Training in Love

by Manuela Pigna

  “What did you want to talk to me about? I’m all ears!”

  I would tell anything to Linda, I have told everything to Linda. She knows all my secrets, but I trust her blindly.

  “Last night I came to a decision.”

  She nods, rocking the chair.

  “I’ve decided I want to lose weight.”

  She stops and regards me. After a couple of seconds she says – direct and sincere as always – “This isn’t the first time you’ve decided something like that…”

  “Yes, I know, but this time it’s different,” and I tell her everything I’ve thought about during the night.

  She observes me, concentrating, giving me her complete attention and without laughing at my contorted and maybe a little absurd reasoning.

  “It makes sense,” she decrees at the end. “So, you like Gianca?” She then asks.

  I nod quickly. I tell Linda everything. Always.

  “Hmmm.”

  “Why ‘hmmm’?” I ask, surprised.

  “Because he didn’t make a huge impression on me, to be honest. Quite the opposite.”

  “Really?” I ask bewildered.

  She gets up from the chair nodding and coming towards me, takes my hand and sits me down on Marco’s bed and sits beside me. “Yes, and really, I’m surprised that he made a good impression on you - usually we have the same sensations about people…”

  It’s true. This is the first time that we don’t agree. All I’ve been thinking about are his blue eyes and white smile. “What impression did you get?” I ask intrigued.

  “Falseness.”

  I’m blown away. I didn’t get that at all.

  I’m about to add something when she stops me. “Anyway,” she continues, “forget Giancarlo for a second and let’s talk about your revelation and about losing weight instead. What do you plan on doing?”

  “That’s exactly why I’m here,” I answer, once again excited about the project that will change my life. “This time I’m serious, and since, up to now, I’ve never been able to do it alone, I want to ask for help.”

  “In what sense?”

  “I want to find a dietitian, a nutritionist, a psychologist - anyone who can help me do this.”

  “Oh!” Linda lights up. “Great idea.”

  “Yeah. The problem is that I don’t know anyone, and obviously I don’t want to ask anything from my mother even if she would find me the crème de la crème of dietitians. Ha! She probably has the phone number already in her wallet…”

  “No, of course, I understand completely,” she answers, rolling her eyes.

  “Do you know someone? Or maybe you’ve heard your mother talk about someone?” I ask hopefully, asking her what I came all that way to ask in the first place.

  She shakes her head even before I finish the question. “No, off the top of my head I can’t think of anyone.” She bites her lower lip and begins to stare at Marco’s white comforter. I do the same thing myself until the owner of said comforter comes into the room wearing a grey track suit with his hair still wet and says, furrowing his brow, “What the hell is happening? This silence in a room with you two… it worries me more than a little!”.

  I laugh at the same time that Linda says, “We were thinking…” Then she turns to me, “Can I tell him?”

  I answer, “Yes, but only…” I leave the sentence hanging, pointing two fingers in the direction of my body and telepathically transmit the second part of the phrase, that is “only about losing weight, not that I like Gianca.”

  Linda, of course, understands immediately and nods, then turning towards Marco, “Olly wants to lose weight.”

  Marco tilts his head slightly back, seems a little surprised, then turns to me and a slow smile plays across his full lips. His teeth are white and even, a dimple appears on his right cheek, now slightly darkened by five-o-clock shadow. His eyes, wide and dark enough to seem black, also shine with a quiet smile. He is tall and fit and his olive skin makes his white teeth stand out even more. He’s the sort of boy who looks good in anything, but maybe, looking casual as he does now is what suits him best. His hair, black as ink, is short but not too much so – he has a haircut I’d call ‘normal’, whereas Nic, at the moment, has a sort of miniscule Mohawk, let’s say short hair in the middle and shaved on both sides. Physically they are identical, including the dimple, but… perhaps Nic’s gaze and smile are a little more… mischievous.

  “Fine,” he says slowly and with a mysterious air after a second.

  “We were thinking of who to ask….” Linda continues pensive.

  Marco goes to sit beside her. “Ask who what?”

  Instantly embarrassed, I stand up and head for the door. As soon as I can, I’m leaving.

  “We need to find a dietitian or nutritionist or anything that can help Olly,” Linda sums up. “Don’t bother mentioning her mother, who undoubtedly has contacts, because it’s out of the question.”

  Marco nods.

  All of a sudden a whack on the back puts me two steps back in the room. “Oww!” I grumble, trying to massage my back as far as my hand will reach while Nic comes into the room.

  “Hi people!” Then after having glanced around the room, “What are all these long faces?”

  “They aren’t long faces, they’re thinking faces,” Linda answers.

  “Thinking about what?”

  I see Linda turn towards me with a mute question in her eyes, but it’s wasted because Marco is already answering, “Olly wants to lose weight and needs a dietitian, a nutritionist or something like that.”

  “Oh!” Goes Nic, and then turns to me flashing the same, identical slow smile as his brother a few seconds before and says, “Fine,” in exactly the same way, I swear. Talk about weird twin things…

  “I imagine that you’ve heard about dietitians only on television, but maybe your mother?” I suggest hopefully. When I set my mind to something, I like to take action right away and do everything immediately.

  The twins look at each other for a moment and then Nic says, as Marco nods, “I don’t think our mother has ever been on a diet in her life…”

  “Hmph!” I remark, crossing my arms. “That figures!”

  “Tomorrow I’ll ask her about it, one of her friends must have done some diet…” Says Marco.

  I nod, a little deflated because, stupidly, I would have wanted to leave here with a name and phone number, but encouraged that all three will try to ask someone. How long will it take to find a dietitian? If nothing else, I can fish a name out of the Yellow Pages, but I’d prefer to find someone with a sort of ‘recommendation’.

  “Thanks guys, now I’ll go.” I take two steps towards the door. As he moves to get out of the way Nic says, “Oh, you know Olly, that Gianca said you’re nice?”

  On hearing these words I can’t resist crinkling up my eyes and smiling, then Nic, laughing, turns towards Marco and Linda seated on the bed. “And he said that Linda is a mega-galactic hotty!” He laughs even harder when his brother’s face darkens. Marco throws a pillow at him and grumbles, “He’ll never come into this house again…”

  Linda doesn’t laugh either, she doesn’t seem pleased with the compliment. She doesn’t say anything and glances at me, but during the exchange between the twins I hope no-one has noticed that my shoulders have dropped a couple of centimeters. I can lose as much weight as I want, but I will never be like Linda.

  3.

  The following Wednesday I’m at the house of Elenina, a ten-year-old girl that I half babysit, half help with homework when Linda phones me.

  “Olly?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m at the twins’ house, I’ll pass you Nic.” Nic?

  “Who is it?” Elenina asks me pulling on my sleeve and chewing on a pencil.

  “It’s Linda,” I whisper. I always say it’s Linda when I’m at Elenina’s. That way she’ll leave me alone when I’m on the phone. The kid has had a kind of extreme veneration for Linda since I’ve known her, bec
ause in her eyes Linda’s the incarnation of a fairytale princess, with her long, blond hair and eyes as blue as the sky.

  As if scripted, she shuts up and watches me, keeping the pencil in her mouth.

  “Olly?” The voice I hear now is Nic’s deep one. I stand up to put a little distance between me and the little girl, so she won’t find me out.

  “Yes?”

  “Have you found anyone yet?” He asks me without specifying, then adds, “For that thing about losing weight…”

  “Ahh, no, that is yes. I went to a dietitian yesterday, but I didn’t like him. Do you have someone?” I ask hopefully.

  Monday morning I arrived at the cafè where I work every morning with the intention of asking all the customers if they could recommend a good dietitian – to speed everything up. Unfortunately I listened to ‘Madame Barbieri’, our oldest and dearest customer, who immediately gave me the number of her daughter’s dietitian, saying he was wonderful. Not having ever seen her daughter, I wanted to believe it. Yesterday afternoon, after going to my appointment with this mysterious doctor, I realized that I must never, ever trust Madame Barbieri. In fact, at his office I encountered a ball of lard who was essentially – I’m not kidding – far more overweight than I am, who measured my height and weighed me. After that he gave me four faded photocopies and asked me for ninety euros for his services, which lasted well under thirty minutes. As soon as I got home I binned the photocopies and cursed Madame Barbieri a couple of times for the money thrown down the toilet. I already know I won’t let myself be treated by a man like that. First off, he didn’t seem very professional in general. Second, I don’t believe that a man who evidently has more of a problem with food than I do can teach me to eat correctly and help me to solve my problem. He’s not the right person, I knew it the minute I saw him, but to turn on my heel even before the check-up seemed impolite. This time I want to do things right, so it’s really important to find the right person, the person who will follow me, who will inspire trust and competency and who I can lean on when I need to. For this person I’d be willing to spend a lot more that ninety euros a month.

  “Yes, actually yesterday I remembered someone and today I found his phone number and called him to check and he’s available.”

  “Really?” I’m almost yelling and move farther away from the little girl, who seeing my expression is straining her ears even more to catch Linda’s voice.

  I’m happy and positive, I don’t know why, but if Nic thinks that this person is right, I have the feeling that he is. Besides, I’m so pleased that he made the effort for me, someone who is, after all, no-one to him. “Quick, give me the number and I’ll make an appointment!”

  “Wait, though,” he checks me briskly. “I have to clear up a couple of things first. He’s not a dietitian, he’s a personal trainer. And he’s our age. And… no, he hasn’t worked with anyone up to now.”

  “Oh,” my enthusiasm begins to dissolve.

  “Listen Olly,” he continues with new heat, “I’ll tell you the truth. The truth as I see it. For me you should try him. It’s true he hasn’t ever worked with anyone, you’d be the first, but, as I remember him, he’s an extremely serious person. If he takes you on he’ll keep after you. He’ll take good care of you, you’ll see. Also, he’s always been a sports lover - really good in everything. He got his license as a personal trainer and has always been passionate about people taking care of their bodies and physical wellbeing… He’s really right for the job.”

  “Hmm.” My enthusiasm evaporates completely. A personal trainer? I trust Nic, but a personal trainer… I’d prefer someone with a college degree, an office and a white coat…

  And then, he’s our age. And... he’s a friend of Nic’s. I can already imagine some bodybuilder, all muscles, with super-white gym shoes and unnaturally tan – even now, in mid-February, when you freeze in this city and don’t see a ray of sunshine for four months.

  “Olly, trust me… I think you’ll be happy with him. Give him a chance,” Nic insists.

  “Is he a friend of yours?” I ask, trying not to give away my total skepticism.

  “He was a classmate of mine in high-school, then we lost track of one another. I know he was out of the country for a while. Now he’s here. Through some mutual friends I was able to find his number and speak with him just today.”

  I remain silent. I am scrambling to find a plausible excuse to tell him in a nice way that I don’t want a bodybuilder with a tanning-bed tan to take me on.

  “Anyway, you can ask him yourself for his exact resumé… Unless you don’t feel like calling him, in that case forget it, but I thought it would be a great idea, given that in any case you have to do some sport if you want to lose weight… and knowing him, what his personality is like… I have the feeling that he would really help you.” Noticing my continuing silence, Nic is speaking excitedly, in an effort to persuade me. I think he’s guessed that this idea doesn’t convince me. “Also, being the first one, like his guinea-pig, you could bargain a little on the price. And then there’s his beginner’s enthusiasm to keep in mind!”

  I laugh. “You know Nic? You shouldn’t have done engineering, you’re wasted as an engineer. You’d be a fantastic salesman!” Besides, I feel too guilty to shoot down his friend just like that, after all the trouble he’s gone to.

  “This means you want to give him a chance? You’ll meet him?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Meeting him once won’t cost me anything, certainly not ninety euros! I’ll get rid of the tanned guy with some excuse after having met him once, I owe at least one time to Nic.

  “You won’t regret it!” Says Nic happily. He dictates the information on his friend while I take notes on a page quickly ripped out of one of Elenina’s notebooks and then hang up the phone.

  “Who is…” Elenina begins, straining to read my piece of paper upside down. “An…drea… Co…lucci?”

  “He’s a friend of Linda’s,” I answer, telling myself that with the degrees of separation, in a certain sense, it’s true. Ok, it’s not true, but just to get it over with and have her concentrate on her homework in the shortest time possible. A white lie for her own good.

  For my part, I call Andrea Colucci right away, that same evening, once I get home. Better to get it over with quick, this thing. That way I can dedicate my energies to the search for a person who’s pale and has a white coat, like I want. He answers immediately and we make a plan to see each other tomorrow afternoon at three at the bike track near the lake.

  ***

  I get to the lake five minutes early. Today the sky is gray, but there’s a little sun. Tuesday and Thursday afternoon I’m free because Elenina goes back to school after lunch, while Saturday and Sunday I don’t work at all, not even in the morning because the girls on the weekend shift are working at the cafè.

  I park the car on the side of the road near the beginning of the bike track, like everyone else who comes here because there isn’t a real parking lot. Now though, perhaps because it’s an afternoon in the middle of the week, there are only two cars other than mine. In order to pretend to take this thing seriously and not make it look like this is the first and last time we’ll see each other, I’ve put on a track suit and gym shoes and tied my hair in a ponytail. I’ve dressed warmly underneath so I don’t have to wear a jacket over the track suit, also because I don’t have a sports jacket. The truth is that I’ve always done so little in the way of sports that I don’t have any really suitable clothing. I sigh deeply and turn off the car. I rest both my hands and my forehead on the steering wheel and grip it, taking deep breaths for a few seconds, then I make the effort and get out of the car. When Nic’s friend gets here, he’ll see me and understand.

  I walk towards the beginning of the bike path and see - a few meters in front of me on the other side of the track - a door of one of the two parked cars open. A very tall and very blond boy gets out. The closer I get and the closer he comes, looking at me, the more I begin to pray despe
rately that it’s not him… Please God, if you exist, don’t let it be him, don’t let it be him…

  But I already know that it’s him, in fact when I find myself in front of him, at twenty centimeters, he raises his arm, extends his hand and says, “Olivia?”

  And I divert my eyes from his face and stare at his hand, huge, and I begin to curse myself and curse Nic, to curse my whole life and curse the whole world because in front of me is the most beautiful man that I have ever seen, ever. Someone might ask, are you crazy? If he’s gorgeous you should be happy since he could become your personal trainer – something he most certainly won’t become, because I refuse. Instead I’m not happy, not at all. Because if he were to become my personal trainer he would see me in awful shape, I mean, more awful than usual, and already the norm is embarrassing enough. And then, I’m lousy at any sport, except one. But that one is really the last one I’d accept to do in front of this guy. Let’s say that generally speaking, from a sporting point of view I can barely walk. And I often fall over just walking.

  Anyway I have to do something, so I put my hand in his and nod, looking him up and down. I gaze into his light blue eyes.

  If he says, “Olivia, like the lady iin Popeye” I’ll leave immediately and will feel justified.

  But he doesn’t say it, he just says, “I’m Andrea.”

  And the name Andrea assumes a whole new meaning. Suddenly it becomes beautiful, it becomes synonymous with blue and yellow and a fast-beating heart.

  He’s very tall, I have to tilt my head up to look him in the face, and his face is practically perfect. His hair is a very pale blond and the blue of his eyes is so clear it seems transparent. He’s dressed in black from head to toe and… no, his gym shoes aren’t super-blinding-white. You can see that they’re used and grayish, normal. And no, he is not unnaturally tanned. His skin is white, but on his high cheekbones there’s a veil of ruddiness, caused by the atrocious cold we’re subjecting ourselves to. I look him in the face again and can’t make sense of it. I can’t make sense of the perfect line of his large eyes, straight, well-proportioned nose and light eyebrows which catch the reflection of this dim winter sun.