“You must really like protein,” I said, taking a seat on a barstool. Hudson unzipped the duffle and took out two plastic grocery bags.
“My body likes protein,” he corrected. “Your body likes protein, too, but it doesn’t know it, yet.”
“I don’t know about protein, but I’m pretty sure my body would like an Egg McMuffin.”
He took out a package of eggs and pointed them at me. “Don’t ever talk about that fast food place in front of me. You understand?”
He stared me down, and I blinked. “What’re you doing?”
“I’m making us breakfast. Where’s your frying pan?”
“Under the stove,” I said and jumped up, realizing my mistake. Too late. He found my cup and coffee pot, with steam still rising from them. He held them up for a second but didn’t look my way. I could feel the disapproval coming off him in waves, though. Without saying a word, he poured both down the sink and then retrieved a frying pan from the drawer. I thought I heard him sigh, but I wasn’t sure.
He separated a dozen eggs and scrambled the whites, pouring the yolks down the sink. He took a bottle of olive oil from his bag and poured some into the pan, followed by the eggs. “No bagels in your bag?” I asked.
“Steel cut oats,” he said, pulling out a package of oatmeal. Blech. It was like a scene fromOliver Twist. More? No way.
“I’m not really hungry.”
He pointed the spatula at me. “You have to eat six times a day. You’re in training now.”
Oh, yes. I had forgotten about the training. I was in training to get my husband back. I wasn’t certain how eating egg whites and oatmeal would help me do that, however. “Does Jennifer Lawrence eat six times a day?”
“We don’t care about Jennifer Lawrence.”
I was pretty sure I couldn’t do any better than looking like Jennifer Lawrence. Steve would go apeshit over Jennifer Lawrence. “But if she doesn’t eat egg whites…” I started.
Hudson put my breakfast in front of me on a plate and handed me a fork. “Focus on you, not celebrities. You have one body; honor it. So, eat up. Your body is an engine, and it needs the proper fuel to run correctly.”
I looked at the gross breakfast, and I fantasized about IHOP’s all you can eat pancakes. “I’m not sure I need to run. Couldn’t I just walk instead? Isn’t that good enough?”
“No more walking, Eliza. You’ve wasted too many years walking. Now it’s all about the running.” He shoveled egg whites into his mouth and pointed at my plate for me to do the same. I pinched my nose and took a bite. It slimed its way down my throat.
“Not even salt?” I asked, but he ignored me.
He finished his eggs and did the dishes. It was the first time a male had ever washed a dish in my house, and I was transfixed by the sight. After he finished, he pointed at my plate, again. “I can’t,” I said. “I’m too full, and I feel my engine running already.”
Hudson rolled his eyes. “Fine. Let’s get going.”
“Where are we going?”
“To train.”
“Can we pick up bagels first?”
Hudson lectured me for fifteen minutes about my attitude and my impermeable, bloated fat cells. There was a long section in his diatribe about bad carbs, and he rounded it out with accusations of visceral fat. Despite all of that, I was hungry. I wasn’t joking about the Egg McMuffin and the bagel. I wondered how long I was going totrainwith Hudson before I could sneak off to stuff my face. Sure, I knew I wasn’t being reasonable if I wanted to win back my husband with newfound tightness, but becoming a gym rat skinny bitch was a steep learning curve, and I had just begun.
I hid the bag of cash in the salad spinner in the cabinet above the refrigerator and followed Hudson out of the house. He drove us up into the mountains for our early morning training session at a popular running path. Even though it was pretty quiet outside, the path was filled with running, duck-lipped women. Hudson opened my car door and handed me a bottle of water. He put his hand on my lower back, and we walked to the path, getting on the conveyer belt of Southern Californians communing with landscaped nature, which was decorated with dog poop bag dispensers every hundred yards.
For all of my complaining, I was grateful for the company and the walk. The morning was cool and quiet with a pleasant breeze, and it relaxed me. The path slanted downward, making the walk a breeze. Maybe getting into shape would be easier than I had expected.
“I like this,” I told Hudson.
“See? Your body is already thanking you.”
“You’re welcome, body,” I said, happily. We were being passed left and right by little tushies in tight yoga pants. I tried to ignore them and avoided looking down at my thighs, which were twice the diameter of any other thigh on the mountain. Occasionally, women would look from me to Hudson and back again, as if they were trying to figure out why he was with me. It hurt my feelings and made me feel great at the same time. Eat your heart out, little tushies!
“Ready for sprints?” Hudson asked.
