Fit for You

by Cynthia Tennent

  “Even so, we might benefit from sharing our knowledge and working together to motivate the whole county.”

  She glanced at my knee and shrugged. My cheeks were burning. I had the sudden urge to stick my face in the pile of snow in the middle of the street.

  Marie bit her lip. “I do have concerns about parity between both programs.”

  Aubrey raised her arms and flexed her shoulders. She stared at the wall and said to herself in a singsong voice, “Seems to me there might be some other things to worry about.”

  Marie ignored her. “I am evaluating both programs every month. The forms you need to use for evaluation are in your packets.”

  I was familiar with the information already.

  Elizabeth put her hands together. “This is going to be a great opportunity for our community.”

  Marie’s gaze wandered around the room and settled on the fireplace where Santa’s bum was protruding. “I can see that.”

  Aubrey finished doing her impromptu stretching routine, and handed her card to me. “In case you need me.”

  “Wait a moment and I’ll get mine—”

  “That’s all right. I know where to find you. The Callahans’, right?”

  News traveled quickly.

  She pulled her tight shirt down with embarrassing slowness and smoothed it over her chest. “Give my regards to Edge. We had a sort of thing once in high school.”

  Visions of her contorting herself naked in front of Edge made me wish I hadn’t eaten that egg this morning.

  Marie shook my hand and turned toward the door. “I look forward to seeing how things go.”

  Aubrey added, “Me too.” She threw back her head and laughed at her own sarcasm.

  * * *

  A blast of cold air rushed through the room after they left. I took a deep breath and let it calm my battered pride. I knew this would be a tough challenge when I took the job.

  My gym in L.A. was shiny and state-of-the-art. Almost every piece of equipment had a flat-screen television. The treadmills looked out over a tropical garden. A juice bar stood in the lobby. Even my clients were different. They panicked when they gained two pounds. When I thought I was going to be working on Just Lose It, I looked forward to being able to follow my client from the time she woke up in the morning to the time she let herself collapse into bed. I was going to measure her carbs and proteins, chase her away from the soft-serve ice cream machines, and discuss all her emotional baggage that manifested itself on the outside.

  Now I had a different strategy to consider.

  It took me a minute to find my ragged voice. “This changes things a bit.”

  “It isn’t as bad as you think. We have two hundred and thirty-three dollars left from our fundraiser last Christmas,” Marva said.

  That would buy a few resistance bands at most. Maybe some foam rollers. Something occurred to me. “Wait. My lodging is free, right? Does that leave you extra cash from the grant?”

  “Actually, we were never going to need that money for the lodging. That was the best part of the grant for us,” Elizabeth said. “Last summer the new owner of the bookstore claimed her inheritance, Books from the Hart.”

  Marva pointed to the wall next door. “At first we all thought she was crazy. She lived in her car and wore the strangest clothes.”

  “And she was a vegan!” said Regina.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “A person’s eating habits are their own business. We shouldn’t judge anyone.”

  “You’re just saying that because you don’t want us to criticize you,” said Regina. “In any case, the point we are trying to make is that because of Trudy, the bookshop and this grocery store belong to the Triple C’s now.”

  I was so confused. “Trudy?”

  Marva looked at me like I hadn’t been paying attention. “The niece who inherited the bookstore! She and Lord Darlington—”

  “He’s not a lord, Marva.”

  “He will be someday, that’s what all you people are forgetting.”

  Elizabeth patted my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Lily. All this must seem very strange to you. What Marva is trying to say is that these two buildings came into our possession free and clear, thanks to Trudy’s generosity.”

  “And his lordship’s,” said Marva. “They didn’t have to do that. That pawnshop guy, Logan Fribley, would have been more than happy to buy the place from Trudy.”

  “But she gave it to us,” Elizabeth finished up.

  They stared at me as if the story made perfect sense. I sipped my coffee—pretending to understand. The only thing that was clear was that the buildings belonged to the Triple C’s. I might have a good budget after all.

  “So . . . if the county gave money for my salary, my travel, and my lodging, there is money left over from the lodging.”

  “Yes. Plus the extra two hundred and thirty-three dollars from the Santa’s Attic at Christmas.”

  “Great.” I started a mental list of basics that would get things started.

  “Yoo-hoo!” The door swung open and more than a half dozen women walked in. They wore yellow T-shirts with bold letters that made them resemble giant bumblebees.

  A woman pushed herself to the front of the crowd. “The boxes arrived! We were so excited, we decided to show you.” The halo of hair on her head was not quite gray. More like light blue. She wore her T-shirt over a floral dress and light panty hose that bunched at the ankles. If The Brady Bunch were still on the air, she was Alice forty years older and sixty pounds heavier.

  She walked over and gathered me in her arms for a hug. “You must be Lily!”

  “Careful, Addie, don’t hurt her knee,” Marva said as if she had never slapped it herself yesterday.

  The older woman jumped back with amazing agility. “Oh my Lord, I am so sorry. I just got carried away, honey. You’re staying with Ivy’s family.”

  Elizabeth put her hand on Addie’s shoulder. “Lily, this is Addie Adler, Ivy’s sister.”

  The “Aunt Addie” Louise had told me about last night.

  I looked closer and saw a resemblance around the chin. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Adler.”

  “Oh Lord, call me Addie. Aunt Addie. We’re practically family.”

  A frail woman with a fishing hat covered with either lures or an insect infestation poked me in the shoulder. “Is it true you’re from Hollywood?”

  “I lived in L.A.”

  “But you were on the show Just Lose It, right?”

  “Very, very briefly.” I didn’t want to go into the details of that right now, or ever.

  “Did you ever meet George Clooney?”

  Was she joking? “Ahh, no. He didn’t really need to lose weight. And I am pretty sure that he has his own trainer—”

  “What about Oprah? Or that comedian? The one who is so rude?”

  I glanced longingly at the door, where more bees—I mean, women—buzzed in. The devil on my left shoulder was telling me I could limp out right now and catch the bus back to Lansing. I edged away from the group. But then a tall, bleached blond woman with dark eyebrows planted herself right in front of me. She was rail thin, and had lines around her mouth. Smoker. Or maybe past smoker. She smelled like French fries, not nicotine.

  “What do you think?” She stretched her T-shirt out with both hands so that I could read what was written across the front. I wasn’t interested in rating T-shirts at the moment. But I did what she asked.

  AIM HIGH,

  WORK HARD,

  DON’T QUIT!

  —LILY SHUE

  My words. My slogan. On every single T-shirt in the room. I clutched my chest and lost hold of my crutch.

  A hand reached for me. “You okay?”

  It took a second to find my breath. “I just never saw myself quoted on a T-shirt before.”

  Regina Bloodworth beamed. “That’s where we spent the eight hundred dollars we saved on your lodging.”

  Marva put a hand to her chest. “It was my idea.”

&n
bsp; “I thought it was my idea,” said the bug-hatted lady.

  “No, Flo. You came up with the idea to quote Lily from her blog! But I had the original idea. We needed to motivate the town. Everyone who gets involved in the fitness challenge will get a free T-shirt.”

  “My husband, the mayor, got a deal at Lakeside Printers. We have boxes of them,” Regina said.

  “A box for smalls, one for mediums, two larges, two extra-larges, two extra-extra-larges,” fly-lady Flo said. “That gives you an idea of how much we need you.”

  Aunt Addie took a seat on one side of the coffin, oblivious to the fact that the other side left the floor. Two of the younger ladies jumped on it so she wouldn’t tip over. I was startled to see the lid beginning to bow under their weight.

  “We want to hear all about what you have planned for us, Lily,” said Addie.

  I had a schedule of workouts in my planner that would help chisel away the pounds. I had scores of recipes and dieting tips. The thing was, I had imagined all of it happening in a different setting and with people who didn’t think coffins were armchairs and T-shirts were the answer to losing weight.

  I stared with regret at Addie Adler’s shirt and tried not to picture all the things I could have done with a budget.

  The words, my words, jumped out at me.

  AIM HIGH,

  WORK HARD,

  DON’T QUIT!

  I had coined the slogan a couple of years ago. The banner, along with a cute picture of a woman running up a hill, was boldly displayed at the side of my Lily’s Lessons fitness blog. The one I hadn’t written since my ACL tear.

  I looked around the room. Really looked. There was nice light from the window. A wood floor that might clean up well. There was no reason I couldn’t run the gym without equipment. Body-weight workouts were quite effective.

  And if I was honest with myself, the T-shirts were amazing.

  My little catchy marketing phrase stared back at me, challenging my willpower and fortitude. I felt the first glimmer of an emotion I hadn’t experienced for weeks. Not since my injury. Hope.

  I had to start somewhere.

  And “here” was as good a place as any.

  No. That was wrong.

  “Here” wanted me. “Here” needed me.

  A hive of expectant faces waited for me to explain what I was going to do for the town of Truhart.

  I ignored the dull ache in my knee and responded to Addie Adler. “I have a lot of great plans.”

  Aunt Addie bobbed up and down in excitement, sending the ladies on the other end of the coffin up in the air like a seesaw.

  “I need a day or so just to gather some information about the town. The space here. And your local food options.”

  Marva O’Shea raised her hand. “I can help you with the food options. I am the manager at the Family Fare.”

  “Lily means restaurants. Right?” the tall, French-fry-smelling woman said.

  “How do you know what she means, Corinne? And last I heard the restaurants had to get the food from somewhere, and that means me—I mean the Family Fare.”

  The two started bickering and I tried to explain to them that I meant both, but they were too far gone.

  Elizabeth whispered in my ear. “Don’t worry. They’re best friends. They do that all the time.”

  Regina raised her voice. “Since my husband is mayor”—a short woman behind Regina rolled her eyes—“I can get you all sorts of information on the demographics of the region.”

  “Thanks. You can help me to publicize events, take a leadership role in the program.”

  I pulled out my notebook and started taking notes. “Can we have a meeting with the participants in a day or so?”

  “Tomorrow before the fish fry at the Elks,” Regina said.

  A fish fry? Oh Lord, there was so much to do . . .

  “Please tell us if you need anything,” said Elizabeth.

  I wanted to say money and equipment, but I clutched my notebook and smiled instead.

  One by one, the yellow T-shirts left the community center.

  “We need to get moving. The Harrisburg Community Association has flyers up and classes scheduled. They already have a head start,” Regina said.

  Marva snapped her fingers. “It makes no difference. They’re still on this year’s list of most obese towns in the state.”

  “Yeah, but they’re fifth on the list,” said Elizabeth.

  “And Truhart?” I asked.

  “First.” All the ladies said it at the same time.

  “It’s the only thing we beat them at,” Marva said with a grin.

  Elizabeth walked toward the door. “That isn’t a good thing, Marva. Stop acting like you’re so proud of it.”

  Marva opened the door and sent me a thumbs-up. “Gotta start somewhere.”

  LESSON FOUR

  Measure Before You Start

  Regina gave me a key to the community center and reminded me to lock up. Did she seriously think someone was going to break in and steal Santa’s rear end and a sarcophagus?

  I grabbed my planner and sat down on the pine box. Leafing through the pages, I searched for anything usable. Each detailed plan included something the community-center gym didn’t have. One by one, I ripped out my notes and wadded them into a ball. I took aim at the big guy coming out of the fireplace and hit my red target eight out of fifteen attempts. Hopefully, I wouldn’t be on the naughty list next Christmas.

  When I came to the first blank page I stopped.

  Other than walking on icy streets, there were always dynamic and isometric exercises. And yoga. None of which I could do. It brought me back to the question that had plagued me from the moment I took the job. How could I teach something I couldn’t do myself? I could explain the movement. I could show videos. I could ask for volunteers. It still wasn’t ideal. I had a new appreciation for disabled athletes.

  No wonder Edge had been so amused by my note-taking this morning. I had gone on about plans and equipment and he never said a word about the actual state of the community center. He must have thought I was the most naïve person in the county to prepare the details for something I had never set eyes on.

  Like a compass that couldn’t find true North, my mind spun in circles. Maybe instead of true North I should just head west again. I kicked my doubting self to the curb. No quitting.

  I jumped when my phone erupted with the theme from Mission Impossible. My big brother, Chip, had changed my settings the last time he was in L.A. He said he deserved a ringtone more dynamic than “marimba.” It was just another reminder that he was on par with an action hero.

  “Hi, Chip.”

  “Hey, how’s my favorite cripple doing?”

  I sighed. “Do you let your patients hear you use that kind of language?”

  “They love me anyway. So, are you bored out there in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Not at all. It’s gorgeous. I am living right on a lake. There’s lots of open spaces and enthusiastic people. Couldn’t be happier.” I drew a sad face on the blank page in front of me.

  “I’ll be darned. I have a friend who lives in Charlevoix and they said that Truhart was basically the armpit of the state.”

  “They must be thinking of another town. This is really a . . . quite a tourist attraction . . .” I tapped the pine box I sat on. “Especially at Halloween and Christmas.”

  “Sure it is.”

  I never had been able to pull one over on Chip. He was six years older than me. Overachieving brother number two, he’d gone to UNC Chapel Hill undergrad, Cal Tech for engineering, then on to Harvard for medical school. Now he traveled the world bringing new medical technology to every corner of the earth.

  My other superhero brother, Ned, was two years older than Chip. He was the CFO of a Silicon Valley microchip company that had just gone public. Every time I saw him he reminded me that I should have invested in the IPO of his company instead of creating my own protein-powder brand with a shelf life that was
about to expire.

  “Mom wanted me to check on you and make sure you were doing all right.” I wouldn’t be surprised if she was listening in on another line. “Have you managed to nag anyone to death yet with your froggy voice, Lardo?” I was going to be eighty years old and Chip and Ned would be calling me “Lardo Lil,” like I was ten. They still thought a noogie to the head was the same as a kiss. Every time I complained, they told me to lighten up. Stop taking life so seriously. Easy for them to say. Mr. Perfect numbers one and two.

  “Everyone here is alive and well,” I said.

  “Knee all right?”

  “Getting stronger.”

  “Food?”

  I thought about the spaghetti dinner. “Practically gourmet.”

  I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten spaghetti that wasn’t changed up with tofu, or turkey, or zucchini noodles. Surprisingly, I had enjoyed it.

  “Well, go easy on the helpings, Lil. Extra weight is a risk on your joints. You don’t have any more healthy knees to spare. Haha.”

  I held my fingers up and played the punch-line end beat, da, da, dum, DA! Edge didn’t have a corner on the air drum market.

  “Mom also wanted me to let you know that a letter came from Just Lose It yesterday. She opened it. It’s just another reminder that your contract is terminated.” Chip had the decency to lose the funnyman routine. His tone was gentle. I put the air drums away.

  Years ago, when I tore my left ACL, Chip had flown in to be with me for the surgery. It was all very touching until I saw him afterwards. As I woke up, groggy and disoriented, he held up a fake leg and told me the doctor was sorry they’d had to amputate.

  The nurse had given him hell when I burst into tears.

  When I tore my ACL this time, Chip was on better behavior. He called the surgeon personally to make sure he was using the graft that was considered the gold standard for athletes these days. He cared. I knew that. It’s just that it felt like pity most of the time.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. Just kind of surprised Just Lose It had to send a letter. I already understood my contract was terminated when I left the show.” The first episode of the season.