The Fastest Way to Fall(38)
Britta: Is 6:30 too early? I know you might be out late tonight.
Wes: Works for me. Why do you think I’ll be out late?
Britta: Aren’t you out on a date?
I laughed, the sound reverberating off the interior of my car.
Wes: Why do you always assume I’m on a date?
Wes: And you think I would text you if I was?
Britta: I just assumed when you said you had plans.
Wes: No date.
Britta: And you’re not cheating on me with another client? I like to think of myself as your one and only.
Wes: No other client’s gonna do.
An old Whitney Houston song came on the radio. I remembered my mom laughing, pulling me and Libby to dance with her, twirling around our cramped living room.
Wes: I’m saving all my lectures for you.
Britta: Tube Sock, are you referencing a song from thirty years ago?
Wes: Don’t tell anyone.
Britta: It’s one of my favorites to sing in the shower. A perfect love song.
Wes: I think it’s about adultery.
Britta: But aside from that. Romantic.
Wes: You’re a romantic, huh?
Britta: A little.
I flashed to Britta’s face when she noticed the flowers in the hospital. The shock and appreciation, her open expression, had melted me. I imagined her giving me that look again while touching me, her body pressed to mine, and it made me want to have flowers delivered to her daily.
Client. Client. Client. Change of subject.
Wes: Are you excited to run tomorrow?
Britta: Will you be cranky if I chicken out and bail on you?
Wes: Yes.
Britta: How cranky?
Wes: Well, tomorrow is my birthday, so it would be a crappy way to start the day.
I never made a big deal about my birthday. I didn’t put it on social media, but I wanted her to know. Maybe it was my mom forgetting or being worried about Libby, or I was just pathetic. I rested my head on the steering wheel. Pathetic sounds right.
Britta: Really? Okay, in that case I’ll be there. I’m just warning you it will not be cute.
She’d struggle at first. Everyone did, but I suspected she’d light up when she accomplished something. And then she’d smile at me again.
Wes: Cute is never required at the gym. I’ll see you at 6:30 tomorrow.
My engine roared back to life, and I pulled away, heading to the city with “Saving All My Love for You” stuck in my head.
27
BESTLIFEBRITTA 3H AGO
Some of you are already gym rats. Some of you, like me, have one thing you do, like a dance or spin class, but you leave the rest alone. This post is for others, the readers who are intimidated by the gym or just haven’t gone in a while, if ever. Here are the top pieces of advice I can share for surviving.
Start where you’re comfortable—walking is easy enough, and no one will think it’s weird if you’re walking on a treadmill at a low speed if you need to start there. Side note: You can also spy on all the other people to see what they do.
SEEN BY 2,237
BESTLIFEBRITTA 3H AGO
Note: My coach would say not to compare yourself to others, and to ask for help from the staff. That said . . .
Find someone who you think will be slower than you— competing and beating someone who doesn’t know you’re racing is still a thrill. Does this make you judgmental? A slightly bad person? Absolutely. It works, though.
SEEN BY 2,235
BESTLIFEBRITTA 3H AGO
Don’t stress about what you look like. For starters, no one is paying attention to you, and second, if someone looks cute while they’re working out, they’re doing it wrong.
SEEN BY 2,229
BESTLIFEBRITTA 3H AGO
Celebrate! Did you push yourself as hard as possible? Reach a new goal? Woot! Did you spend ten minutes walking on a treadmill after five years of no exercise? Block out negative self-talk? Woot! You did it! Pat yourself on the back!
BONUS ITEM: This is truly the most important. Go back tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that.
SEEN BY 2,228
* * *
THE GYM SMELLED like soap and sweat. I glanced toward the entrance, bounced on my heels, and tugged my T-shirt down. The ladies in my hip-hop dance class didn’t care that my panty lines were visible, but now Wes would see them while I attempted to run. Ben’s comments still swam in my head, threatening my tenuous equilibrium, and I pushed them aside. He was a bad kisser. Today, I don’t care what bad kissers think.
The cold air swept into the lobby when Wes pushed through the door, flashing a wide smile. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, rubbing his hands together from the cold.
“At least you could be sure I wouldn’t . . . run off.”
“You’re funny in the mornings.”
The fabric of his shirt stretched across his chest, and I wanted to drag my palm across it to feel the hard muscle beneath. “Hey,” I said, reaching into my bag to busy my hands. I pulled out the protein bar to which I’d taped a birthday candle and held it out to him. “Happy birthday.”