10,001 steps
I was wearing crappy old leggings that bagged at the knees and didn’t even have a thigh pocket. My hair was unruly in some places and limp in others, and I was pretty sure I’d worn the same T-shirt for my last session with Joel, too. Without washing it in between.
Joel’s whole face lit up when he saw me. I could see him watching me walk toward him. I could feel it, too. Suddenly, my stride got all wonky, almost robotic, as if I couldn’t quite remember how to walk. I focused on walking like a perfectly normal human being, which was a lot more challenging than it should have been. What kind of health coach forgets how to walk just because someone is looking? What kind of person chokes because she’s overthinking something she’s been doing since she was a toddler?
“Good morning, merry sunshine,” Joel sang in a voice that wasn’t half bad. “How did you wake so soon?”
I shrugged. “I scared the shit out of all the stars. And shined away the moon.”
“Interesting,” he said. “My mother used to sing me a slightly different version.”
I spun the ring attached to my key fob around one finger, wedged them both under my waistband for lack of a better option. “My mother taught us shit at a very young age.”
Joel had shaved his face and gelled his hair. Even from a few feet away, I could tell that he’d doused himself liberally with Drakkar Noir cologne. I’d never created a bar graph or anything, but I was pretty sure it was the signature scent of at least two-thirds of the guys I’d dated since the early ’80s. By this point in my life, to me Drakkar Noir smelled like lavender and cedar and breaking up.
Joel was wearing a crisp white T-shirt that said RECOVERING COUCH POTATO in brown potato-like letters.
I gave him the biggest smile I could muster. “Nice shirt,” I said before I remembered that he should be dressing for himself and not for his health coach’s reaction.
“Online shopping after midnight—it always seems like such a good idea at the time. Until multiple packages you forgot you ordered show up at the door.” He held his jacket open so I could get the full effect.
I shook my head.
“What?” he said. “That bad?”
“I know I said health coaches don’t tell people what to do, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to make an exception here.”
He grimaced.
“Unless you’re Mr. Potato Head, don’t ever tuck your potato shirt into your sweatpants like that.” I took a moment to appreciate the irony that I was giving fashion advice and I hadn’t even washed my t-shirt. Why is it always so much easier to try to fix the other person than it is to get your own act together?
“I think,” I said, “there’s something called a French tuck you can do, where you just tuck in a piece of it at the front, but that’s more of a high-level move and beyond my t-shirt coaching ability. But in a nutshell, I have zero fashion sense and even I think the full tuck is a dad thing to do.”
“You sound exactly like my ex,” Joel said as he untucked his T-shirt. “Although I think she called it nerding out.”
“Tomato-tomahto.”
His teddy bear eyes sparkled. “Ahh, more health humor.”
When I smiled, it was partly to see if my smile still worked.
“And we’re walking,” I said. I swung my arms and set a good pace for us, but the truth was that, fashion-tip opportunities aside, it had taken pretty much everything I had to show up today for my session with Joel. If I ever landed another human health coach client, I’d have to remember to write a few personal disaster days into the contract. But even if I had rescheduled, what would I be doing now anyway? Sitting around on my front stoop with the Noreens, clutching our pearls?
Once I’d caught Tess and Rosie finishing our regularly scheduled walk, our tradition, our commitment, without me yesterday, I’d stalled as long as I could. I wanted to make sure I gave Tess plenty of time to head off to school and Rosie to disappear into her work day. Somehow I thought the whole thing would be less pathetic if they didn’t know I knew.
So I made myself hang around to watch the sunrise. The ocean turned from black to blue. A gold sphere lit up the sky like a fortune teller’s ball without any answers. And all I could think was, they planned this. They had an actual conversation during which they decided to walk early. So they didn’t have to walk with me.
After the sun got too bright to look at without sunglasses, I walked some more. And then some more. Maybe I was thinking that I’d get all my steps in for the rest of the month. So I could crawl into bed guilt-free and stay there for the rest of my natural life.
But eventually I felt like I couldn’t walk another step. Mostly because I really had to pee. Marshbury’s beaches were for town residents only, which was the justification for the fact that they didn’t have public restrooms. I’d never had a strong opinion one way or the other about that, but now it was becoming more of an issue with every step. I mean, just because you have a bathroom at home doesn’t mean you necessarily have time to get to it.
I dragged myself up Wildwater Way toward my house, walking carefully to avoid jostling my bladder any more than I had to. Once I got to the front steps, I broke into a run and made it to the guest bathroom off the entryway just in the nick of time.
I’d completely forgotten it was a new day and Joel was walking beside me until he started singing Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon.” His voice was soft, as if he was mostly singing to himself. It was such a bittersweet ballad, sad and optimistic at the same time. I tried to resist joining in, but I couldn’t. Once he had company, Joel sang a little bit louder, then I did, too. We didn’t exactly harmonize and we just hummed through the words we didn’t know instead of making up new lyrics the way Tess and Rosie and I always did. But it was kind of nice to have someone to sing with again.
“Whew,” I said when we finished, “That line about wanting to see you dance again always guts me. You know, loss and compromise and can you get to the other side of it all.”
“Really?” Joel turned to look at me. “I don’t think of it as sad. It’s one of those self-soothing songs for me. Like life is long and maybe eventually you’ll survive and even thrive once you get past this rough patch. I think it’s my favorite autumn song.”
“Hmm,” I said. “I’d have to go with ‘Monster Mash.’”
Joel smiled. “Maybe next time we can try singing it. ‘Ghostbusters,’ too. Factoid FYI, researchers discovered that the reason singing gives you such a warm fuzzy feeling is that there’s this tiny thing in your inner ear called the sacculus that’s connected to the part of your brain that registers pleasure. The frequency of singing kicks it into gear almost instantly.”
“Fascinating,” I said. I tried to hum a few bars of ‘Monster Mash’ to my sacculus, but it fizzled out before it turned into anything recognizable.
We stopped talking for a long stretch after that, each in our own separate rooms. Even after singing, my room was dark and dreary and wallpapered in self-pity.
“A twenty for your thoughts,” Joel finally said.
“Trust me,” I said. “My thoughts aren’t even worth a rare two-dollar bill.”
“I beg to differ.”
I didn’t say anything. I mean, what was the point.
Joel cleared his throat. “I can’t say enough about what you’re doing, and I want you to know that it’s changing my life and I’m sincerely appreciative.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “It’s walking, not rocket surgery.” It probably wasn’t the best thing for a health coach who was charging a significant hourly rate to say, but I had to admit rocket surgery was my favorite botched metaphor.
“Bob Dylan said that a song is anything that can walk by itself,” Joel said.
“Leonard Cohen said there is a crack, a crack in everything,” I said.
“He also said that’s where the light gets in,” Joel said.
“I’m not holding my breath,” I said.
“Health coach humor?”
“Nope,” I said. “Bad attitude.”
We walked another half lap in silence. I wouldn’t have blamed Joel for taking off to find a sunnier coach, but he stayed with me. Two women cut across the parking lot and onto the track, but they kept their distance. I seemed to bring that out in people.
“It’s not just the walking,” Joel said. “It’s the company. It’s you. You have no idea how much I needed this. I had no idea. Up until now the most I walked was to the refrigerator, where I eat most of my meals standing up these days.”
“I’m glad it’s working out for you,” I said. “Healthy pun intended.”
Joel laughed his belly laugh. “I’m just sprinkling the love on so you realize the impact you have. I think a lot of times people don’t know how bright their light is. I think your destiny is much bigger than you imagine. It’s like there’s a bright light at the end of this long dark tunnel and you’re walking me to it. That’s a huge deal.”
“Thanks,” I said. I wasn’t sure if he was exaggerating or if I’d forgotten what it was like to be appreciated. Or maybe I was just that good. “Sorry I’m a little bit off today.”
“Anything you want to talk about?”
“Ha. That’s so not a guy thing to say.”
Joel took a big step over a small pothole in the track. “Therapy. I’ve been so low I could sit on my last wooden nickel and still have plenty of room to swing my legs.”
“Gandhi?”
Joel laughed, deep and melodic. “Actually, my grandfather used to say that. Hey, I know you said we shouldn’t rush things, but I’ve been wondering if I should lift some weights. And maybe do some more stretching. You know, set up a little corner at my place, order whatever I’d need. It might even save me from more late-night potato shirts.”
Better late than never, I clicked into health coach mode. “So, you think you’re ready to add some weights and do some stretching at home?”
“Yeah. I know you were concerned about me taking on too much too soon. But I feel like I’m ready to take the next step. Pun intended.”
I nodded, gave him a chance to figure out if he had anything more to say.
He turned to me and smiled. “Maybe you could come over and help me set something up in my house? I’d pay for the extra time, of course.”
I had a signed contract, his email address, his home address, his phone number, the contact info of both his last employer and his primary care physician. He had my email address and cell number and business address, which was also my home address. I’d followed health coaching best protocols and conducted our initial coaching sessions in a public place.
In some ways, letting a new health client into your life was a lot like dating. It was a crazy, crazy world out there, and you had to be really, really careful. I took a moment to listen to my gut, to wait for that small tickle of unease that had never steered me wrong when I took the time to listen to it.
“How about this?” I said. “I’ve got a mini gym set up in my garage. If it’s not too far out of your way, why don’t you follow me home when we’re finished. I can take you through some basics and then email you links so you can order your own mat and dumbbells online.”
Joel nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Why don’t you text me the address and tell me how you like your coffee? I’ll grab us a couple on the way.”
My garage door opener was clipped to the sun visor on the passenger’s side. As soon as I pulled into my driveway, I reached over and pushed the buttons. Both garage doors creaked open. The mini gym on one side was fully exposed to the light of day. Instead of pulling my car in, I left the second space open.
While I waited for Joel and the coffee to arrive, I texted my mother out of an abundance of caution. Not because I necessarily thought I needed to, but because my health coaching instructors had made a big deal out of emphasizing that we should always, always let someone know when and where we were having a session with a client that wasn’t in a public place.
Hey—
Haven’t seen you in a while. I’ve got a health coaching session in my garage right now, but if you’re around after that, feel free to stop by.
Love,
N
At least if Joel turned out to be an ax murderer, my mother would eventually track him down. Maybe she’d call Nancy Drew, and the two of them would have a swell time together, turning into great chums as they drove around in Nancy’s roadster. With mere seconds to spare before Joel came back with his ax, which he’d forgotten, they’d find me tied up with exercise bands in the garage, behind a false wall that none of us had ever even realized was there until Nancy started tapping on it. While the cops arrested Joel and took our statements, Nancy would decide that, no offense to Lo, but she’d rather be my chum any day.
Joel pulled into my driveway, parked a respectful distance behind my car, came out carrying a massive pumpkin.
“Ahh, coffee,” I said. “I thought it only came as a pie.”
He held out the pumpkin. “Weight training.”
I shook my head as I took the pumpkin. “Your line was way better. And I don’t say that easily.”
I was standing there hugging a gigantic pumpkin. I had to put it somewhere, so I walked it over to my front steps and put it down beside the original Noreen.
“The perfect touch,” I yelled. “Thanks.”
When I turned around, he was standing right there.
He pointed at the lines of Noreens. “Whoa, are they all you?”
“Long painful story,” I said.
“They’re amazing,” he said. “Are they for sale?”
I shook my head. “Actually, I’m thinking the universe will somehow jump in and handle them, or they’ll just walk away on their own. And take all my problems with them.”
He nodded. “Got it. Like take my statues, please.”
I shrugged. “Something like that, I guess.”
When Joel walked back to his car for our coffee, I wondered if he could feel me watching him. It didn’t seem to impair his gait though. Maybe it was my imagination, or my overactive health coach ego, but he seemed stronger and more confident already.
We sipped our coffee and chatted for a bit, then I put my cup down safely out of the way on the garage floor. I picked up two five-pound dumbbells. I stood with my legs hip-width apart, bent my knees slightly, executed a slow series of combined biceps curls and overhead presses.
After eight repetitions, I handed the weights to Joel. I did the movements again without the weights so he could follow along. I took the weights back and did eight rear deltoid presses, squeezing my shoulders and elbows back behind me, let Joel take his turn.
Then I put one of the five-pounders down, did triceps presses on each side with the other, handed the single dumbbell to Joel.
“Keep your elbow tucked in by your ear,” I said, “and press the weight up over your head.” It takes a minute to get the hang of that one, so I nudged his arm gently into the correct position with two fingers.
A tiny bolt of electricity flashed between us. We both ignored it.
“So,” I said, “you’re starting with eight reps on each side. Once you’ve worked your way up to twelve repetitions comfortably, you’ll move up a slightly heavier weight.”
“Wowza,” he said after he finished one side and switched the dumbbell to the other hand. “Who says a lifetime of inactivity doesn’t catch up to you?”
“Triceps are tough, but it’ll get easier. And you’re supposed to feel tired—that’s how the muscles get stronger.”
He rolled his shoulders back. “Good to know.”
“Okay, that’s enough for now.” I took the weight from Joel and handed him a rolled-up yoga mat.
“Magic carpet?” he said.
“Yeah, just one lap around the neighborhood. I’ll take my broom and follow you. And then we’ll stretch.”
He reached one hand out, hesitated. “You always do that, you know. Make self-deprecating comments.”
Our eyes caught. I looked away.
I felt the weight of his hand on my forearm.
It was like that split second before you jump off the edge of a pool on a hot summer’s day. That fluttery-hearted rush of adrenaline and fear and euphoria and pulling back before you push forward.
If we made eye contact again, there would be vulnerability on both sides, and then intent. And before I knew it, we’d be kissing. It was a compelling thought, and it particularly appealed to the broken part of me, the part that still believed that a kiss from a new guy could change everything.
Once we were in the pool, we’d just keep swimming. And it might be months, maybe a year or two if we were really lucky, until things started falling apart. Until we realized. Or maybe we didn’t. That the things that didn’t work with our last relationships were the same things that weren’t working in this one. That the problem was us.
And the more immediate problem would be that I no longer had a health coach client.
I grabbed myself a mat, unrolled it, put it down on the floor close to the garage door.
Joel put his mat down a careful distance away, lowered himself to a sitting position, looked just over my head. “Hey, you wouldn’t want to go out sometime, would you? Dinner? Maybe some karaoke afterwards? Your song choice.”
Even with the garage doors open, awkwardness swirled around us, thick as seaside fog.
I considered my next step. Eeny-meeny-miny-moe. Yes, no, maybe so.
When I took a deep breath, the scent of Drakkar Noir made my decision for me.
“Thanks for thinking of me,” I said. “But health coaches don’t date clients. It’s unprofessional.” I pushed a button on my Fitbit. “Listen, I’m going to have to wrap things up because I have another client in a few minutes.”
I didn’t quite look at Joel, but I was pretty sure he was blushing. “Oh, sorry,” he said. “I hope you don’t have to drive all the way back to the track.”
I debated whether it would be better to have an imaginary client about to arrive at my garage gym, or an imaginary client waiting for me at the track.
“No worries,” I said so I didn’t have to decide. I lowered myself to the mat, bent one leg, extended the other leg and reached for my toe.
Joel managed to copy my movements without quite looking at me.
We did a few more basic stretches and then rolled up our mats and put them back on the shelf.
He walked through one open garage door and I walked through the other.
I brushed my hands together. “Okay then, well, I’ll email you some links. And some exercises.”
“Thanks for doing this,” he said. “Just let me know how much I owe you for the extra time. And listen, I’m sorry I overstepped.”
I looked at my Fitbit again.
“Got it.” Joel imitated my hand brushing perfectly. “Done and dusted.”
After he drove away, I walked over and sat on my front stoop.
Just for a second I thought about how nice it would be to date a whole new person I hadn’t completely messed things up with yet. Then I pushed it out of my head.
“I know I didn’t handle that very well,” I said to the Noreens. “Especially the thanks for thinking of me part. But the last thing we need in our life is one more problem.”