Training in Love (3 page)

“We
need to find a dietitian or nutritionist or anything that can help Olly,” Linda
sums up. “Don’t bother mentioning her mother, who undoubtedly has contacts,
because it’s out of the question.”

Marco
nods.

All
of a sudden a whack on the back puts me two steps back in the room. “Oww!” I
grumble, trying to massage my back as far as my hand will reach while Nic comes
into the room.

“Hi
people!” Then after having glanced around the room, “What are all these long
faces?”

“They
aren’t long faces, they’re thinking faces,” Linda answers.

“Thinking
about what?”

I
see Linda turn towards me with a mute question in her eyes, but it’s wasted
because Marco is already answering, “Olly wants to lose weight and needs a
dietitian, a nutritionist or something like that.”

“Oh!”
Goes Nic, and then turns to me flashing the same, identical slow smile as his
brother a few seconds before and says, “Fine,” in exactly the same way, I
swear. Talk about weird twin things…

“I
imagine that you’ve heard about dietitians only on television, but maybe your
mother?” I suggest hopefully. When I set my mind to something, I like to take
action right away and do everything immediately.

The
twins look at each other for a moment and then Nic says, as Marco nods, “I
don’t think our mother has ever been on a diet in her life…”

“Hmph!”
I remark, crossing my arms. “That figures!”

“Tomorrow
I’ll ask her about it, one of her friends must have done some diet…” Says
Marco.

I
nod, a little deflated because, stupidly, I would have wanted to leave here
with a name and phone number, but encouraged that all three will try to ask
someone. How long will it take to find a dietitian? If nothing else, I can fish
a name out of the Yellow Pages, but I’d prefer to find someone with a sort of ‘recommendation’.

“Thanks
guys, now I’ll go.” I take two steps towards the door. As he moves to get out
of the way Nic says, “Oh, you know Olly, that Gianca said you’re nice?”

On
hearing these words I can’t resist crinkling up my eyes and smiling, then Nic,
laughing, turns towards Marco and Linda seated on the bed. “And he said that
Linda is a mega-galactic hotty!” He laughs even harder when his brother’s face
darkens. Marco throws a pillow at him and grumbles, “He’ll never come into this
house again…”

Linda
doesn’t laugh either, she doesn’t seem pleased with the compliment. She doesn’t
say anything and glances at me, but during the exchange between the twins I
hope no-one has noticed that my shoulders have dropped a couple of centimeters.
I can lose as much weight as I want, but I will never be like Linda.

3.

The
following Wednesday I’m at the house of Elenina, a ten-year-old girl that I
half babysit, half help with homework when Linda phones me.

“Olly?”

“Yes?”

“I’m
at the twins’ house, I’ll pass you Nic.” Nic?

“Who
is it?” Elenina asks me pulling on my sleeve and chewing on a pencil.

“It’s
Linda,” I whisper. I always say it’s Linda when I’m at Elenina’s. That way
she’ll leave me alone when I’m on the phone. The kid has had a kind of extreme
veneration for Linda since I’ve known her, because in her eyes Linda’s the
incarnation of a fairytale princess, with her long, blond hair and eyes as blue
as the sky.

As
if scripted, she shuts up and watches me, keeping the pencil in her mouth.

“Olly?”
The voice I hear now is Nic’s deep one. I stand up to put a little distance
between me and the little girl, so she won’t find me out.

“Yes?”

“Have
you found anyone yet?” He asks me without specifying, then adds, “For that
thing about losing weight…”

“Ahh,
no, that is yes. I went to a dietitian yesterday, but I didn’t like him. Do you
have someone?” I ask hopefully.

Monday
morning I arrived at the cafè where I work every morning with the intention of
asking all the customers if they could recommend a good dietitian – to speed
everything up. Unfortunately I listened to ‘Madame Barbieri’, our oldest and
dearest customer, who immediately gave me the number of her daughter’s
dietitian, saying he was wonderful. Not having ever seen her daughter, I wanted
to believe it. Yesterday afternoon, after going to my appointment with this
mysterious doctor, I realized that I must never, ever trust Madame Barbieri. In
fact, at his office I encountered a ball of lard who was essentially – I’m not
kidding – far more overweight than I am, who measured my height and weighed me.
After that he gave me four faded photocopies and asked me for ninety euros for
his services, which lasted well under thirty minutes. As soon as I got home I
binned the photocopies and cursed Madame Barbieri a couple of times for the money
thrown down the toilet. I already know I won’t let myself be treated by a man
like that. First off, he didn’t seem very professional in general. Second, I
don’t believe that a man who evidently has more of a problem with food than I
do can teach me to eat correctly and help me to solve my problem. He’s not the
right person, I knew it the minute I saw him, but to turn on my heel even
before the check-up seemed impolite. This time I want to do things right, so
it’s really important to find the right person, the person who will follow me,
who will inspire trust and competency and who I can lean on when I need to. For
this person I’d be willing to spend a lot more that ninety euros a month.

“Yes,
actually yesterday I remembered someone and today I found his phone number and
called him to check and he’s available.”

“Really?”
I’m almost yelling and move farther away from the little girl, who seeing my
expression is straining her ears even more to catch Linda’s voice.

I’m
happy and positive, I don’t know why, but if Nic thinks that this person is
right, I have the feeling that he is. Besides, I’m so pleased that he made the
effort for me, someone who is, after all, no-one to him. “Quick, give me the
number and I’ll make an appointment!”

“Wait,
though,” he checks me briskly. “I have to clear up a couple of things first.
He’s not a dietitian, he’s a personal trainer. And he’s our age. And… no, he
hasn’t worked with anyone up to now.”

“Oh,”
my enthusiasm begins to dissolve.

“Listen
Olly,” he continues with new heat, “I’ll tell you the truth. The truth as I see
it. For me you should try him. It’s true he hasn’t ever worked with anyone,
you’d be the first, but, as I remember him, he’s an extremely serious person.
If he takes you on he’ll keep after you.  He’ll take good care of you, you’ll
see. Also, he’s always been a sports lover - really good in everything. He got
his license as a personal trainer and has always been passionate about people
taking care of their bodies and physical wellbeing… He’s really right for the
job.”

“Hmm.”
My enthusiasm evaporates completely. A personal trainer? I trust Nic, but a
personal trainer… I’d prefer someone with a college degree, an office and a
white coat…

And
then, he’s our age. And... he’s a friend of Nic’s. I can already imagine some
bodybuilder, all muscles, with super-white gym shoes and unnaturally tan – even
now, in mid-February, when you freeze in this city and don’t see a ray of sunshine
for four months.

“Olly,
trust me… I think you’ll be happy with him. Give him a chance,” Nic insists.

“Is
he a friend of yours?” I ask, trying not to give away my total skepticism.

“He
was a classmate of mine in high-school, then we lost track of one another. I
know he was out of the country for a while. Now he’s here. Through some mutual
friends I was able to find his number and speak with him just today.”

I
remain silent. I am scrambling to find a plausible excuse to tell him in a nice
way that I don’t want a bodybuilder with a tanning-bed tan to take me on.

“Anyway,
you can ask him yourself for his exact resumé… Unless you don’t feel like
calling him, in that case forget it, but I thought it would be a great idea,
given that in any case you have to do some sport if you want to lose weight… and
knowing him, what his personality is like… I have the feeling that he would
really help you.” Noticing my continuing silence, Nic is speaking excitedly, in
an effort to persuade me. I think he’s guessed that this idea doesn’t convince
me. “Also, being the first one, like his guinea-pig, you could bargain a little
on the price. And then there’s his beginner’s enthusiasm to keep in mind!”

I
laugh. “You know Nic? You shouldn’t have done engineering, you’re wasted as an
engineer. You’d be a fantastic salesman!” Besides, I feel too guilty to shoot
down his friend just like that, after all the trouble he’s gone to.

“This
means you want to give him a chance? You’ll meet him?”

“Yeah,
sure.” Meeting him once won’t cost me anything, certainly not ninety euros!
I’ll get rid of the tanned guy with some excuse after having met him once, I
owe at least one time to Nic.

“You
won’t regret it!” Says Nic happily. He dictates the information on his friend
while I take notes on a page quickly ripped out of one of Elenina’s notebooks
and then hang up the phone.

“Who
is…” Elenina begins, straining to read my piece of paper upside down. “An…drea…
Co…lucci?”

“He’s
a friend of Linda’s,” I answer, telling myself that with the degrees of
separation, in a certain sense, it’s true. Ok, it’s not true, but just to get
it over with and have her concentrate on her homework in the shortest time
possible.  A white lie for her own good.

For
my part, I call Andrea Colucci right away, that same evening, once I get home. Better
to get it over with quick, this thing. That way I can dedicate my energies to
the search for a person who’s pale and has a white coat, like I want. He
answers immediately and we make a plan to see each other tomorrow afternoon at
three at the bike track near the lake.

***

I get to
the lake five minutes early. Today the sky is gray, but there’s a little sun. Tuesday
and Thursday afternoon I’m free because Elenina goes back to school after
lunch, while Saturday and Sunday I don’t work at all, not even in the morning
because the girls on the weekend shift are working at the cafè.

I
park the car on the side of the road near the beginning of the bike track, like
everyone else who comes here because there isn’t a real parking lot. Now
though, perhaps because it’s an afternoon in the middle of the week, there are
only two cars other than mine. In order to pretend to take this thing seriously
and not make it look like this is the first and last time we’ll see each other,
I’ve put on a track suit and gym shoes and tied my hair in a ponytail.  I’ve dressed
warmly underneath so I don’t have to wear a jacket over the track suit, also
because I don’t have a sports jacket. The truth is that I’ve always done so
little in the way of sports that I don’t have any really suitable clothing. I
sigh deeply and turn off the car. I rest both my hands and my forehead on the
steering wheel and grip it, taking deep breaths for a few seconds, then I make
the effort and get out of the car. When Nic’s friend gets here, he’ll see me
and understand.

I
walk towards the beginning of the bike path and see - a few meters in front of
me on the other side of the track - a door of one of the two parked cars open.
A very tall and very blond boy gets out. The closer I get and the closer he
comes, looking at me, the more I begin to pray desperately that it’s not him…
Please
God, if you exist, don’t let it be him, don’t let it be him
…

But
I already know that it’s him, in fact when I find myself in front of him, at
twenty centimeters, he raises his arm, extends his hand and says, “Olivia?”

And
I divert my eyes from his face and stare at his hand, huge, and I begin to
curse myself and curse Nic, to curse my whole life and curse the whole world
because in front of me is the most beautiful man that I have ever seen, ever. Someone
might ask, are you crazy? If he’s gorgeous you should be happy since he could
become your personal trainer – something he most certainly won’t become,
because I refuse. Instead I’m not happy, not at all. Because if he were to
become my personal trainer he would see me in awful shape, I mean, more awful
than usual, and already the norm is embarrassing enough. And then, I’m lousy at
any sport, except one. But that one is really the last one I’d accept to do in
front of this guy. Let’s say that generally speaking, from a sporting point of
view I can barely walk.  And I often fall over just walking.

Anyway
I have to do something, so I put my hand in his and nod, looking him up and
down. I gaze into his light blue eyes.

If
he says, “Olivia, like the lady iin Popeye” I’ll leave immediately and will
feel justified.

But he
doesn’t say it, he just says, “I’m Andrea.”

And
the name Andrea assumes a whole new meaning. Suddenly it becomes beautiful, it
becomes synonymous with blue and yellow and a fast-beating heart.

He’s
very tall, I have to tilt my head up to look him in the face, and his face is
practically perfect. His hair is a very pale blond and the blue of his eyes is
so clear it seems transparent. He’s dressed in black from head to toe and… no,
his gym shoes aren’t super-blinding-white. You can see that they’re used and
grayish, normal. And no, he is not unnaturally tanned. His skin is white, but
on his high cheekbones there’s a veil of ruddiness, caused by the atrocious
cold we’re subjecting ourselves to. I look him in the face again and can’t make
sense of it. I can’t make sense of the perfect line of his large eyes,
straight, well-proportioned nose and light eyebrows which catch the reflection
of this dim winter sun.

I
don’t know how long we stand shaking hands, my tongue is glued to the roof of
my mouth. He has kept his eyes on my face for the whole time that I’ve been
staring at him, it’s just that what he sees is something completely different… We’re
together for less than a minute and I’m already uncomfortable.

“Do
you want to come over to my car? I have some material in the trunk and I’d like
to assess the situation before starting.”

No,
absolutely not. We aren’t going to assess any situation, because you will not
be my personal trainer anyway. Thanks for coming, bye-bye.

I
walk behind him and for the first time in my life (I swear! I swear by
everything I care about!) I check out the backside of a guy. I can’t help
myself, really. He turned and walked towards his car and my eyes looked down
all by themselves, of their own accord. Anyway you can’t see anything, the
windbreaker he’s wearing is long enough to cover it, and besides, his sweat
pants are a bit large. I lift my eyes quickly, as though he might catch me in the
act even with his back turned. A broad back certainly. His hair is much shorter
at the nape, and longer towards the top of his head. In any case, I think he’d
look good even with his hair shaved down to zero or half-way down his back.

We
get to the trunk and, as soon as he opens it, he pulls out a digital scale and
puts it on the ground at my feet.

“The
first thing we’ll do is weigh you, to establish a starting point and some objectives,”
he says standing up.

I
lift my gaze towards him and for the first time since I set eyes on his perfect
form, I feel like laughing. In fact his idea is so funny I giggle. “I don’t
think so.”

He
is surprised and raises both eyebrows.

“So
what is this? The royal ‘we’? Or did you intend to weigh yourself too
to
establish a starting point and some objectives
?”

“We
have to weigh you Olivia, it’s important. And if you want me to weigh myself
too, I don’t have any problem doing it. Besides, I have a few goals to reach
too. We could motivate each other.”