by Beth Moran
The woman snorted. ‘Medical assistance! Is that what they’re calling it these days?! Kiss of life, is it? Forget the lifeguard, I’m fetching the manager.’
‘You’d better go.’ I stood as far back as I could against the cubicle wall, arms crossed against my midriff. Still close enough to see the pulse pounding in his neck, hear his accelerated breathing.
‘You’ve got time if you still want to try. I’ll walk you there. Push you in if it helps, screw section two, subsection eight point three.’
‘I don’t think I can. I made a mistake thinking I could just jump into this. I need to work up to it. Put it in the Programme. Mentally prepare. I’m really sorry for ruining your evening.’
‘If you’re sure.’ He took a step closer, ducking his head so that his gentle eyes met mine, at the same time placing one hand on my shoulder, in a gesture I’d seen him do numerous times to his team.
I bet none of his team instantly imagined him then lowering his head to bridge the vast, breathtakingly short distance between his lips and theirs, letting out a husky gasp of desire as a rush of heat nearly knocked them off their feet.
On second thoughts, I bet nearly all of them did. The difference being none of them were alone with him in a tiny cubicle.
Then, it happened.
Nathan dropped his gaze to the teensy-weensy, perfectly fitting excuse for swimwear. He froze, his fingers perceivably gripping my shoulder where before they had simply been resting. I saw his chest rise with one big inhalation, and yes, it was stupid and inappropriate and probably broke all sorts of sections and subsections of the Leisure Centre Code, but when Nathan looked up again, his pupils were dilated to enormous, bottomless black holes, ringed with silver, and I was sucked right in, leaning forwards until my barely covered, far from itsy-bitsy chest swayed dangerously close to his.
Fortunately, one of us was a normal, functioning member of society with a decent grasp on both the general protocol of public conduct and control of their own senses.
Nathan sprang back. ‘I’d better go.’
He wrenched open the door and disappeared.
By the time the manager arrived, I’d gone, too.
53
Stop Being a Loser Programme
Day One Hundred and Sixty-Two
The next morning, Nathan messaged me:
Sincere apologies for yesterday. I hope you understand I meant absolutely nothing by it, beyond helping a friend. If you want to make a formal complaint, I’ll make sure the correct procedures are followed.
Of course he would.
It hadn’t been quite the message I’d been dreaming about all night. Still, I swallowed my pride and mortification and replied:
No problem! I know you were only trying to help. You weren’t acting as my trainer, or coach, so I think no rules were broken?
I waited a few seconds then sent another one:
And it did help. A lot.
Then one more, before I started to look like the creepy kind of woman who turns up at men’s houses on Valentine’s Day and invites them to watch her swim:
Will be a hilarious story to laugh about one day.
Like, one day when I can finally face going back to the pool without feeling as though my stomach is dissolving in its own acid. Or one day when I can stop thinking about how Nathan looked at me, up close in that swimsuit, as though I was a woman, not a loser. Or at least one day when I can think about it without breaking into a flush so hot it melts my bones to mush.
Or, alternatively, one day when we are married.
I guess Nathan didn’t see the funny side, as there was no reply.
54
Stop Being a Loser Programme
Day One Hundred and Sixty-Four
That Sunday, I arrived to find the Larks atwitter, like hens who’d smelled a fox. Feeling awkward and embarrassed, I slipped up to the back of the group, deliberately placing myself behind Mystery Woman One, so that Nathan couldn’t see me.
Only, it turned out Nathan wouldn’t have seen me wherever I did my stretches, because the person leading the warm-up was his Valentine’s Day date, otherwise known as Kommando Kim. I suspected, given the spelling, that the closest she’d got to being an actual commando was having it sequinned across her T-shirt.
‘So, where did you say Nathan was?’ Selena asked, stretching her quad.
‘No questions. Focus! You – watch your shoulders!’ the fox barked in reply.
‘Can we ask questions now?’ Bronwyn asked, once the warm-up was over.
‘Five K. I’ll be in front, so keep up. If you can ask questions, you aren’t working hard enough. I expect nothing less than your utmost at all times. If you train half-arsed, you’ll compete half-arsed. In which case you might as well keep your lazy, sorry, fat half an arse in bed and save wasting my time, yours and the other competitors. Every woman needs to be dragging herself back into this car park, on the brink of collapse, unable to take another step.’
‘All-arsed,’ Dani muttered.
‘Um, excuse me?’ Mel asked. ‘How am I goin’ ter walk home and take care of five kids if I’m ’alf dead, and can’t take another step?’
‘Go!’ Kommando Kim clicked her stopwatch and hurtled out of the car park.
After exchanging a few bemused and irritated glances, we followed her, Marjory leading the way.
For the next 5K, we obeyed our coach and ran mainly in silence. It was freezing cold, and stinging rain began the moment we left the relative shelter of the village. Except for Marjory, who continued to push on at her own pace, we mainly huddled together in one sorry, bedraggled clutch.
‘Physical strength is pointless if you are mentally weak!’ Kim shot up and down the group, circling us like a rabid sheepdog. ‘It’s wet, so what? It’s cold, big deal! You hurt, well that’s what it takes!’
‘Can we push her off the top of the hill?’ Bronwyn wheezed.
‘How about we just all start walking?’ Dani suggested. ‘What’s she going to do? Fire us all from Kim’s Kommandos?’
‘NO TALKING!’ Kim screamed. ‘If you want to chat, join a book group! If you want to win, get that PoolPal for Piper, then shut up and start running like you mean it!’
‘Well, she seems to know what she’s talking about.’ Selena gave a smirk of approval. ‘Learnt the hashtag and everything.’
‘What everything?’ Bronwyn sneered.
Kim sprinted over to Bronwyn and leant as close to her ear as possible while still running. ‘EVERYBODY DOWN!’
‘Ow!’ Bronwyn yelped.
‘TEN BURPEES. GO!’
‘This is not in the spirit of the Larks,’ Selena muttered, eyeing the muddy ground.
‘NOW THAT’S TEN MORE! AND EVERY TIME SOMEONE ELSE INSULTS US BY THINKING THEY CAN SHIRK OFF AND HAVE A NATTER, THEN WE All DO ANOTHER TEN!’
‘All except for you,’ Dani whispered, quiet enough for no one but those either side of her to hear.
‘Crap, don’t make me laugh. That’ll be fifty press-ups or summat,’ Mel puffed.
And so it went on.
By the time we dragged ourselves back into the car park, I think some of us genuinely couldn’t have taken another step without the promise of a Cup and Saucer breakfast at the end of it. The only reason we didn’t go straight to the café as usual was because we didn’t want Kim to know about it and decide to join us, screeching insults about our nutritional choices.
‘So, where is Nathan?’ Selena asked, once Kim had bullied us through the cool-down.
‘Still whining and pining for Coach Comfy?’ Kim shook her head in disgust. ‘Give me strength.’ And with that, she sprinted off.
‘I think I hate her,’ Mel whimpered as we limped to the square. ‘I mean, I know it’s not Christian and I’ll be sayin’ an extra prayer of forgiveness at church today, but bloomin’ ’eck.’
‘Did Nathan bring her in to get us at maximum fitness for the race?’ Dani asked, ‘because I don’t think that kind of brutal motivational style wil
l work here.’
‘I want Nathan back,’ Bronwyn wailed. ‘The Larks is supposed to be fun, and positive and encouraging. Not make you want to commit Kommandocide. If she’s sticking around until the triathlon, I might have to call my fella and see if he can have a sharp word.’
‘Nathan must be ill or had a last-minute emergency. He wouldn’t just hand us over to an evil tyrant without saying anything,’ Selena said. ‘As soon as we get to the café, I’m messaging him.’
And she wasn’t the only one. For the rest of the day, the Larks WhatsApp group was pinging with complaints and questions, peppered with increasingly lurid descriptions of the run and its after-effects.
I kept quiet, half wondering if this had something to do with my lust-addled moment in the changing room. But Nathan had already met with Kim. And he fended off unwanted attentions from his clients all the time, it was part of the job for him.
With every ping, I snatched up my phone, hoping to read that he’d come down with a bug or had pulled a hamstring.
But Nathan kept quiet.
55
Stop Being a Loser Programme
Day One Hundred and Sixty-Seven
It was an excruciating wait until Wednesday morning.
Snowed under with work and stewing in my own embarrassment, I’d missed Joey’s training, but he’d told me Nathan had been at the evening club training, and had popped into his early morning swims.
I walked to meet the Larks with a stomach full of trepidation, not sure if I was more nervous about Nathan being there or Kommando Kim. But I heard the answer long before I could see it, catching up with Isobel, and Mystery Women One and Two lurking at the entrance to the car park, trying to decide whether they dared face going any further.
I left them to it, the furious rant becoming gradually distinguishable as I approached the others, who, instead of standing around in their usual motley group, were lined up in what I supposed was military formation.
Give me strength…
I was going to need it.
‘…Some of you have been WHINING to Coach Comfy about being pushed to do some actual WORK for once! He’s all worried about you! Wah, wah, wah – did you feel a bit TIREDY WIREDY after running THREE WHOLE MILES – HALF the triathlon distance? Did your poor little legs ache for the rest of the day? Did your shoulders feel a little bit sore after doing twenty whole burpees? My heart BLEEDS! Unlike yours, which are too blocked up with post-run PANCAKES to bleed anything! “Oh, Coach Comfy, please tell the mean lady to stop shouting at us and make her be nice instead, she keeps making us run fast, so we can’t gossip or tell each other how fabulous we all are as we cruise in in LAST PLACE!” What is wrong with you women? You have no idea about the true cost of victory!’
‘Ur, Marjory was in the Olympics, and—’
‘I’M NOT FINISHED! If this Marjory was in the Olympics, maybe she can explain that the coach-club relationship is not a democracy. If you get to decide how fast and how far you run, you lose. If I decide, you stand a small chance of not being total failures. And when you cross that line with some even bigger loser behind you, someone who had a nice, friendly coach who thought training should be fun and enjoyable and make you FEEL GOOD, then you’ll be thanking me. Until then, SHUT UP and do what I say. And for every whinge, grumble, complaint or moan you make – to me, to each other or to Coach Comfy – it’s going to get tougher and more ruthless until you learn that there is only one road to victory, and there ain’t a lot of smiles on it. Now. Six K this morning. And I want it done faster than the five you did last time. Weekend’s over, time to put some effort in.’
‘Nothing worse than a woman with a point to prove,’ Selena muttered. So that was ten squats before we’d even left the car park.
We were a morose bunch at breakfast. No one had heard from Nathan, but my report that he was continuing with his other duties was depressing news.
‘Why has he ditched us?’ Bronwyn asked. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘I’m going to call him,’ Dani said, pulling her phone from her fleece pocket. ‘Use my courtroom interrogation skills to get to the bottom of this.’
But interrogation techniques aren’t quite as effective in a voicemail compared to a courtroom, even Dani’s.
‘Maybe we should go round, demand an answer face to face,’ Mel suggested.
‘Only, he makes a rule of keeping his address private, even for clients he forms a close bond with.’ Selena raised one eyebrow. ‘I would know.’
‘Selena, unless anything actually happened between you and Nathan, like, a kiss or him saying he found you attractive, or anything to suggest the infatuation was not one hundred per cent one-sided, it’s probably time you dropped it,’ Bronwyn sighed. ‘Given that everyone here has seen how he acts around Amy, unless he’s also asked to give you personal, private extra coaching, which somehow includes wine and cheese and dancing, lunch out and the kind of marathons that include pyjamas and romantic Christmas films, you’re only making a fool out of yourself.’
For once, Selena was speechless.
She wasn’t the only one.
‘Eh, Ames might know where Nathan lives!’ Mel looked at me, a forkful of sausage halfway to her mouth.
Ames might, but Ames’s intestines shrivelled up like a salty slug at the thought of the Larks trooping round to Nathan’s and demanding to know why he’d ditched them, only to hear his no doubt wholly factual and emotion-free report on how he was accosted in the Leisure Centre changing rooms. Not only would Ames be the fool, not Selena, she’d also be the fool who went so far as to force Nathan to leave the Larks, thrusting Kommando Kim on them instead.
‘Maybe we should instigate a mutiny,’ Bronwyn mused. ‘Kick her out and run it ourselves. Who says a democracy won’t work better?’
‘I say!’ Marjory chipped in around a mouthful of oats. ‘You lot, bickering and blathering like a herd of menopausal sheep. No thank you!’
‘You run the Larks, then,’ Dani said. ‘You and Amy. Surely you know more between you than Power-Krazed Kim.’
‘I know how I can succeed,’ Marjory pointed her spoon at us. ‘But you might have noticed I’m not a natural team player. And I’ve no idea how to teach what I know. Not a clue how to get the best out of you, or find the tipping point where a challenging encouragement becomes a discouraging impossibility.’
‘Amy?’ Dani asked.
‘I don’t think so…’
‘Why not?’
‘Because – no offence, Amy…’ Selena started.
‘Uh oh, prepare to be offended,’ Bronwyn cut in, eyes wide over the rim of her coffee.
Selena ploughed on. ‘First and foremost, a coach needs the respect and trust of their squad. It’s not good enough to be liked. We listen to Nathan because he puts the team first, above the individual. He doesn’t let feelings get in the way. Amy’s all very nice and lovely, and the campaign is fantastic, she’s been brilliant, but when it comes down to it, she’s with the Larks for her own sake, not ours.’
‘Selena, that is harsh, even by your standards,’ Dani scolded.
Selena shrugged. ‘If Amy can swear that, no matter what, she’ll be there on the day and give it her best, then go ahead, I’ll be the first to kick Kim to the kerb.’
I took a deep breath, tried and failed to swallow the lump of self-loathing in my throat. ‘Maybe we should trust Nathan enough to give Kim a chance.’
I expected Selena to gloat, crow ‘I told you so’ or get angry. Seeing her slowly push back her chair and walk out felt even worse.
56
Stop Being a Loser Programme
Day One Hundred and Eighty-Four
For the next three weeks, Nathan didn’t return. After Kim’s second training session, he sent a couple of ambiguous messages to the group saying that he greatly respected Kim as a trainer, that while her methods were different they were effective. He hoped to be back with us soon, but would definitely see us at the triathlon if not before.
&
nbsp; I did see him before, at a Saturday swimming meet, but with parents confined to the viewing area, it wasn’t hard for him to get away with a polite nod of hello from a distance.
That was okay, I kept telling myself. A lesson learnt for my new out and about life: Don’t lean longingly into a friend’s personal space unless you want a permanent, jagged splinter in your heart. I had started the Programme on my own, I could finish it that way. That is, if Mel and Dani let me. They had taken it upon themselves to be my chaperones, reintroducing me into local society, and so far this had included a karaoke night (yes, we did indeed rock out to ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’), spa afternoon and, the previous Tuesday, the biggest, loudest and messiest pancake day celebration ever, at Mel’s house. Joey ate seventeen pancakes, ditching his new training diet for the day in order to beat Jordan’s sixteen. Sean came, along with Tiff’s dad, and Gordon, Tate’s relief carer, so with Mel’s mum too we were a well-rounded gathering.
But time was ticking.
I was doing well, overall, smashing my Programme targets. Totally on track to accompany Joey at his trials, functioning as a nearly-normal human adult. But in six weeks, it would be the triathlon, and while Kommando Kim had certainly improved my fitness through her hideous insult-destroy-and-conquer method, I hadn’t even looked at my swimming costume since the changing room incident, or faced returning to the leisure centre, and had no plan for getting myself back into a pool.
