Yesterday's Half Truths

by Carey Heywood

  I could use a whole box of Twinkies to get me through Luke’s email.

  Question # 1. What is your weight?

  203 lbs.

  Question # 2. What is your height?

  5’8

  Question # 3. What is your goal weight?

  115 lbs.

  Question # 4. Describe your current level of activity.

  Desk job, not extremely active.

  Question # 5. Describe your current diet. (Normal breakfast, lunch, dinner)

  Breakfast = Eggo, mini muffins, breakfast sandwich

  Lunch = Mac & Cheese, BLT, corndogs, burritos

  Dinner = see lunch

  Snacks = pistachios, chips, ice cream, chocolate

  Drinks = Soda, milkshakes

  Why does he need my address? Ugh, and just looking at my responses makes me cringe. I’ve tried diets and fad exercises before. It’s just hard to stay motivated. Every time I fail, I put on even more weight than I was working with before I started. I wouldn’t even be trying now if it weren’t for this reunion.

  I send the email before I have time to overthink it. Once I press send, the little whoosh sound of my computer lets me know my greatest insecurities are now zooming through cyberspace to his email; and I can’t do anything. It’s out there, whether I want it to exist or not.

  Compartmentalizing my crap is what I do best. Weight? With a few clicks of my mouse, I can be model perfect in no time. I’ve been virtually modifying myself for so long I’m still surprised when I look in the mirror and I don’t see the image of myself that exists in my head. I don’t have time to think about it now.

  Even though my ad revenue has been increasing on my blog site, I still have a day job. I make websites pretty. I know basic web design but my focus is graphic design not site building. I let the tech geniuses handle that stuff.

  It’s close to lunchtime when my cell startles me with an incoming text. I suck in a breath when I see it’s Luke.

  Morning. I got your questionnaire. Do you have time to discuss it?”

  I save the web banner I was working on and push away from my desk.

  Ah, sure.

  I’m willing to train you on a trial basis but…

  I drop my chin into my hand; here it comes.

  Yes?

  Your weight goal is unrealistic. Based on your height and increasing your activity to a moderate level your goal weight should be closer to 135 to 145 lbs. For your height 115 lbs. is underweight.

  I try to argue.

  But isn’t that what models and actresses weigh?

  My goal as your trainer would be your health. In my personal opinion, that weight is unhealthy.

  I’ll take any help at this point. Maybe if I can learn his techniques and set up a routine, I can improve on his results. When I don’t reply he sends another text.

  Still there?

  I lift my head, shaking it.

  Sorry, I zoned out. I’m here.

  I’d like to get started on your diet first. It’s okay to indulge here and there, but we need to incorporate more fruits and vegetables into your diet. Based on what you emailed, it appears you are currently eating none.

  Cringing I can’t argue with that.

  I’m not much of a cook so I stick to mainly packaged foods.

  I’m not asking you to become a chef or anything, but I can email you a couple of simple recipes that are low calorie high nutrient content.

  Okay.

  Where do you grocery shop?

  I use a delivery service from Hanover Foods.

  Delivery? So you order online and they deliver?”

  Coco jumps into my lap and I absentmindedly stroke her.

  Yes.

  That sounds like a great way to avoid impulse purchases. Email me the link to your ordering system. I want to look at what your options are; and the next time you order, I’ll walk you through what your weekly order should be going forward.

  But?

  Your diet is a mess, Lindsay. Even if you work your ass off training wise, you won’t see the results you should if you’re still eating all this garbage.

  Don’t many nutritionists recommend some cheat options?

  I’ll look over their list and find something you will still love; and I promise you, it will be healthier for you in the long run.

  Fine.

  I contemplate adding a frowny face but restrain myself.

  I want you to throw away the crap you currently have.

  Excuse me?!?!?

  I won’t charge you anything for our training sessions this week if you’re worried about wasting money.

  It’s not that. What will I eat if I throw everything away?

  Email me the link to your grocery store and we can order you a replacement delivery for today.

  Coco jumps out of my lap and onto the back of my chair as I push forward, back up to my laptop. Her gentle breath in my ear as I copy the link to Hanover’s ordering system and email it to Luke.

  Sent

  Ready to order some healthy food?

  I groan but text back my agreement. Can’t bitch too much about something you ask for yourself, can you?

  Are you on the home screen?

  I am

  Okay, let’s start in the produce section.

  I can’t help but wonder how busy he is to spend an hour with me on the phone; virtually walking me, section by section through my grocery store’s online ordering system. He approves some sweets for me, dark chocolate instead of milk and a sherbet instead of ice cream.

  It’s delicious.

  He texts me after he talks me into clicking the orange sherbet with dark chocolate chips.

  Better be.

  And, no more soda or milkshakes.

  Nooooo!!!!!!

  You need to drink water. You didn’t list any on your form. A couple of carbonated options have no calories or sodium. We can try a couple of six packs of those this week. A lime one tastes a lot like Sprite. No more milkshakes, I want you to start making smoothies instead. That way you’ll get fruit and yogurt into your servings; and once you get used to them, you can slowly add vegetables to them and you won’t even know the difference.

  But I love soda.

  You’ll love feeling fit more; I promise you.

  If there was ever the time for an emoticon, it is now. I text him a frowny face as my own face mimics it.

  Okay, that’s your weekly order. We’ll tweak it, as we see what things work and what doesn’t.

  Sounds good.

  I try for upbeat; I hope he can’t tell I’m pouting as I stare at the screen.

  Do you own any exercise equipment?

  Turning, I regard my treadmill/current shirt-drying stand in the corner of my living room.

  I have a treadmill and one of those yoga ball things.

  Great. Today I want you to walk one mile no incline.

  That’s all?

  If you want to do more, go ahead. No jogging, just walking. Take a couple minutes to stretch before and after. Also, I know you probably still have soda in your house. I want you to alternate one glass of water for every soda you drink until it’s gone or you get the delivery from the store.

  Thanks for doing all of this, Luke.

  Hey, I’m not doing this for free; and, you’re friends with my kid sister, so I’m happy to help.

  Lindsay’s insistence to text instead of talk has me pumping Sasha for information on her. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t being pranked. After talking to Sasha my concerns are gone though. She hasn’t met Lindsay in real life; but knows her through some fashion website Lindsay runs. As soon as Sasha told me Lindsay posts pictures of herself, I was good.

  Apparently, there are so many pics, there’s no way she could be anyone other than who she says she is. I had to end the call when Sash started pushing me to check out her website. While I’m mildly curious about what she looks like I’m not going there for a couple of reasons.

  One, I’m not remotely interested in fashion; a
nd two, I’d feel like a peeping Tom. If Lindsay sends me the link to her site, cool. Otherwise, I’m good not knowing. I think it’s cool she runs her own site, though. In general, I’m not great with computer stuff.

  Trainers have a reputation for being meatheads. I hope she doesn’t think like that. Even though computers aren’t my thing, I’d like to consider myself a smart guy. Before I decided I was going to be a personal trainer, I was pre-med. The body fascinates me.

  I changed my focus of study to become a nutritionist instead. My mom is still peeved I didn’t become a doctor, mainly for the bragging rights. She’s accepted what I do at this point. Now she’s more focused on what Sasha is up to. My sister needs to move further away from home if she ever wants my mom to stop controlling her.

  I grab Loki’s leash as he ambles over, tongue hanging out. A dog park is a short walk from my apartment. We visit twice a day for Loki to do his business, as long as the weather is nice. If it’s shitty out, homeboy is crapping on the little strip of grass right outside my building.

  He doesn’t mind; in fact, the lazy bum would probably prefer it to the walk to the park. Can’t have an overweight dog. I’d be setting a bad example. I baby him; I make all his food in a crockpot every day. I hate the bagged dog food crap, and don’t even get me started on the wet junk.

  It’s as bad if not worse than the processed junk I try to get my clients to stop eating. Like hell I’d feed it to my dog.

  Loki isn’t into fetch or playing Frisbee. He mainly just plops down once we’re inside the park and sniffs the ass of every dog that walks close enough as long as he doesn’t have to move.

  I’ve given up on getting him to do more. The walks to and from the park piss him off enough as it is. He gives me attitude for at least thirty minutes once we get back to the apartment. I’m used to it at this point; and I’m certain it’s really his backwards way of letting me know he cares.

  I text Lindsay on our walk back from the park. From what she’s told me, mornings are out for her, so we settle on three o’clock for our scheduled text session time.

  For the past week, I’ve had her track her meals and exercise. The side commentary has had me rolling. Particularly her remarks when she ran out of soda and after that when she tried squash. I can’t wait to see what she thinks of eggplant. Her emails always make me smile, no matter what kind of day I’ve had.

  Once we’re inside and I’ve taken Loki’s leash off, he passive-aggressively slurps up water from his dish all the while giving me the stink eye. He continues to glare at me, holding eye contact as he slowly makes his way over to, and then collapses on, his doggy bed.

  “Drama queen,” I joke, hanging his leash up and locking the door.

  I make myself some lean chicken with steamed rice and asparagus. I think it’s important to savor food, to allow your body to be present in the act of receiving nourishment while you eat. I know too many people who watch TV or do some other distracting type thing while they eat.

  I think it leads to unconsciously overeating since you’re paying attention to something while you shove food in your face. I personally, like it to be quiet when I eat. I pay attention to each bite I take. I’ll never be a good enough chef to wow anyone but I enjoy the food I prepare. I recognize the purpose of each item I put into my body.

  When I’ve finished my meal, I prep the kitchen for the next day. That way I won’t have an excuse not to eat right. Little habits like this are what keep me on track and what I encourage my clients to do. Loki lifts his head from his dog bed as I walk past carrying my laptop.

  I sink back onto the sofa and rest my feet on the coffee table. I check email with “SportsCenter” playing in the background. I click on the new email from Lindsay first.

  Dear Evil Overlord,

  Any claim that the lime carbonated water tastes like Sprite is a wild exaggeration. Shame on you.

  At your recommendation, I did two miles today at the lowest level incline setting on my treadmill. I did not jog or walk but managed a clumsy something in between. Everything hurts.

  This email only serves as a warning I may flip you off during our text meeting. I won’t be sorry about it. You’ve earned it. I’m going to hobble to bed now.

  Text you at three!

  Lump formerly known as Lindsay.

  The rest of my email is boring in comparison. I go back and reread the message from Lindsay again before logging off. Nervous anticipation hums through my veins as I contemplate our appointment for tomorrow. She’s already showing results in the two weeks that we’ve been talking.

  I’m sure she hoped for more, but a gradual weight loss is the healthiest way to go. So far, she’s lost six pounds. If she averages three pounds a week for the next five months that will put her right around the weight I’m targeting for her.

  To get a better idea of where she’s carrying her weight I’m going to have her send me her measurements. I know she’s at least thrilled to be back in the one hundreds weight wise. I hope the exercises I’ve planned for tomorrow work well. It’s low impact but designed for me to gauge her flexibility and endurance.

  Wanting to make a good impression, I’ve spent longer than I normally have in the past planning this first session. My nerves are kicking in and I don’t know if it’s because we haven’t met in real life or what. First sessions with new clients usually don’t invade my thoughts the way this one has.

  Even Loki is picking up on my anxiety. Grunting at me each time I look over at him.

  “I’m cool,” I say, more for my benefit than his.

  Sleep, that’s what I need; a solid eight hours so I can be on the top of my game tomorrow. Stretching out across my bed, sleep comes quickly.

  My internal alarm clock wakes me the next morning. Refreshed, I’m ready to hit the ground running. I alternate between a few different routes each morning. I take the hilly route, the ache in my calves only motivating me to go harder. I swing back by my apartment and take Loki to the park for my cool down.

  It’s a test of wills on the walk back when he sits down a block away from home and refuses to move. Giving up, I carry him the rest of the way. My stern looks do nothing to intimidate him. He randomly licks me along the way just to prove how un-intimidated he is. After breakfast, I shower and head to the gym.

  My first session is with two clients who like to work out together. They are ladies, both in their sixties. Darlene and Annabeth. Darlene is a cancer survivor who lost muscle mass during chemo. Her spirit is so inspiring. She motivates me to follow her example in life. The three of us have trained together once a week for almost a year now.

  The progress she’s made is amazing. She also cracks me up. If I had been around when she was single, I would have asked her out in a heartbeat. She has a granddaughter she jokes about setting me up with. If she weren’t a lesbian, I’d consider it. Darlene is convinced that I could turn her straight.

  It’s all in good fun. She is one hundred percent supportive of her granddaughter and her girlfriend; she just wants to figure out a way to make me family. I’ve tried to tell her she’s stuck with me whether I marry into her family or not. After working with my clients for a long time, they become like family to me.

  I go to their weddings, funerals, christenings, bar mitzvahs, and any other occasion you could think of. We see each other once a week, every week. I see them more than I see my own family. I love what I do; in a way, my job has become my extended family.

  Today, I have Darlene and Annabeth lifting. Neither of them lift anything over fifteen pounds. They don’t want to add bulk; they both want lean muscles. Tank tops are the rage and defined arms are what all of my female clients ask my help with.

  With the exception of Darlene, the women I train want to get smaller while the men I train want to bulk up. Society driven expectations with opposite results. I will not work with anyone who is attempting extremes when it comes to weight loss or diet. Like I told Lindsay, her weight loss goal was insane. Together, we can work toward
a healthy medium.

  When I first contacted Luke I can’t lie, I was intimidated by his good looks. Now that I’ve been emailing and texting him over the past month, I’m finally starting to relax. On my blog, I exude nothing but confidence. When I’m not wearing my fashionista hat, it’s harder to do.

  I about died when he asked me to email him my measurements. The last thing I wanted was a gorgeous guy knowing the exact circumference of my thighs. If he ever shared that information publicly, I would be a laughingstock.

  The only thing, which finally made me comfortable enough to do it, was the knowledge this is his business. He would risk his own reputation if he ever did that. I know my problem areas. I’m pear shaped. I have decent sized breasts but most of my weight is in my belly, butt, and thighs. As happy as I am with the results I’ve seen since I hired Luke, I still had hoped for more.

  Luke has tried to reassure me I’m on track; but my clothes don’t feel looser, and I thought they would by now. If I weren’t feeling pressure from stupid Missy Pollard, I probably would have already quit.

  She commented on my post today, letting everyone know we’re only six months away from the reunion. All I can think is I’ve only dropped one dress size since I’ve hired Luke. He wants me to end up around 135 – 145lbs. There won’t be anything stopping me from dropping some extra weight once I’m there.