The Trainer Read Free Page B

had to get the number of that personal trainer Jessica knew and then text him as soon as possible. A few weeks back, he had gone to the gym, bought a membership, and tried to exercise sporadically, but he lacked the motivation and diligence to follow through on a daily basis. Whatever it cost, it would be worth it if he could get in shape. The next time Tim saw him, he wanted to look so hot that he would be unable to feel insecure.
    He wanted to make him jealous. God, how this whole situation had made him so petty . Chris felt like he was in high school again; jilted and jealous and overwhelmed with waves of silly drama. If there was anything mature and constructive about this whole mess, he thought, at least he should get his shit together. Physically, emotionally, mentally. He’d work out every day if he had to, even if it killed him. And he would learn to like rabbit food.
    He stop ped in the shade of some mango trees and squatted down with his phone pressed to his ear. It rang and rang. Jessica finally picked up.
    “ Bueno ,” she said flatly. He heard her scolding her daughter and then her voice cut out.
    “Yeah, yeah, Jessica. Can you hear? Can you hear me? You were going to send me the personal trainer’s number?” he asked.
    “What?” she said.
    It was useless. He could hear her cutting out, coming back in. The fact that she was still speaking Spanish made it clear that she couldn’t hear him either. However, when he reached his own neighborhood, his phone chimed. A text from Jessica? Yes. It had a phone number and then--MASON--written in all caps. Chris swiftly added the number to his contacts and punched out a message.
     
    Hey Mason - I’m Chris, Jessica’s friend. She said you’re a personal trainer? 8045-8059.
     
    Back in his apartment, he put all the groceries in the fridge, poured a glass of water and dropped a lime wedge into it. Thank God that, unlike some of his neighbors, he had drinkable tap water. He sat down to a cold plate of lettuce and cucumber salad (rabbit food), then got onto Wikipedia, building both his English and Spanish vocabulary for vegetable matter. How thrilling. He spent the rest of the evening revising the endless revision of his novel. For dinner, he decided to roast up some of those parsnips and squash with some oil and salt. Yes, parsnips, and he made a nice fresh salad. It felt very satisfying to have something cleansing and good, and yet the meal left him craving more. Before bed, he checked his phone for a text back from the guy. He grumbled. Nothing.
    Typical flake , Chris thought to himself.
    He checked his phone first thing when he got up. It was dark outside, and the birds of paradise hadn’t even begun their dawn chorus. Warm winds blew through the palms and ferns on the hillsides, and the clouds hung, reflecting the dim orange light of the city.
    Ever since his break up, Chris got up at four a.m., even on the weekends, which was ridiculous.  However, he’d been trying to stay hyper-focused on work:  mostly because it was his best source of self-confidence, and the structure of work was the one thing that gave him reprieve from his personal dramas and his otherwise near total self-indulgence. So as long as he had a rigorous work schedule and personal hygiene acumen, he felt just a little bit dignified. It was a sad and lonely life, Chris thought; but for now, he just needed to hold on until he had regained some stability.
    His morning lark energy was something that Tim used to hate, since he always wanted to sleep in. Chris didn’t particularly like the feeling of getting up early, but as soon as he was awake, he loved the morning solitude, especially in Costa Rica. Even when it was chilly, he used to love to try to snuggle under the covers with Tim, but Tim never was the cuddling type, and used to shove his arm off of him and complain that Chris was making him hot. Looking back, he should have been paying attention.
    There he was; another morning lying alone