m sure,” I noted.

“Very. But now I’m scheduled for teaching. When we open Bismarck and Ardmore, I’ll be responsible for setting up QA and SPC in each plant. Right now I’m training my assistants to take over while I’m away. I’m a little nervous about it since I’ve never been the teacher before, always the student.”

“They must have a lot of confidence in you, Gabrielle, to give you all that responsibility. Will you be involved in the interviewing and hiring of the staff in the new plants?”

“Yes, but not by myself. I’ll have a support team with me. Longer term, if I’m successful, I’ll have to do this again at our European plant when it opens.”

“You’re going to be a very busy young lady over the next while,” I smiled.

“That’s true, but I don’t mind. It’s exciting, actually,” she admitted.

“I don’t see any rings, but what does your boyfriend think about all the future away time?”

She was shaking her head. “No boyfriend ... but nice move getting me to tell you,” she chuckled.

“Well then, in the interests of fair play, I have no girlfriend. So, do you suppose there’s anything in our employment agreements that would prevent us from dating?”

She laughed. “You don’t waste any time, do you? I don’t know if there’s any reason we couldn’t date. I could ask, I suppose. Maybe you’d better do the same,” she said with an encouraging smile.

“Good. That’s settled then. Now ... what would you like to do on a date?”

She laughed. “You’re not even going to wait for an okay, are you,” she stated.

“It’s always easier to say ‘sorry’ than get permission,” I deadpanned.