Page 18 of Resistance Training

“And if that’s songwriting then anyone can write songs.

‘Hey, what’s going on today, Mitch?’” I start singing a list of things like a skinny pop star while she rehydrates.

“ Vanillaaaa protein smoothie, black coffee too… Hiking, hydrate, egg whites, recoveryyy day… ” She frowns at me and it’s glorious, so I just keep singing.

“ Epsom salt bath and a podcast too, rehydrate more and then take a nap, infrared sauna and then meal prep, rehydrate some more and then do yoga.”

“I’m just going to remind you of what you once said when I spoofed the Red Hot Chili Peppers album you were obsessed with one summer: Effective parody depends on the distinct characteristics and familiarity of an artist’s work.”

“Yeah, but the Chili Peppers are cool.” This is just friendly banter. No different from what goes on between Larry and me. “Get on your hands and knees.”

“Oooh, yes, chef!” She lowers herself to the mat, sitting on her knees. “Question. Did you tell Gwen about our high school situation? I don’t want to be dramatic, but she’s literally the only person in the entire world who hasn’t liked me as soon as they met me.”

“I haven’t told anyone about our high school situation. She doesn’t not like anyone. She just doesn’t care if anyone likes her or not.”

“Wow.” She covers her heart, dramatically. “That’s a thing?”

She knows it’s a thing. It used to be Vivian’s thing before she started wanting douchebags to like her right before we graduated. But I don’t bring that up, because I’m on the clock, in the here and now. I’m a pro. “I said get on your hands and knees.”

She does, and I like it, and we do half an hour of lower-body workouts that have her alternately complaining and trying to hide her fatigue.

“What’s the deal with the demographic of the members here?

” she asks while doing goblet squats. “And before you answer, just know that I am very supportive of it. If I’d known so many senior citizens work out in gyms I probably would have started going to gyms a long time ago. ”

“I got my Senior Fitness certification last year,” I explain. “The plan is to open up a separate location that’s exclusively for seniors. Eventually develop it into a franchise. Larry wants to invest.”

“Wow. I love that—I really do. And that’s so smart because it’s a growing market.”

“I know.”

“That is so impressive, Coach.”

“Don’t call me Coach.”

“Okay, my sweet, scared little Scorpio baby.”

I frown at her and bring her a heavier dumbbell because it shouldn’t be this easy for her to have a conversation.

When we’re done with the monster-walk squats, I say, “Good. Cool down. Get back on the mat.”

She does, dropping to the floor dramatically, spreads her legs apart, groaning as she reaches for her right foot, then her left foot, then she reaches out in front of herself, looking up at me innocently.

It’s a fine sight to behold, but that’s not what I had in mind.

I stroll over, get down on my knees in front of her and say, “Lie back.”

She does. Without hesitation.

“We’ll do assisted stretching. I’m going to help you get a deeper stretch than you can on your own.”

“’Kay,” she says, her voice more high-pitched than she wanted it to be, I’m sure.

I circle my hands around her ankles, kneel between her legs, and pull them closer together on either side of me.

Then I bend her left leg, placing her foot flat on the floor, and gently lift her right leg toward her chest as I slowly stand, holding her right ankle, letting my hand slide down to her calf.

She gasps, holds her breath, then exhales.

“You feel a good stretch in your hamstring?”

“That depends on where my hamstring is.”

I drag my fingertips up the back of her thigh, very slowly, totally inappropriately. “Feel that?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Good. Keep your leg straight. More?”

She nods.

I grip harder as I guide her leg a little higher. “Breathe into it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m not going to push too far too fast. Let me know when you want more.”

“More,” she says.

I let her heel rest against my chest as I hold her ankle with one hand, her knee with the other, and lean in a little more.

Her calf is aligned with my torso.

She really wasn’t kidding.

She is flexible.

She crosses her forearms over her eyes, and I feel her trembling.

“Breathe into it,” I say softly.

She does, and I feel her relax into the stretch.

Then she uncovers her eyes, brushes her hair out of her face with her fingers, and stares right at me. “Deeper,” she says.

One more inch and I hold her leg in place, holding her gaze. She’s holding her breath again. “Breathe.”

She sucks in a breath.

I repeat the same assisted stretch on her other leg, slowly lower her leg and kneel before her again. “Now we’ll open up the hip flexors,” I explain. “You’ll love this one. Stay on your back.”

She does. She’s breathing a little heavier than she should be at this point, but I’m not worried about that. Except she stretches her arms up over her head, her hair fanned out around her flushed face. She smirks at me, and I might not be as in control of this situation as I thought I was.

I extend her leg to the mat and place her foot flat against my chest so that leg is bent. I am very professionally positioned between her legs, supporting her thigh with both hands. I lean toward her. “Just relax and feel the stretch in the front of your hip and your glute. You feel that?”

“Yes.”

“Take a deep inhale.”

She breathes in.

“When you exhale I go deeper.”

She watches me as she exhales and I press in closer.

“Good?” I ask.

“Very,” she replies. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

“No.”

“As friends.”

I arch an eyebrow.

“As former friends.”

“No.”

“As trainer and client.”

The truth is I can handle my feelings about Vivian in the past. Handling my attraction to her now, in the flesh, is something else entirely.

I had to get out of some sticky situations that first year I’d started out as a personal trainer.

Working with clients in their homes. Since opening my own gym, I usually only agree to training straight men, happily married couples, and baby boomers.

Anyone else gets assigned to Gwen or Curtis.

And I’ve had to become more judicious when it comes to taking on married couples and female baby boomers, because there are a lot of flirts out there.

Bottom line—I’ve never dated a client or a member of my gym.

And I’m not going to start with Vivian.

“No, thank you,” I say.

She presses her foot against my chest, and I dig the tips of my thumbs into the flesh of her thighs.

She gasps and then groans.

I lean in a little more. If anyone were to see us on the floor here, this would look perfectly legit. I’m helping her target her IT band and her piriformis. I guide her foot toward my right shoulder, and she sighs. I’m getting deep into her glutes without even touching them.

And that’s just how it has to be.