by Alona Jarden
"But you did this morning. Do you really have back pain? Nausea? What's different?"
"I needed the blood test results for Adam. Without it, I couldn’t overdo my workouts." I smiled playfully at him. "And also, for a moment there… I… I thought I was..." I paused and exhaled.
"You thought what?"
"For a moment, I thought I might be pregnant."
"Are you serious!?"
"We did destroy every condom that was around us, and even though I don't fully remember your impressive sexual performance, I do remember my mother's explanations about how babies come into the world."
"And...?" His eyes widened, and I didn’t know whether it was from excitement or anxiety from hearing the rest of my sentence.
"I'm not. I didn't gather the nerve to ask my GP about it, but I bought a pregnancy test kit on the way home. I'm not pregnant."
"I see…" I couldn't figure out the meaning of his new facial expression. "So, what did the doctor say about all those complaints?"
"He said it was expected that my body would react to the radical change I was forcing on it. He said that my new diet could be the cause of my fatigue as I dropped the number of carbohydrates and calories I consume drastically. He said it would take time for my body to adjust."
"So maybe you should do things a little more gradually?"
"What, like," I began, smiling playfully, "Eating salad for three days and pizzas and cakes for only two?"
"Yes, exactly." He nodded in agreement. "Make the change gradually." He was evidently relieved.
"In short, I'm not exaggerating, Don." I brought us back to the question that opened that awkward discussion about my health. "Adam monitors my physical activity, and the GP confirmed that all the symptoms I mentioned to him are typical while taking into account my extreme diet and exercise program." I took a deep breath and continued, even though I knew Don would have something to say about it. "And to make sure we don't stray into any romantic directions again, I'll also add that he said the change might affect my hormonal balance and especially my moods and menstruation. Consider yourself warned!" I pointed a threatening finger at him.
"Wonderful. I'm glad you shared the news about your menstrual cycle with me. It's a new stage in our relationship. Granted, it's a stage which I hoped we wouldn't reach." He took a sip of the green shake he still held, swallowing with great difficulty, and continued. "But here it is. I just don’t understand why you insist on doing things in such an extreme way?"
"I don’t know any other way, but extreme, Don." I looked down at some random location on the table.
"Would you like some advice from someone who isn’t authorized to give any to others?"
"More than anything in the whole world!" I returned my eyes to his.
"Persistence is what matters the most right now. I know it sounds ridiculous when it comes from me, but if you think about it, I've been persistent in eating my feelings for close to three years now, so I actually do understand how to stick to a fixed routine."
"You're an idiot."
"But I'm a consistent idiot and an idiot who wants to see you happy for many more years to come. You see? If you manage to live healthy consistently for the next year, and after that, you remain energetic and able to persevere that way of life, it will be better than if you succeeded in achieving your goals within the next six months, but then fell off the wagon afterward out of exhaustion and went back to your old destructive habits."
"I know you were kidding, but I must point out that you actually do sound like someone who knows what he's talking about."
"That's because I do." His face turned sad, and he took a deep breath before continuing to confess his past crimes. "Twice in the last few years, I've shed off all my excess weight."
"All of it?"
"Until the very last pound, Michelle." He didn't even blink and continued. "I reached my target weight that was set by my GP, and if I may add, I did so without too much effort on my part."
"How?!" I hoped to be amazed by some magic formula I could use as well.
"It was very simple. I kept my mouth shut, went running, and the pounds just started disappearing."
"Very simple?" I imitated his style of speech, rolled my eyes in frustration, and gestured toward him with a discontented expression. "Go ahead, you piece of shit."
"But as you can see, it never lasted long. A rapid change like the one I made didn't allow me to get used to a new way of life, so when I achieved my goal, the snacks returned to my comfort menu, and with them, I gained all the weight back."
"Do you know that I lost almost nine pounds in the last two weeks?" I said in excitement.
"That's amazing, but it doesn't matter."
"Sure, it does. If I keep losing weight at this rate, I'll—"
"You won't keep losing the weight at this rate," he interrupted me.
"I will too!"
"I won't let you."
"You won't what?" I couldn't even formulate a grammatically correct question due to the shock his reply gave me.
"I won't let you, Michelle." He repeated the words without fearing my response. "I've been there, done that. I know, from experience, that in a few weeks time, the sharp drop graph will come to a halt, and when it does, if you keep measuring your success in the pounds and not the change, you'll fall apart."
"I won't, and that's why I work out every day. This way the pounds will keep—"
"You will, Michelle. Suddenly you'll only drop a pound a week or even gain one or two, and then you'll find yourself stopping at McDonald's and stuffing that beautiful face of yours with a big juicy order that would be deluded with a great deal of frustration."
"I don't think that's how it has to be." He didn’t manage to freak me out if that was what he was trying to do. "Ian explained that there is a chance that such a stage will come, but that's why I'm overdoing my training and diet."
"But you're in it for the long run. This is not a sprint. Have you forgotten that the size of your pants is not one of your goals?" He suddenly raised his voice. "Why are you being so thick-headed about this?" he asked in a calmer tone.
"The size of my clothes is not a goal, but I'll do everything in my power to reach my goals faster."
"I'm sorry, Michelle. I won't let you."
"It's not up to you, is it?"
"We'll see."
"What does that mean?"
"You'll do what you have to do, and I'll do everything I can to stand in your way."
"Why would you do that to me?" Anger consumed me when hearing his malicious plan.
"I don't have to explain myself to you, but I assure you that if I see you overdoing your training, I'll be here to stop you."
"Stop me, how?"
"I'll stick to your neck like the annoying zit that I am. I'm going to appear in each and every one of your workouts, and make sure that you're taking it easy."
"I actually like the sound of that." I smiled and nodded. "Then, I guess I'll see you here tomorrow."
I got up, walked away, and left him there, lacking the words to reply.
Sure I wanted to kill him, but I believed I would have ample opportunities to do so, given the fact that he just became my training partner.
Two and a half weeks later, I was excited for the weigh-in scheduled for the weight loss support group meeting.
"So, you've been seeing each other on a daily basis?" Ian tried to figure out where my relationship with Don stood from the very few details I was willing to share with him.
"Yes. Every morning he shows up at my gym."
"So, you're training together?" He seemed concerned. "Every day? That's not healthy for either of you."
"Oh, don’t worry." I looked up at him and no longer felt awkward speaking in front of everyone when it was my turn to give an update on my progress toward achieving the goals I set for myself. "Three days a week, he trains right beside me." A big, leisurely smile crept into the corners of my eyes. "Three times a week, he takes the workouts s
eriously, puts in the effort, and even sweats his ass off."
"But you said you meet there every morning, didn't you?"
"Yes. On the other days, he shows up in ridiculous wrestling outfits mixed with women’s aerobic thongs, raises his voice, and makes me take him away from everyone else."
"Pure Don Denver magic." Ian applauded him.
"After a few days of being embarrassed by him, I took the hint. Now, when I see him wearing a yellow thong over a tight red stretchy wrestling suit, I just lead him to the health bar, where we sit and drink nasty things until it's time for me to go to work."
All the evening people laughed with me.
I wasted years mocking the morning people and avoiding the evening people. Years where I missed out on the deep connection I was so easily able to create in the last two weeks. I missed out on Ian's insights, and I missed out on the significant achievements I reached in such a short period of time.
"Let's go, Michelle. It's your turn to weigh-in." Ian stood by the scale, in the far corner of the room, about half an hour later, and invited me to join him.
"If once again, I only lost—"
"Stop right there!" Ian insensitively interrupted me. "Your tantrum last week was more than enough for me. How many times do I have to explain that the digits on the scale are a side effect of living healthy and not the main goal?"
"I think I need to hear your explanation one more time."
"And I think we should set goals that will actually challenge you, because the ones we set so far, you achieve too easily." He smiled proudly as I stepped onto the scary surface of the scale.
Since I set out on my new path with Ian, he changed my tasks and goals, and just as he said, I managed to achieve them all. The first one was to make my bed every morning. At first, I thought it was complete nonsense, but the smile on my face on the third morning to accomplish that goal made it clear that he knew exactly what I needed for me to stick to my change in life.
As it turns out, I loved starting my day knowing I already was successful and understood why it was important for him to set such a ridiculous first goal for me. He then asked me to stay away from my home scale, to meet with a nutritionist, to get a personal trainer at the gym, and to go for long walks every evening before going to bed.
"I want to know how you're feeling before telling you what your weight is."
"Don't play games with me, Ian. How much did I lose this week?"
"You've dropped three pounds."
"Crap!" I hit my hand on my thighs. "He's setting me back, just as he promised he would."
"Maybe he is." Ian wasn’t impressed by my frustration "But do you know the difference between a ten-mile drive going the designated speed limit and that same ten-mile drive while speeding?"
"Speeding can get me to my destination faster?"
"Either that or it'll get you to the ER, Michelle. When you're speeding excessively, there's a slight chance that you never will reach your set destination. Is getting to the ER one of your goals? Because I don’t remember us setting it for you?"
"I'm hungry, Ian." I didn’t understand why I changed the topic so drastically. "I'm hungry all the time."
"And what are you doing about that?"
"I work out, I go for a walk, I try to keep myself busy assuming that my hunger is caused by boredom."
"Yet, what if it doesn’t work? What if your body needs to be in peace for you to reach your destination? What if you can't reach it while your body is burdened with excessive speeding?"
"If that's the source of my hunger, my body will have to deal with it, because if I don't go back to an eight-pound drop per week, I won't be able to—"
"That does it!" He wouldn’t let me mention my personal weight loss plan again. "We need to set new goals for you. Obviously, the ones I gave you aren’t challenging enough."
"I don’t think it's going to calm my hunger, Ian. I'll achieve any goal that you set for me, but I'll still be hungry all the time."
"If so, here's my next goal for you. I challenge you to admit out loud that you're falling in love with Don."
"What kind of a messed up goal is that?!" I quickly got off the scale, slipping my feet back into the flip-flops I took off a minute ago and frowned at him. "How are my feelings for Don related to what we're doing here?"
"You have to do with what we're doing here, Michelle. You have to be okay with not having complete control over your body. Like on your weekly weight loss numbers. Even if you do exactly what you need to do, there may be a week when you won't lose weight or even gain it."
"But, you see? I don’t believe that's true. If he'll back off and let be bust my ass like I did successfully before, I'll continue to see results."
"I wish that were true, but it's not sweetie. It's not, and it's important that you brace yourself for that week. Do you know why I don't do these weigh-ins publicly as other group guides do?"
"Because you're not a sadistic fuck?"
"No. Because losing weight doesn't mean a thing about your success. Those digits on the scale can't be your secret destination, Michelle. You have to stick to the achievable goals that we set together. Only those will safely lead you to your destination."
"And how is a goal like admitting my feelings for Don supposed to bring me closer to it?"
"Love is the healthiest thing you'll ever experience in life. If I'm not mistaken, you defined being healthy as your ultimate destination, right?" Ian asked but didn’t wait for any answer. He turned his back on me, and with inspirational casualness, he called for the next weigh-in while I stomped my remaining two hundred and seventy-three pounds back to my seat.
Up until that evening, each time I left the support meeting, I felt that the goals and tasks set for me were achievable and didn’t require much effort on my part, but that wasn’t the case at the end of that specific meeting.
At last, it seemed that Ian had found a task that would pose a serious challenge for me, and from the moment I accepted it with my silence, I could think of nothing else but the meaning of my storming feelings for Don.
Chapter 20
Don
Weeks passed during which Michelle and Ian dictated a workout routine and a healthy diet for me. They loved it. They were happy when they saw the results of my weight loss and my toned body, but I was mostly impressed with the fact that I found a great reason to leave the house.
All of a sudden, I didn’t even think about the various activities for which I closed my door behind me and really enjoyed my days. For the first time in years, I stuck to a way of life that resembled normal and didn’t need to take a deep breath before returning home.
Knowing that every morning, I would find myself in front of Michelle's beautiful eyes, made it easy to do all that I kept away from up until then. I occasionally agreed to meet with Ian for training sessions in the park. I went to visit my parents more than once a week, and I even dared to visit Sarah's corporate offices without the task making it hard for me to breath.
On the face of it all, my life seemed to be moving in all the right directions. At least, so I thought that morning.
Four weeks and forty pounds passed from when Michelle came back into my life, but in one brief phone call, I was sent to the abyss I was used to, and all the progress I made vanished as if all of it had never happened.
It started like any other day.
I got up, brushed my teeth, and wore the ridiculous sportswear, which did its job very well, and caused Michelle not to overdo her training. I sat down to drink my coffee on the porch and to tell you the truth, if it weren't for my mother's phone call, I probably wouldn't have noticed it was the third anniversary of Sarah's death. I would have probably gone to the gym and kid around with Michelle like nothing was the matter, and I guess that was the matter.
I got used to saying that almost three years had passed, and only after I answered her call with a smile on my face, did I realize that the moment had come to officially change to the number of years that
passed from that damn day.
"Good morning, sweetie."
"Hi, Mom."
"Well, how are you going to pass this god-awful day?" In a split second, I was reminded that I actually had no reason to leave the house.
"This day?" I looked at the date shown on the phone screen and went back to talking to her completely depressed. "As usual. I'll be here alone. How about you?"
"I think I'll go and meet Sarah's parents, like last year. We're going to her grave."
"I don't see why you're commemorating the anniversary of her death. She wouldn't want you to do that, and anyway, I don't understand why you need to go back there every year. I mean—"
"I love you, Don." I guess she felt the urge to say that and a tear of longing for a woman's voice telling me those same words ripped my heart out.
"Thanks, Mom. I love you too," I muttered quietly.
"Is there no way I can get you to join me? You seemed to be doing much better lately."
"It's too early for me. I… She's not…" A million completions to my half-sentences came to mind, so I did what I was used to doing and returned to my blatant and familiar defensive self. "I couldn't give a rat's ass about her grave, Mother. As far as I'm concerned, Sarah's not there. She's here, with me, in our house," I finished and quickly hung up the phone.
Since her funeral, I couldn't bring myself to go to her gravesite, and I actually couldn't understand why everyone thought it would be right for me to do so.
All that remained from the love of my life was not a cold stone slab but her beautiful face and our joint memories that awaited me in the photo albums, the desolate nursery she prepared, her perfectly organized wardrobe that I didn’t dare touch, her pillow that sometimes seemed to still contain her intoxicating scent and all that was in our home and not out of it.
All I had left from the love of my life was the house we built together, and I didn’t need to get away from it in order to reunite with her memory. Not that day or any other day for that matter.