Trying to Throw my Arms Around the World

Sparring

Sparring

“What happened to you?”

“I think we can easily break it down into one word again. Women.” I tried to find a way to sit comfortably in Roz’s chair but forty-five minutes on a spin-bike − after a life-time of absence − had chaffed my backside so severely I could barely sit down. “Aren’t you supposed to have a couch in here, anyway?” I was in no mood for my weekly unburdening session. I just wanted to sleep. Forever.

“Which women are you talking about?”

“Lucy sent me to the boot camp from hell with the scariest, meanest trainer I’ve ever seen. And my old boss, Theresa, invited me to a party at her house next Saturday. It will be the first time I see Claire again.” Roz smiled that tiny smile but it was enough to set me off. “It’s not funny. I have to train with that woman every day for the next four weeks.”

“Look at it this way, Lee. By the time you get to see Claire on Saturday, your body will simply be too beaten for you to even consider sleeping with her.”

“You know, after last Monday, I’ve seriously started contemplating switching therapists. Enough women in my life have crossed too many boundaries. I’m sick of it.” Roz went into serious mode. I could tell by the way she pushed her glasses up her nose with her index finger and the slow creasing of the skin above her upper lip as she drew her mouth into a thin pout.

“Which boundaries do you think I’ve crossed?” And off we went, for another round of thrashing through the depths of my soul.

I spent the rest of the week feeling sorry for myself and being punished for it by Joan and her brutal training methods. Alcohol abstinence had never been so easy because by the time I got home from training and work my arms were too sore to lift even the tiniest bottles of beer. Every night, I went to bed at nine and thought about what to say to Claire.

In Friday’s session, Joan wanted to put me on the spin bike again.

“You don’t have to sit on the saddle,” she said. “That’s the whole point.” If I’d had to spend another second on that dreadful bike I would have started crying. I could already feel the sting behind my eyes.

“Please, can we box instead?” I pleaded. “I’ll surprise you. I have a lot of anger and frustration left.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m seeing my ex this weekend.” Her eyes softened for the first time then. She relaxed her muscles a little bit − but not so much that it made her appear human.

“He or she?”

“She.”

“I thought so.” Was that a sly smile creeping along her lips? Did she have emotions rippling under those muscles? “But my gaydar tends to get confused in the gym.”

“Most women look like lesbians when they’re sweating in spandex.” This made her laugh, her abs for once contracting because of joy instead of exercise.

“I wouldn’t say that too loud.” I’d had my suspicions about Joan, but I was generally too pissed off at her to entertain the thought − mainly because I didn’t have any energy left for silly things like reasoning and deduction. She infuriated me so much with her army attitude and ruthless sound system of a voice that, genuinely, for the first time in my life I didn’t care if a woman I met was a lesbian or not. Also, she wasn’t my type. I was all for a little toning of the biceps and triceps, but Joan’s muscle mass terrified me more than anything. “Put on some gloves,” she said. “If worst comes to worst, at least you’ll be able to knock her out.”

To be continued…