Yesterday's Half Truths Read online

  If I ever get up, I see a long hot bath in my future. Exhaustion keeps me on the floor though. For what seemed to be a simple workout, I’m amazed at how wrecked I am. I didn’t lift weights, unless the added weight of my own limbs counts.

  Thank God, I knocked out all the work for my day job out before my workout. Cautiously, I move to stand, embarrassed by how slowly I’m moving. One perk to living alone, other than Coco, is my lack of an audience. I strip my damp, sweaty clothes off as I make my way to my bathroom. It is no small task. It’s as though the sweat from my workout shrunk my clothes or my fat expanded in complaint to my attempt to rid myself of it.

  I’m successfully nude by the time I pass my hamper. Taking a moment to contemplate if I want to subject my average dirty laundry to the epic level of yuck of my workout clothes I hesitate putting them in. Instead, I decide to throw them in the sink while I start my bath. I’ll wash them separately before I crash for the night.

  Strangely, I’m proud of how funky they are from one workout. Starting the tub, I turn back to take in my appearance in the full-length mirror of my bathroom. Do I look any different than I did the day before? Yes, I look awful. I’m all red and splotchy, my makeup, so carefully applied, has either melted off my face or been consumed en masse by my pores.

  Even though I can truthfully say I have never looked worse, I also have never felt better, emotionally, not physically. I physically feel like crap at the moment, and not a healthy, high in fiber diet crud. My hair hurts. I’m pretty sure that’s uncommon. Emotionally though, today is the first step to getting off my butt and finally doing something other than wishing to make my dream come true.

  As fashion obsessed as I am, I get that I’ll never be a runway model. First off, they’re super young and crazy tall. Since I’m neither of those things, it’s clear that isn’t ever going to be a reality for me; but someday wearing a single digit dress size might be. I want to look in the mirror and see the girl I show the world on my blog.

  Maybe if I did, I wouldn’t be so scared to leave my house. I know I’m hiding; even a part of me is ashamed at myself for doing it. Could I be a bigger wuss? My doctor calls it agoraphobia. While I’ve always been shy, severely so, I wasn’t always like this.

  I used to go to school, at least through high school and part of my freshman year of college, before I started getting worse. Shopping in a store, driving, going to class, all freaked me out but I still managed to do it. All I ever wanted to do was fit in. I was the definition of flying under the radar.

  Glancing back at the tub, I’m relieved to see it’s ready. Easing my sore limbs into the hot water, I relax briefly until my thoughts drift to her, the one person who I was never invisible to, Missy Pollard. She was everything I wanted to be in high school, pretty, popular, a force of nature. Everyone, even our teachers, gravitated to her.

  She hated me. I’m still not sure what I ever did to draw her attention. She was the only person who saw me until whatever torment she inflected on me made me visible to everyone else. It started our freshman year of high school. We had two classes together, and right after winter break, she honed in on me.

  At first, it was so subtle I tried to convince myself it wasn’t even happening, a shoulder bump as we passed each other in the hallway; standing in front of my locker with her back turned to me, pretending she couldn’t hear me when I asked her to move.

  Each year was worse than the one before it. Once I got home off the bus, that she thankfully did not ride, I would retreat to my bedroom and stay there. She was active in extracurricular activities and went to all the games. I stayed home out of fear of running into her.

  My senior year I was certain I would be free of her until I found out we would be going to the same college. Stupidly, I thought I could hide from her on a college campus. I never could have guessed the extent to which she would go to torment me.

  After Lindsay’s session, I decided to go for a jog. This whole web chat training thing is new, so I kind of used her workout as part of my own. I’ll still need to keep up my weight training separately, but I can kill two birds with one stone and do cardio with her twice a week. She looked beat at the end of the workout.

  If I was at the gym, I could hang out by the front desk, under the guise of filing paperwork, and see my clients as they walk out to their cars. Depending on how they move, I would know if I had been too rough on them or not. Freeing Loki from my room, I rub his belly for a couple minutes before slipping my key into my pocket and heading out.

  As I jog, I mentally go over my session with Lindsay. She seemed committed. Other than her first request for water, she didn’t stop once. That’s a good sign. I can’t show it, but I can’t handle the whiny clients who stop me every couple of minutes. They aren’t committed and are clearly only going through the motions of trying to change their lifestyle.

  That’s exactly what a fitness plan is, a lifestyle change. Lindsay works at a computer and she met my sister through a website, so it’s safe to assume she spends a lot of time off the clock sitting in front of her computer as well. Her diet wasn’t the worst I’ve seen; but given her level of activity, it wasn’t doing her any favors either.

  That shit with her cat and Loki was hysterical though. The memory of it alone causes an outburst of laughter from me, scaring a guy walking past me. Grimacing, I glance back at him; I hadn’t meant to startle him. Mental note; put Loki in my room and shut the door before our next session.

  The first sessions with a new client are always the most stressful. If anything, I’m a perfectionist, in a laid-back way. The only person I stress out is myself. I take pride in what I do and work hard to do a good job. With any luck, the work and effort I put into Lindsey’s plan will be the first step in a life change for her.

  That’s heavy stuff right there. I know some trainers who couldn’t give a crap. Leaning against a pole while I wait for the signal to cross, I stretch my calves as I think of some of the trainers I’ve run into over the years. There are guys who train just to get laid. They are blessed with great metabolism, and they’ve taken the time to bulk up, so they look the part.

  Once the light changes, I’m off. Running helps me think. I formulate plans for each of my clients based on whom I trained that day. Without taking the time to recognize not everybody behaves the same way, those trainers blame their clients when they don’t see results. That right there is pure laziness. When you take a client on you make a commitment to help them achieve their personal fitness goals. Their goal becomes your goal.

  Someone famous said it takes twenty-one days to form a habit. I read somewhere it’s actually sixty-six days so that’s what I use. I have sixty-six days to cram as much good as I can into my clients’ well-beings. If at the end of sixty-six days, they are still struggling and not moving forward toward their goal, then I have failed them somewhere along the way.

  People hire a trainer to have a knowledgeable person there to motivate them. Motivation is the key. If people who struggle with making healthy life choices were self-motivated, there would be less of a reason to hire me. I’m a paid by the hour cheerleader.

  I’ll email Lindsay tomorrow and see how she’s feeling. That’s about all I can do at this point. Once I finish my loop and am back in my apartment, I call Sasha.

  She answers on the second ring. “Hey, Luke.”

  “Hey, Sash, how are you?”

  “Well.” She pauses. “I went out on a date with this guy I work with.”

  “Do I want to hear this?” I ask, stopping her.

  She laughs, snorting. “Nothing happened; and if it did, I wouldn’t tell you. Gross.”

  “Just making sure. So, this guy, he treat you right?”

  She groans. “Yes, he was a perfect gentleman, almost too much of one actually.”

  “What does that mean?” I snap.

  “I want to date a guy who is really into me; he didn’t seem like that. I love the idea of a gentleman, but I’d still like him to show me I’m the onl
y thing he can think about.”

  “Was this a first date?”

  She pauses. “We’ve hung out a couple of times for happy hour, but this was our first official date.”

  “Not sure what to tell you, baby girl; maybe he’s just trying to get to know you better first before he comes on too strong. Gotta be honest. I like that, means he’s treating my baby sister with respect.”

  “I suppose that makes sense,” she grumbles.

  “I had my first session with your friend, Lindsay,” I say, changing the subject.

  “Isn’t she gorgeous?” Sasha gushes.

  “I try not to perv on my client’s, Sash.”

  She laughs but doesn’t push it any further, thankfully. I’m not the type of guy to gossip about my clients, even if someone I know is friends with them. It’s about respect.

  “Are you going to keep training her?”

  I tilt my nose toward my pit; seriously, should have showered before I called her. “As long as she doesn’t fire me I will, but hey, I gotta jet. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Bye, Luke.” I can hear her smile right through the phone.

  We’ve always been close, and make it a point to see each other or talk at least once a week. She loves stopping by the gym to check out the other trainers. They are all on firm orders to steer clear of her. I’d have to kick some serious ass, if one of those tools tried to date my baby sister.

  I’m a bit overprotective when it comes to her. After my dad abandoned us, I was the man of the house for my sisters and my mom. It was a job I took seriously, and I still do. I can’t take all the credit but she’s grown up nicely, doing great in high school and also getting a good job. There’re a lot of girls I know from high school who can’t say the same thing. She goes to college part time now. I know she wants to go places with her life.

  My mom and I are both proud of her. I know she wants a boyfriend, and for some stupid girl reason, thinks her life is incomplete because she doesn’t have one. Loki lifts his head from his dog bed as I pass him on the way to the shower.

  “Lazy bum,” I joke. “We’re still going for a long walk before bed.”

  He lowers his head and groans; sometimes I swear it’s as if he knows what I’m saying. Once I’m in the shower, I start thinking about relationships again. Being single rocks. I date. I haven’t met anyone recently I’ve considered dating long term, but I still have fun going out.

  I’ve been working more than usual; maybe that’s what I need, a night out. My mom and Sasha would love it if I met a girl and settled down. Long term I’m all over that. I’m not in any rush though. My friend, Clay, just got married and he’s older than I am. Thinking of Clay, I remember we have plans tomorrow night.

  After my shower, I make dinner. I should have asked Sasha what she was doing tonight. If I had, maybe I wouldn’t be eating by myself. It’s never bothered me before. I don’t even know why I’m giving it so much thought right now. After dinner, I decide to chill out.

  Flicking on the TV, I go to ESPN; as long as it isn’t golf, I can watch any sport. Thankfully, it’s boxing. I’ve sparred a bit in the gym but never been interested in boxing or MMA for more than something fun to watch. My mom would kill me if I ever picked up a vice that could end with my nose being broken. I don’t have any hidden anger issues I need to work out on someone’s face, so she’s safe there.

  It’s fun to watch though, and the booming voice of the announcer somehow makes me feel less alone. On the first commercial break, I grab my laptop and decide to email Lindsay now instead of waiting until tomorrow.

  Lindsay,

  How are you feeling post workout? You may be sore. That’s normal and will get better with each session we have. Let me know if you have any concerns. Unless I hear otherwise, I’m still set for another session with you on Thursday at 4:30.

  Thanks,

  Luke

  If I lean my head back over the side of the sofa, I can see into my bedroom. Loki hasn’t moved from his bed, lazy dog.

  Getting up, I call out to him. “Come on, boy, time for your walk.”

  Making my way over to him with his leash and a couple crap bags, I can’t help but laugh at his walk avoidance maneuvers. He has rolled over onto his back, making it harder to get his leash on.

  “I swear we’ll only go for a short walk,” I tell him. “But, you need to go outside now or you’ll be scratching at the door in the middle of the night.”

  I manage to get him leashed and thankfully, he doesn’t fight me once it’s on.

  “Was that so hard?” I ask once we’re back inside.

  He ignores me, going straight for his water dish.

  “Faker,” I grumble, sitting back down on my couch.

  I hadn’t put my laptop away from earlier and see Lindsay has already replied.

  Luke,

  Might be sore…might be? Everything hurts. EVERYTHING!

  Sincerely,

  Lindsay

  Her email makes me laugh. She did a good job keeping up during the session, so I hope she isn’t in any real pain. I guess I’ll find out for sure in a couple of days.

  I hate him. I don’t care that he’s hot and sexy, and has eyes that make you want to get lost in them for days with no hope of ever being found. I still hate him.

  These were my first thoughts after my failed attempt to get out of bed this morning. I can’t walk. I manage a deranged hobble; but at this point, I can’t fathom how I will be able to work out again tomorrow.

  An email is in my inbox this morning from Luke, in reply to the one I sent last night. It’s a friendly reminder still to walk on the treadmill, but ‘good news’ I can leave the incline where it is. I’m only assuming the tone is friendly because of the emoticon smiley face he signed off with.

  Thank God it’s Wednesday, bag day. I can skip hair and makeup because it friggin’ hurts to lift my arms. I have a pedestal type table in my spare bedroom with a white tablecloth covering it. Purses pop when staged against the white background.

  The outfit I’ve picked for today is a last minute, pure comfort decision. It’s a long, black maxi dress with double leg splits. Main reason I picked it is, I can easily pull it over my head, and even though my arms hurt I’d rather mess with a cotton blend one piece than bending over to pull on shorts or a skirt.

  A Kelly green vegan leather cross body is an amazing pop of color against my hip in the black dress. For my next dress with outfit shoot, I pick an old school comic strip inspired clutch. Since I’m wearing a solid, a patterned purse is a no brainer to add interest to another simple look. I use the pedestal to take a couple shots of a fun wallet and simple beachy tote.

  Since I’m only in two of the pictures and I crop my head out of each shot, I have the files edited and ready to post in no time. No matter how crappy I feel I have to post. My followers expect something from me daily. If I go off schedule, I could lose followers. I’ve seen it happen to other fashion bloggers.

  They burst onto the blog scene and overnight have a ton of people paying attention to them. Everything is going great until suddenly something happens in their personal lives and they stop posting consistently. Once you lose the attention of your followers, you are yesterday’s news. You can’t win them back; they’ve already moved on to the blogger who posts daily somewhere else.

  Seeing as I have no actual life, I hope this will never happen to me. To be honest, the blog is my life at this point. I live vicariously through the person all my followers assume I am. If I didn’t have that anymore, would I still exist?

  My greatest fear is someday they’ll find out I’m not exactly what I’ve claimed to be. When I first started gaining followers, I thought about quitting all the time or coming clean and admitting the pictures were altered. I do add a disclaimer that the pics are edited but I never said how much.

  Everyone just assumes it’s simple color correction or image sharpening, when it isn’t. What stopped me from shutting it all down is for once in my life I felt p
opular. Almost overnight thousands of people wanted my advice. It was addicting. It still is addicting. It’s also become a second income, which will probably surpass what I make at my day job this year.

  If I can lose the weight, and become the person they all think I am, no one will ever have to know I lied. That wish alone has me hobbling to my kitchen to grab another fizzy water. I appreciate the fact Luke took the time to recommend something carbonated; still it isn’t as good as Coke though. Holding the door to my fridge open, I can’t help still feel shock at the difference from a couple weeks ago to now.

  All of my old favorite guilty pleasures are gone; my mouth waters just thinking about them. Grumbling to myself, I grab a hard-boiled egg and a banana with my drink, hoping it will somehow satisfy me.

  I sit down at the small table in my kitchen to eat. This was another one of Luke’s changes to my life. He gave a lot of credence to the concept of conscious eating. He wants me to stop eating in front of the TV, or sitting at my computer while I’m online. He thinks if I’m not distracted by other things, I will be better at recognizing when I’m full.

  It’s a logical argument; but my biggest issue with it is that my body has been used to eating a lot more calories than the diet he’s put me on. My body is still hungry all the time. After my snack, I wait five minutes to allow my stomach enough time to tell my brain it’s full.

  When that signal never comes, I make a piece of wheat toast and pair it with a string cheese. It’s after I’ve eaten them, I feel full-ish. Gone are the days where I would stuff myself until I felt sick. That was a good and bad thing. Why I ever ate like that in the past, I’ll never know. Food has always been a source of comfort for me.

  My earliest memories are making chocolate chip cookies with my mom or sharing an ice cream sundae on the couch with my dad. My parents are the sweetest, most loving people in the world. They don’t understand my need to hide away, but they’ve given up trying to change me.