*
My mom has actually told me very little about Garth, just that he used to be a trainer at the local Lucille Roberts gym. He had to stop for a while and is now getting back into it. He’s very cheap for an in-home personal trainer—$30 an hour. I just hope this isn’t a case of “You get what you pay for.”
I pull up to the house and see a white Prius parked in my driveway. My new trainer is ten minutes early. Me likey. As I get out of my car, he does the same, and I get my first look at the man I will be spending two hours a week with.
I wish I could tell you that everything turned to slow motion and “Dream Weaver” started playing in my head as he whipped his hair around and flashed me a dazzling smile, but that would be lying.
Garth is about 5'6" and mostly bald, and he looks like he’s in his midfifties. He reminds me a bit of the actor Michael Chiklis from The Shield.
As I rearrange my expectations in my head, he walks over and guess what? He does have a dazzling smile! It makes me like him immediately.
“Hi, Jennifer, I’m Garth.” He shakes my hand and nearly crushes it.
“Ow. Hi, Garth. That’s a good grip you’ve got there.”
“Oh, good gravy, I’m sorry,” he says and lightens up his vise grip immediately. “I always forget to take it down a notch for the girls.”
“No problem. Clearly I need to toughen up a bit.”
“Well, that’s what I’m here for.” He smiles and follows me to the front door.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask while throwing my purse on the hall table.
“Nope. Thanks. I always bring my own.” He proudly holds up a gallon jug full of water. Clearly Garth is old school, and fancy water bottles are not his style.
“Umm, why don’t I show you our workout area and then I’ll run up and change.”
“Sounds good.” Garth smiles again. “After you, my good woman.”
As I lead him down to the basement, I wonder just how old school he is. Not for nothing, but I’ve been at Curves for five years. That’s some pretty advanced stuff.
Ron’s Gym and Tan is located in a corner of our basement, right next to the laundry room. It consists of a treadmill, a bench press, free weights, a mat, and one of those big exercise balls.
“This is fantastic!” Garth declares, and it only takes me a second to realize he is not kidding.
“Really?” I ask. “Do we need any other equipment?”
“No. This is perfect. Why don’t you get changed, and I’ll lay out a workout plan.” He actually sounds excited.
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”
As I run up the stairs to my bedroom, I wonder what I’ve gotten myself into.
*
I’ll admit I have a somewhat acerbic way of presenting myself, but I had no idea how many parents I could offend with just one email. Actually, it wasn’t that many, but it only takes one to stir the pot. Nina calls me just as I am getting out of the shower after my workout.
“Oh, my God, what did you say in your class email?” she screams.
“Just the usual stuff. Why?” I toss my wet towel in the hamper and head toward my closet.
“I just got off the phone with Asami Chang and she is pi-issed!”
“About what?” I ask, rifling through my T-shirts.
“She says it was an inappropriate way to address kindergarten parents.”
“So?”
“So, was it?”
“Probably. But I can’t believe anyone took it seriously.”
Nina sighs. “That’s what I thought. But you know your, um … humor is sometimes lost on people. Asami wants you to step down as class mom and let her take over.”
“Well, I think she is absolutely right. I am not fit to liaise with parents.” I make a mental note to send Asami a basket of fruit.
“Not so fast, funny girl. You promised me you would do this.”
“Yes, well, the people have spoken. I’m not wanted on the voyage.”
“I want you on the voyage. I think it will be good for you to meet some people, and I know Max loves it.”
“Ooooh. Good one, bringing Max into it. What about what’s-her-name?”
“Asami Chang. I’ll deal with her. So we’re good?”
“Define ‘good.’”
“And you’ll tone down your emails?”
“Not a chance.”
Nina laughs. “There’s my girl. How was your new trainer?”
“Interesting,” I say. “Different from Curves, that’s for sure.”
“Different, good, or different, bad?”
“Well, I certainly haven’t done a burpee in a long time.”
Nina cracks up. “A burpee? What the hell is that?”
“I’d really have to show you. One thing’s for sure, my ass is going to be sore tomorrow.”
“Well, that’s a good thing. Okay, I gotta run. Remember, play nice with the parents!”
I hang up and pull on my jeans. I admire Nina for the way she successfully navigates both sides of the fence. She is the perfectly perfect ideal of what the PTA president should be, but she can also slum it with hoi polloi. She is this cute little five-foot-tall dynamo with skin the color of cappuccino and a very short Afro that she keeps threatening to take “native.” She’s like the bunny that never runs out of batteries. I don’t know where she gets her energy. Being president of the PTA is not a job for sissies. It’s a full-time, relentless piece of crap that very few people would want to inflict upon themselves. But year after year Nina manages to squeeze it into what I know is a full schedule running her graphic design business.
She and I met about ten years ago at a bicycle shop. It was so random. I was looking at cycling gloves and she was getting a new tire rim. A man walked into the store and announced to no one in particular that he had a loose nut. I swear to God, at the exact same moment we both said, “Well, you should see a doctor about that.” And that was it, soul mates for life.
Nina is a single mom, but you’d never know it. She is totally on top of things and never complains about being alone although I can tell she still carries a torch for Sid, the father of her daughter, Chyna. He left her two weeks before Chyna was born and basically fell off the face of the earth, but she still hopes he will come back. I’m not sure I understand why because he sounds like a total skeeze. But the heart wants what it wants, so she has kept the candle burning for lo these twelve years. I’ve tried to set her up with a few guys—mostly customers from my hubby’s sporting goods store—but no one has caught her fancy. I guess it’s hard to measure up to the stellar example that was Sid.
Chyna is just like her mom—petite, dynamic, and full of shit. I can’t wait till she’s old enough to babysit for me.
We bonded as single moms, but even after I hooked up with Ron we stayed close. In fact, Vivs and Laura used to tag-team babysit for Chyna.
* * *
To: Parents
From: JDixon
Date: 9/18
Subject: curriculum night party
Hello, fellow parents,