“Trixie! Trixie, you’ll never guess what!” Honey Wheeler burst into the Manor House stables, cold air following her.

Trixie looked up from patting Susie’s nose. “I’ll never guess what?” she demanded, her eyes sparking with interest.

“You know how the library is fundraising to expand the children’s section, right?”

Trixie nodded impatiently and gestured for Honey to continue. The library had been fundraising for what felt like forever. There was no way that could be Honey’s news.

“Well, they want to have a 10k race on Boxing Day! Kind of like a Turkey Trot. But the day after Christmas, instead. And the route is going to go through the preserve! And we’re going to be a rest stop! Well, the Manor House is. Or somewhere in the preserve. I don’t know exactly where, but Daddy told the committee that they could put it somewhere on our land. Isn’t that exciting?”

Trixie blinked. “A race? During the Christmas holidays? Won’t it be too cold?”

Honey shrugged. “It might be, I suppose, if we get a really cold snap. But don’t forget, we ride the horses all winter. And we go skiing, and sometimes snowshoeing, and—”

“I guess so,” Trixie said thoughtfully. “And hey! Maybe they’ll have hot chocolate at the finish line!”

Honey giggled. “I’ll suggest it to Mother,” she promised. “She’s on the library fundraising committee.”

“And don’t races usually have water stations set up along the course?” Trixie wondered as she visualized the race. “And an area to hand out the medals at the finish line?” She paused. “There will be medals, right? I wonder if the art department at the school would help design them. I don’t know how hard they are to make, but—”

“Trixie!” Honey laughed and led Lady from her stall. “Mother said that the committee has everything under control.”

“Markers for the route?” Trixie questioned. “We really wouldn’t want anyone to get lost, not in winter!”

“I’m sure it’s taken care of,” Honey said. “One of the ladies on the committee runs all the time. She even did a marathon!”

Trixie stared at her doubtfully. “For fun? A marathon?”

Honey giggled as they mounted and rode out into the preserve. “She wasn’t even being chased by a bear!”

Trixie snickered at the mental image. “That’s about the only thing that would get me to run that far,” she confided. “I like the mile run in gym class, but I can’t imagine doing twenty-six of them back to back!”

Honey shuddered at the thought. “I’m glad this is only a 10k. I’m not sure exactly how far that is, but I know that it’s less than a marathon!”

“I’m pretty sure that it’s less than a half-marathon,” Trixie offered, but she didn’t sound very certain. “And anyway, it won’t much matter to us, will it? I mean, we’ll be helping the committee somehow, won’t we?”

“That’s what I wanted to tell you! Mother says that there are plenty of committee members and other people to help out. People who can’t run, or don’t want to. They asked us, the Bob-Whites, I mean, or at least the ones who are still in Sleepyside, or maybe all of us, I’m not sure—”

“Stop!” Trixie cried, holding up one hand. “I might be fluent in Honey-speak, but I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“I’m saying that the committee doesn’t want our help! Or they do, but not with the race. I mean, not with the planning! They want us to run,” she finally explained.

“They don’t need our help?” Trixie questioned. “Are you sure?”

Honey nodded emphatically. “Mother says they have plenty of volunteers and knowledgeable people. What they need are people to register for the race and promote it.”

“Wait.” Trixie pulled gently on Susie’s reins came to a stop. “You mean there’s a fundraiser, and we don’t have to organize it?”

Honey shook her head. ‘Not a thing!” she promised. “All we need to do is show up and run!”

Trixie took a moment to digest the information. “Huh!” she finally said, and urged Susie into a gentle pace. “How hard can it be?”

“I can’t believe it,” Trixie said dismally, kicking the snow as she and her brothers trudged from the clubhouse back to Crabapple Farm.

“Can’t believe what?” Brian asked, fishing his gloves from his pocket. They’d been in a cold snap since the beginning of December, and even short walks required full winter gear.

“I can’t believe Honey can’t run! I mean, I believe it, and I know that she would if she could, and it’s not her fault, but…”

“Her asthma is exercise-induced,” Mart reminded her. “And exacerbated by the cold weather.”

“And her doctor told her she shouldn’t train outside. Not until she gets her coughing under control.” Brian’s voice was calm and measured, but she could hear the underlying tension. He would never admit it aloud, but her big brother had been thrown for a loop when he’d come home for the weekend and heard about Honey’s abruptly curtailed training for the 10k.

Despite the cold, Trixie’s face heated with shame. She knew that Honey would be outside training with her four days a week if she were allowed. And her doctor and parents were absolutely right to forbid her to run outdoors. “I didn’t know what to do last week,” she admitted, fear making her voice smaller than normal. “She couldn’t stop coughing for a good thirty minutes after we got back from our run.”

“And that wasn’t even a long run,” Brian pointed out.

Trixie nodded glumly. She and Honey and Di had decided to do a quick two and a half mile run first thing in the morning before school. It had been their first run since the cold snap began, and Trixie knew it would be Honey’s last until the weather warmed up.

“She and Di will be at the finish line handing out the medals,” Mart reminded her. “Wasn’t it good of Di to offer to drop out of the race with her so she wouldn’t be by herself at the finish line?” His voice took on the dreamy quality he seemed to slip into whenever Di’s name came up.

Trixie couldn’t help but grin. “Yes, it was. Especially since she was the fastest of the three of us girls!” Trixie, too, had offered to sit out the race and help at the finish line instead, but as a group they had decided that they wanted as many Bob-Whites to run as possible.

“We won’t see Dan and Jim until the very end of the race,” Trixie said, her spirits sinking again. “I think it’s a great idea to have them ride the course on Spartan and Strawberry behind all of the runners to help transport any rider who needs help to a first aid station, but…” Her voice trailed off.

“But what?” Brian asked gently.

“It’s silly,” Trixie warned him, sniffling. “I just had this image of the Bob-Whites all running together and celebrating at the finish line. And now two of us won’t even be there until it’s all over!” Her eyes stung, but she was pretty sure it was from the cold, and not because she was unreasonably upset. Because it really wasn’t reasonable to be upset over the perfectly legitimate reasons Honey, Di, Dan, and Jim had for not participating in the race.

“Hey!” Mart said. “Maybe not all of the Bob-Whites are running, but all of the Belden Bob-Whites are,” he reminded her.

Trixie brightened. “I hadn’t thought of it like that,” she admitted.

“And we’re sure to beat Brian,” he confided in a stage whisper. “After all, what university student has enough time to train?”

“I’ll have you know I’ve been running early in the mornings on the school track,” Brian retorted. “I might not have trained as much as you two, but I’m pretty pleased with my times.”

“Even if he hasn’t trained as much, I bet he beats you,” Trixie told Mart. “You keep getting out of breath because you won’t stop talking!”

Mart sputtered in outrage. “I resemble that remark,” he declared with a sniff. “And I bet I leave the both of you in my dust.”

“You’re on,” Trixie agreed immediately. “First Belden across the finish line of the 10k doesn’t do dishes for the rest of Christmas break!”

Before her brothers could argue, she sprinted down the path to Crabapple Farm, her heart almost as light as her feet.

Trixie stamped her feet in the fresh powder of snow that had fallen during the night. Trying to be patient, she blew out a puff of air and watched the resulting fog drift away. “Come on,” she complained. “You’ll warm up when we start running.”

Mart ignored her, his arm across his body, stretching his upper arm.

“And running uses your legs, not your arms,” she teased, her good humour restored by the spectacle Mart was making of himself. It wasn’t just the over-the-top stretching, she realized, though she very much doubted he really needed to bend double at the waist and hug his chin to his knees. No, it was the over-the-top stretching combined with the over-the-tippy-tippy-top running clothes. Crimpers had had a blowout sale on cold weather running gear for runners registered for the library race. Unfortunately, by the time Mart had made it to the store, the only clothes left had been bright enough that Trixie doubted he would need the reflective piping included on each item as a safety feature. The important thing, Mart had told her, was that none of the material was cotton.

Trixie glanced down at her own running gear and grinned. Moms had really come through for her by loaning her the plain, lined compression pants she’d found in the back of her own closet.

“Running uses far more than your legs,” Brian informed her, joining his brother and sister at the start line of the race, but Trixie waved aside his attempt at educating her.

“Isn’t it time for the race to start?” she asked, bouncing on her feet. She’d added ice grips to her runners to give her traction on the snowy paths, and she felt more than ready. “Let’s do this!”

“It must be almost time,” Mart agreed, fitting a magenta fleece headband over his ears. “Look at all the people! I think almost half of Sleepyside’s population must be here!”

Trixie beamed. “Mr. Kennedy offered bonus Phys Ed marks to every student who follows a training plan and participates in the race.”

“I wish our profs would do that,” Brian said wistfully. “I practically stopped training during finals.”

Trixie started to pat his arm sympathetically but ended up giving it a strong squeeze when she saw the town mayor at the starting line, race pistol raised.

“Remember,” Brian cautioned, “don’t start too fast—”

His warning was drowned out by both the report of the starting pistol and Mart’s startled yelp as he tripped over his own feet.

Trixie and Brian each took an arm and hoisted Mart to his feet before joining the throng of runners, their laughter making it easy to keep from starting the race at too quick a pace. Ten minutes later, Trixie began to regret every bite of the huge Christmas dinner they’d enjoyed the day before.

“I should have stopped at one helping of mashed potatoes,” she groaned, raising her arms above her head in an attempt to alleviate the stitch in her side.

“Amateur,” Mart wheezed, holding his own stomach gingerly. “It was worth it and you know it.”

“It totally was,” she agreed, “but gosh, do you think we’re halfway to the finish line?”

Brian, his pace easy and confident, turned his head to her. “You can’t be serious,” he said. “We haven’t even passed the 2km sign yet!”

Trixie shrugged and let her arms fall back to a rhythmic pump. “Well, I guess.” She huffed out a breath that was equal parts frustration and exertion. “Those signs don’t help me very much anyway.”

Mart and Brian exchanged a look over her head.

“Oh, cut it out,” she snapped, rounding a curve onto Glen Road as they continued the race route from the start line in downtown Sleepyside toward the preserve. The road was closed to vehicular traffic for the morning, allowing the runners free rein. Route markers in the shape of Santa were placed at regular intervals, marking the path and helping runners to pace themselves. “I track my pace by minutes per mile. But the race is in kilometres. How is that good planning? And you can’t tell me that you’re converting from kilometres to miles on the fly!”

“Well, technically,” Brian said, “we’re converting it on the run.” He and Mart guffawed loudly while Trixie concentrated on keeping her temper and breathing under control.

“Seriously, though,” he continued. “There’s a formula.”

“Well, of course, there is!” Trixie said, rolling her eyes. “There’s a formula for everything! At least according to my math teacher.”

“He means a formula that can be done easily without pen and paper, or a calculator,” Mart explained. “And I think he’s referring to the Fibonacci sequence.” He paused. “Which is, as the name suggests, a sequence rather than a formula, but—” He stopped hastily when Trixie “accidentally” swung her arm a little too hard and clipped his ribs.

“Picture these numbers in a straight line,” Brian interrupted, distracting his volatile siblings. “Two plus three equals five, yes?”

Trixie narrowed her eyes and stared at imaginary numbers in the air in front of her. “Sure,” she agreed cautiously, certain that she was missing something.

“Three miles is roughly equal to five kilometres. Now, take that three and add it to the five.”

“Eight?” she asked, even more certain that she was missing something. Converting miles to kilometres couldn’t be as easy as adding, could it?

“Five miles is eight kilometres,” Mart continued. “See the pattern?”

Trixie tried to picture the numbers in the air the way Brian had suggested, but all she could see was her breath coming in faster and faster puffs. “There’s no pattern,” she told him. “All we were doing was adding!”

“You got it!” Brian said, as if she’d single-handedly conquered a quadratic function. “The Fibonacci sequence is just a pattern where the two preceding numbers add up to the third.” He pointed to the numbers on an imaginary timeline. “Two plus three equals five. Three plus five equals eight. Five plus eight equals thirteen. Eight plus thirteen equals…” He waited expectantly for Trixie to supply the answer.

“Twenty-one!” Trixie exclaimed triumphantly after a pause. “So, thirteen miles is twenty-one kilometres? And…” she paused and attempted to work backward. She had to count in time with her footfalls, but she was pretty sure she was getting the hang of it. “And, if five kilometres equals three miles, then ten kilometres must equal six miles!”

“Exactly!” Mart praised. “Well, not exactly ,” he amended hastily. “Ten kilometres is actually 6.2 miles. The sequence isn’t an exact ratio between miles and kilometres. It’s more of a guideline.”

“Close enough,” Trixie decided. “So that means if I’m aiming to keep my pace under nine minutes per mile then I’ll take fifty-four minutes to run ten kilometres.” She checked her watch, and then grinned cheekily. “Then I better get moving! See you at the finish line,” she called, picking up her pace and leaving her brothers to catch up, if they could. It was only fair, she reasoned. They couldn’t expect her to stick around if it involved mental math! “And get ready to wash a whole lot of dishes!” She snickered and put on an extra burst of speed to put some distance between her and her brothers. Running with them had been kind of fun and had kept her from thinking about how hard running was, but there were chores at stake, and she fully intended to spend the rest of her Christmas holidays soap suds free.

By the time the finish line came into view, Trixie had decided that she was running in an endless spiral in the preserve. The fancy running watch Mr. Wheeler had given each of the Bob-Whites as an early Christmas present said otherwise, but it seemed impossible that she hadn’t been running for hours. There was no other possible explanation for the dizzying effect of passing identical tree after identical tree.

“Trixie! You’re almost there!” Honey yelled, clapping and cheering.

Just one minute earlier, Trixie wouldn’t have believed that she had anything left in her reserves, but at the sight of the finish line and her friends on the other side of it, her legs took over. Her lungs protested, and her thighs felt as if they were made of stone, but she sprinted to the line, throwing her arms around both Honey and Di as Honey attempted to put a finisher medal around her neck.

“I did it!” Trixie exclaimed, amazed. “I did it! And I beat Mart and Brian!” She gripped Honey’s jacket. “I did beat them, right? They didn’t somehow pass me?” She was sure she would have noticed, but for a while, she’d been in almost a stupor as she tried to maintain her pace.

Di giggled. “No, but here they come now. And they don’t look too pleased!”

Brian and Mart, red-faced and panting, made it across the finish line. Mart bent at the waist again, this time to catch his breath.

“Keep walking,” Di urged. “Your body will thank you.”

Honey and Di placed medals around Brian’s and Mart’s necks, and then had to do the same for the next group of runners crossing the finish line. The three siblings made way for the newcomers, joining the other finishers in the clearing.

“That was quite the race,” Trixie said, pushing back her sweaty hair and taking a minute to stretch her legs. “Even with training, it was hard.”

Brian and Mart nodded, still too winded to answer. “It wouldn’t have been so hard,” Mart finally managed, “if you hadn’t picked such a killer pace. What were you thinking?” he demanded. “I thought you were aiming for nine-minute miles!”

“I was!” Trixie protested. “It’s not my fault that my legs didn’t listen! I started doing more mental math to take my mind off running and, well, I guess it worked!” She shrugged. “Also, I was very motivated to be the first Belden across the finish line. No dishes for me!”

“What’s that, dear? You’re offering to do dishes after our Boxing Day brunch?”

Trixie pivoted to see her mother standing at the edge of the clearing, a Styrofoam cup of hot chocolate in her hand. “What? No!” Trixie exclaimed. “No dishes for me! Not for the rest of the holidays,” she said smugly. “I was the first Belden across the finish line.”

Helen’s lips twitched in a triumphant smile as she traced the outline of the medal hanging around her own neck.

“No,” Trixie whispered, staring at the medal which consisted of a Santa hat atop a box.

“Did I not mention I was entering the race, too?” Helen inquired.

Brian shook his head

“Or that I used to run cross country in high school?”

Mart shook his head.

“Or that Ruth, the marathoner on the library committee, has been organizing training runs during the school day?”

Trixie shook her head.

Helen took a sip of hot chocolate. “I must say, I am looking forward to no dishes for the rest of the holidays.” And she winked as she handed her empty hot chocolate cup to her daughter.

“They did it!” Honey whooped, racing into the clubhouse. “The library raised enough money for the expansion!”

The Bob-Whites cheered loudly as they drew chairs around the woodstove. They’d mostly almost recovered from the race the previous day. Mart had made the mistake of sitting down before stretching and had consequently had to spend a very uncomfortable half hour with a foam roller to release the tension in his calves, but even he jumped up and joined in the high fives.

“That’s wonderful!” Trixie said, glowing. She flung her arms wide and dropped dramatically to the old couch. “But I’ll surely be glad to take it easy for the rest of the holidays. No more training runs for this Belden. I may never run again!”

“Only because we’re too busy doing dishes,” Mart sighed. “Do you have any idea how much we ate yesterday? It’s almost as if we ran a marathon!”

“Funny you should say that,” Honey said, her eyes twinkling. “Did I mention that Mother is on the committee for the children’s ward at the hospital? And that they’re planning a Memorial Day Half Marathon?”

“Half marathon?” Trixie jumped up from the couch. “I’m in! After all, that’s not much further than a 10k, right?”

“Not much,” Jim agreed as the rest of the room snickered.