Trying to Throw my Arms Around the World

Cashmere

Cashmere

“If, by any chance, you could hook me up with a hot lesbian by tomorrow night eight PM, I would be very grateful.” I stood on the treadmill, fumbling with the touch screen buttons, still startled by Joan’s sudden display of emotions.

“Start walking, one minute, then increase the speed to eight−”

“Eight? No way, I can’t do eight.” I tried to squeeze a little tear out of the corner of my eye, but my face was smothered with sweat so it would have missed the desired effect anyway.

“I was going to say eight and a half, Lee, so mind that mouth of yours.” And there was the smile again, generous and unexpected. Was a little outburst all it took to tame this wild wiry beast of a woman? If only I’d known two weeks ago.

“You murdered my legs earlier, coach, let’s agree on seven and a half, you need to give me something.”

“What if I find you a lesbian? Would that meet your terms?” She upped the speed of my treadmill to eight, leaving me no breath to reply. “We’ll talk after this two-minute interval.” Her smile transformed into an I’ll-teach-you smirk. I was wiped-out, my body near boiling-point and bathed in sweat, but my brain was still alert enough to know in which direction this treadmill conversation was headed. “One minute of walking,” Joan said. “And I’ll go with you tomorrow night. If you want me to, that is.”

“I believe you told me in the first minute of our first work-out that no was never an option in this gym.”

“Correct. So how about a try-out tonight? I’ll take you to dinner. It’ll have to be vegan, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Start running again. Two minutes. We do this five more times. Then you’re done for today.”

But I wasn’t done with Joan for that day. A non-alcoholic all-vegetable supper across from her awaited me and I wondered if these vegan places offered candlelight, or just cold neon − admittedly, I suffered from some mild prejudices. I was on the fence about dating my trainer as well, not so much because she could let the intensity of the next-day’s work-out depend totally on the outcome − and I had no idea what her motives were − but mainly because not once in the two weeks that she’d been coaching me did I have a sexual, let alone romantic thought about her. She was too rough around the edges for me, too brutal, too principled. A few well-timed smiles were hardly going to change that. But if Joan had taught me one thing, apart from ripping my body to shreds and the gruelling sensation of deep muscle pain, it was focus and I focused all my attention on Liz’s dinner and not having to face Katy and Lou alone. For that purpose only, noisy, impressive, exceptionally toned Coach Joan was perfect.

I met her for the second time that day at seven-thirty at a surprisingly upscale restaurant in Camden and I was stunned at the transformation she had gone through. She hid her muscle definition under a cashmere turtleneck sweater, her neck, that sinewy bulky mass, expertly veiled from the eye, and her wide but slim shoulders stretching the jumper into perfect shape. I could never have guessed she would look so amazing out of sports wear. When she kissed me on the cheek, a gesture I deemed so foreign to my hardened coach, I felt a tingle of something shudder through my blood and, out of the blue, I wondered if she was the one who would break my six-week stint of abstinence.

To be continued…