Carolina Days: Yesterday's Half Truths Part 3

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 s.h.i.+rt-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 gla.s.s 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 fas.h.i.+on 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 pus.h.i.+ng 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 fas.h.i.+on; and 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 s.h.i.+tty out, homeboy is c.r.a.pping on the little strip of gra.s.s right outside my building.

He doesn't mind; in fact, the lazy b.u.m 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 c.r.a.p, 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 h.e.l.l 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 a.s.s 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 p.i.s.s him off enough as it is. He gives me att.i.tude 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 pa.s.sive-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 antic.i.p.ation 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 ma.s.s 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 fas.h.i.+onista 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 circ.u.mference 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s but most of my weight is in my belly, b.u.t.t, 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 rea.s.sure 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.

Maybe the week before the reunion I can try one of those cleanse drink diet things. Even if I gain all the weight back, it won't matter afterward. Once I've made my appearance, it will be ages before I'll be pressured to do something else like this again.

My aggravation has me annoyed enough to send Luke an email.

Hey Luke, What am I doing wrong? I've been following your workout instructions and daily diet to the letter. Did you accidently send me the 'not lose any weight plan'? I have to be honest; this right here, this lack of results is the point where I usually give up. I don't want to give up! I want to be teacher's pet or most improved trainee or whatever you would call a success story.

I'm losing steam and faith in being able to meet my goals. Do we need to change up what we're doing? Please email me back or text before I do something crazy like order some Twinkies.

Officially your cla.s.s dunce, Lindsay Fifteen minutes later, when my phone starts ringing, I stare at it in abject horror. No one calls me. I've even managed to train my parents to email me if they need to check in. Flipping it over I gasp when I see it's Luke. I'm so not going to answer that. I'm good in text, email, and the typed word. Talking to another human being in real life? Nope, not for me.

I never even recorded my own voicemail; it was too much pressure. It's still the robot voice saying the person at number blah, blah, blah is unavailable and to leave a message after the beep. I almost drop my phone when the voicemail notification goes off. I'm going to hear his voice, like actually hear his voice, and I can keep it and listen to it whenever I want. a.s.suming he has a nice voice. How can he not have a nice voice?

Immediately I listen to it, sighing when I hear him say my name. His voice is deep, strong, and almost gravelly in a s.e.xy 'I have a sore throat and it only makes me sound hotter kind of way'. He received my email and was worried about me. Swoon! He knows this is hard. Giggle snort, he said hard. But he knows I can do this. He has faith in me and won't let me quit. G.o.d, he's good.

He ends the message asking me to call him. I text him instead.

Thanks for your message. I just listened to it. I won't give up; I promise. I was feeling frustrated and down was all I wanted to say.

Why won't you call me?

I gulp at his blunt question. What should I say?

I get anxious talking to people.

Even me? I promise I don't bite.

Now that's an image I don't need floating around my brain so soon after hearing how s.e.xy his voice is.

Even you.

It makes me paranoid that you're really some dude playing a prank on me.

I never even thought of that. Would it be the worst thing in the world to call him? Yes, yes, it would, my brain instantly replies to my unspoken question. I'll have to speak to people at some point, I argue with myself. "This singular existence is truly getting out of hand," I admit aloud. Coco raises her head from where she was napping. I can only interpret her expression as disappointed.

Great, now I'm disappointing my cat. How am I going to talk to anyone at the reunion if I can't even speak to a guy I've been communicating with by other means for over a month? Call him. You can do it. Call him. I rarely have to talk to anyone besides Coco.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I return his call.

He answers right away. "Lindsay?"

I gulp. "This is Lindsay."

"Now how hard was that?" he asks, almost teasingly.

"You have no idea," I reply, thinking back to my internal pep talk.

"I have to say, I'm thrilled you don't sound like an old man."

A laugh escapes me at the thought.

"Wow, you have a pretty laugh." He pauses. "I'm sorry that was inappropriate to say."

My cheeks burn and I worry I'll overheat my phone. "That's okay."

"I hate you're feeling frustrated. I wanted to run an idea by you. You can say no. I'm getting you're a private person."

"Um." I have no idea what to say.

"Would you consider trying out a face to face training session over Skype or FaceTime?"

I suck in a breath as my brain processes his question. I have to tell myself to exhale before I can reply.

"Does that mean you'd be able to see me?" I ask.

He hesitates long enough that I pull the phone from my ear to make sure we're still connected.

"It does. I could do it from home so you wouldn't have to worry about anyone else seeing you train."

"I don't know if I could do that," I admit.

"I think if I was able to see your body in motion and ensure your form as you worked out, you would have better results."

"Do I have to tell you right now?" I ask, knowing I need time to think this over.