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If Ilya could go back in time and kill that reporter he would, and he hadn’t even been there for the stupid question.
Shane had been doing press post Boston and Montreal playing in Boston, when the reporter asked ‘if Shane was going to watch the most important sporting event in Boston the next day.”
Shane had laughed it off, or at least had tried to, reminding the reporter that he had another game the next night, something Ilya was horribly cognizant of. The early morning flight Shane was going to be on was physically pulling his soul from his body. Shortening their already impossibly short time.
The reporter continued, “maybe next year when you all get kicked out of the championships early you can watch. Or even better run it yourself.” When Ilya had first seen the video of this moment he had laughed at this, but only until Shane opened his mouth. Because everyone seemed to think Shane was a push over because he was quiet and disciplined, but Ilya knew he was a complete and total shit when it came to a challenge.
So when Shane raised one eyebrow and replied, “How about this, whichever team loses first the captain runs the marathon.”
The reporter physically blanched at this dramatic raising of the stakes. “Woah, that's quite a challenge. You know you have to run twenty six miles for a marathon right?”
“Twenty six point two. Let's see if Ilya Rozanov can count that high in English.”
At the end of the video Ilya had texted Shane, “you are such an asshole. A marathon?! Seriously? Are you trying to kill us both?”
Once again the secret fact that Shane Hollander was an asshole made itself known to Ilya, when he just got a winking face in response. Honestly he was surprised Shane would put his body in such danger. A marathon was no joke and the training they both did as professional athletes was nowhere close to the training one needed to run a marathon. Especially Boston. After a few years of living in the city Ilya understood that not only was it a blood bath, but also a nearly holy event to most Boston natives. And baffling an entire women's college? Maybe he was just certain Boston would get kicked out of the playoffs first next year.
At Ilya’s next game when a different reporter asked if he had seen the challenge and he confirmed he had sent it back to Shane, “That man has no idea what Russian teams make you do for training. A marathon?” He flicked his hand back and forth, “that is piece of cake. I’d like to see him be brave enough when he loses next year to try it. I bet he will back out when that happens. Wouldn’t want to hurt the metro's only good player.”
So really maybe it was also a little bit his fault too. He really had sealed his own fate with those words.
Unfortunately for Ilya, Boston was knocked out several games before Montreal the next year.
The race started at a reasonable time of the morning, which was a surprise for Ilya, who was under the impression that most races occurred before the sun bothered to show itself. And at first it was fine, he jogged along, laughing at the silly costumes around him, chatting with other runners who recognized him and laughed.
The drunk women half way through were fun. Ilya got several kisses and a pink boa he managed to carry with him for a while. He traded it at mile seventeen with a kid being pushed in a stroller by his dad for a sticker.
When Ilya reached mile twenty of the marathon and began heartbreak hill he was ready to kill Shane and then hunt down that reporter, after a week in bed. He was pretty sure he was going to vomit up a lung.
Unfortunately for his sanity, Shane appeared next to him right then, ducking under the joke of a barrier to run as a bandit next to him. Ilya let out a growl but wasn’t able to manage much more. In all honesty he probably would have dropped out without Shane's steady steps next to him. Heartbreak hill was indeed, heartbreaking. But the chatter of flirtatious chirps that everyone around him interpreted as regular athletes shit talk.
Ilya was stripped to something baser, less than human in those last six miles, the only thought in his head was to put one foot in front of the other, just once more. Each time. Shane whispered encouragement to him, and got him water from each of the tables.
When at last he crossed the finish line his legs wobbled like a new born fawn. Shane got him a horrible tinfoil blanket which he said was important for shock and then handed him Gatorade.
A reporter leaped in front of them to take pictures and ask a few questions which Shane answered, while also coaching Ilya into keeping moving and having his arms above his head for breathing. Inevitably the reporter commented on this ‘rivalry’ being almost friendly and Ilya’s brain tried to process the almost predatory facial expression Shane made.
“Listen, above all else, I have to respect the feat of human stubbornness that my rival just accomplished. He didn’t have to run a marathon two days after the last game of his season, certainly not his first one ever. So I figured the least I could do was show up and keep him honest. Besides, I am hoping to get some points with Boston here so that next year when he does this again they don't kill me.”
The reporter chuckled nervously and muttered something about this making Ilya even more of Boston's darling than he was before. Ilya wanted to say he already had the hearts of everyone in Boston but he couldn’t manage to catch a single breath.
In response to Shane, Ilya managed enough breath to wheeze out “not me. Never again, you next.”
This proved to be true, unfortunately for Shane (and ultimately Ilya because this meant one day when Shane was in town where he didn't get to fuck him. Ultimately Ilya wasn’t sure it was worth it.) But it was nice to see him get a taste of his own medicine.
Ultimately this whole joke was all a footnote in Ilya;s career but he did enjoy rubbing it in his teammates faces when they asked him why he was making them do extra laps. “You assholes are reason I had to run marathon last year. Never again or I will make you all do it with me!” It became a rallying cry among the raiders over the course of that year.
Mr. Golden boy of course beat Ilya’s time and managed to chat with him when he joined in to return the favor of keeping him company.
“So,” Shane said as if they were on the ice and not speeding through the streets of Boston. “I am guessing you don’t feel the need for another one of these?”
Ilya laughed at him, “this is the most non fun I've ever had.”
“I thought Russian hockey players ran marathons every week for training.”
“Shut up,” really it was awful. This man was teasing him, while running up one of the most infamous horrible hills in any race, while doing this for charity. He was like ice cream with pop rocks and sugar on top; saccharine all the way through, and Ilya felt like he had thirty two cavities. He never wanted it to stop, so of course he said, “Think you can pick up the pace?”
“Oh you’re on.”
Ilya was pretty sure Shane was trying to kill him again, because he had definitely been training for this way more than Ilya would ever be willing to run. The journalists at the finish line snapped a picture of a mildly tired looking Shane and a horribly sweaty Ilya and asked if Ilya had run the whole thing. Ilya had to explain himself, red faced, while Shane struggled to breath from laughter and running twenty six miles.
It was possibly the most fun Ilya had had outside of hockey in years.
Later this stupid challenge also ended up being an amazing way to raise money for their charity. The first year they launched the charity they announced they would both be running Boston again, this time together. This turned out to be a brilliant strategy, not only were there some pretty incredible signs fans had made and held up as they ran past, but Ilya had an excuse to spend several hours with his boyfriend in public and not once did Shane panic. Plus they raised a lot of money. The best part of this race turned out to be the finish though. Because this time Ilya had been training, this time he was ready. So when the Citgo sign came into view and Ilya knew they only had a mile left Ilya picked up the pace.
They ended up sprinting over the finish line together, shoving and pushing one another like children. Their fellow coaches from camp met them as they did so, laughing at their competitiveness even as they both gasped for air.
“You all,” Ilya threatened, “next year. Everyone.” He seemed unable to form a sentence after finishing this race.
“No way,” Max said, “not in my contract.” His wife swatted at him, laughing.
It was nice to be back in the place Ilya had called home for so many years, even if only temporarily. His move to Ottawa had been rocky at times, but he knew Boston would always love him. They would be mad and throw a fit like always but somewhere in his years there, Ilya Rozanov had earned the hearts of the city. He had been told by several people that day that he was an honorary ‘masshole’ and he was going to wear that like a badge of honor for the rest of his life. Whenever his body managed to body again.
The next day, laying in bed next to his boyfriend, Ilya turned to Shane and pouted, “do we have to keep doing this?”
Shane looked momentarily confused and panicked, “what hiding? You know why we cant-”
“No no.” Ilya interrupted, “Please stop making me run. I can't move, my everything hurts.”
Shane laughed, “I don’t think anyone has ever made you do anything in your life you didn't want to.”
“Please, Shane, my spleen! I think I ruptured it.”
“You don’t even know where that is.”
“Sure I do. “ Ilya gestured to his entire chest, “is somewhere here.”
“Uh huh, sure. That definitely qualifies as knowing where it is.”
“See, you admit my genius. So can we not run death race anymore? I don’t even live in Boston anymore.”
Shane looked at him with the same eyes that had caused him to run a marathon in the first place, the same reason why he had never actually won an argument with Shane. Shane flashed him that soft look, that look that said Shane believed Ilya could be more than he was pretending to be, and he folded. “Think of how much good it does. All the money we raise.”
“Think about my poor feet.” Ilya muttered, but he pressed a kiss to Shane’s temple and relented. It helped that this time he actually saw Shane suffering in the aftermath of the race, instead of his Mr. Perfect pretend act. They didn’t get out of bed that entire day. It was nice, relaxing with Shane. Ilya was pretty sure that if someone told him that if he ran a marathon he could spend the whole day doing nothing with his boyfriend after, he would run a marathon every single time.