The Fastest Way to Fall(6)

“Um, thanks. Really not about losing weight, though.” I wanted to disappear into the Bubble Wrap, in part at his flippant comment, but also because he hadn’t listened the first time I said it. I sealed the box of kitchen items and plastered on a happy smile. “This room’s about done. Should we start on your bedroom?”

Ben glanced at his special edition Apple watch with the designer band. “Thanks, but I need to call it a night. I’m meeting people in about an hour.”

Oh.

“Britt. You’re the best.” He crossed the room. I hoped he’d wrap me in a friendly hug and remind me he cared. His long arms around my shoulders always sent a tiny spark through me as I inhaled his woodsy cologne. This time, he reached over the box to give me a high five. “What would I do without you?”



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FACING THE LIKELIHOOD that Ben wasn’t into me, despite my wishing and hoping, wasn’t high on my to-do list, so after leaving his place, I got a little drunk. Not the best coping mechanism, but it worked. When I felt appropriately loose, I stripped down to my underwear in front of my bedroom mirror. If I was going to step into a public forum and join a fitness app, I wanted to take personal inventory of my physical attributes before the Internet did it for me. I started making a list of my features.

I have beautiful eyes. Big, dark brown, and with long lashes. My skin was the color of sand after the waves receded, the perfect middle ground between my mom’s pale, freckled face and my dad, who described himself generously as a slightly more handsome Idris Elba. I used to wish for blue eyes like my friends in our small town, but now I loved my eyes. When she was alive, my grandma always told me I looked like a rounder version of Lena Horne. I batted my eyes and did my best impression in the mirror.

Arms. I held out my hands to my sides and jiggled, watching the flesh undulate. Is it weird that I’m captivated by this? I always liked how the skin on my shoulders was smooth and clear, and I was ready for warmer, tank top–worthy weather.

These are perfectly proportioned toes. I glanced down at my feet, each little piggy in line, with well-appointed polish.

I have an amazing rack. They were too big to be especially perky, but cleavage for days, and they inspired enthusiasm in other ways.

I admired the curve of my ass in the mirror, giving it a smack for good measure and sipping my wine. Sheer perfection.

With a nod, I gave myself one last look and walked to the desk. After pouring another glass of merlot, I opened my laptop. The FitMi home page filled the screen.

I clicked the register button and entered my information on the web form.

I fingered the stem of my wineglass and took a deep breath as a questionnaire filled the screen. I gulped down the last of the drink. Here we go. After a slew of health warnings, a page of several open-ended questions greeted me.

What is your primary motivation for joining FitMi? Please check all that apply.

I reviewed the options: increasing activity, losing weight (see note), strengthening and toning muscles, improving athleticism, gaining nutrition knowledge, addressing a medical concern (please specify), other (please specify). I want a promotion, and my crush sees me as one of the guys . . . Would that fall under “other”? I selected increasing activity and gaining nutrition knowledge but scrolled back to check losing weight. I wanted to explore what someone would experience if they checked that and if FitMi was as body positive as it claimed. A message appeared.

We respect every client’s goals, but FitMi coaches will not focus on weight with you. We will focus on helping you reach your goals related to activity and/or nutrition. If you plan to continue, your coach will discuss our philosophy with you in more detail.

I copied and pasted the text into a document. Something similar had been on their website, but I made note of a few questions to ask.

Do you have any medical conditions? No.

This isn’t so bad. As I hit next to move on, a long list of medical conditions appeared, and I was prompted to check yes or no for heart conditions, high blood pressure, diabetes, cancer, thyroid issues, and a host of things I’d never heard of. I considered pouring another glass or just bringing the bottle of wine to my lips as I clicked no on each item individually, the long list of possible illnesses intimidating.

How much sleep do you get per day? 8 hours.

It’s usually closer to five between the time I stop reading and when I hit the snooze alarm, but I strive for eight and that should count.

Describe your daily nutrition. I don’t eat as many vegetables and fruits as I should, but if caramel macchiatos, French fries, and peanut butter M&M’s are all in different food groups, then I am doing A-OK.

What are your exercise habits? Outside of attending a biweekly over-sixty hip-hop dance class I accidentally joined, not doing it.

Should I lie just a little? I erased the end and instead typed: My regular exercise includes a good amount of walking to get from place to place in the city. That lie might be too big. I take the ‘L’ or an Uber more often than not. I erased my response again and retyped my original answer. I planned to tell the world I wanted to be more active, and it wouldn’t help to lie here. I nodded, then answered a few more questions about favorite foods.

Do you smoke or use other tobacco products? Never.

How often do you consume alcohol?

I glanced at my wineglass and the almost empty bottle on the counter. Probably won’t be telling the world about that. A glass of wine or a bottle of beer once or twice a week.