“I don’t feel like I’ve handled it at all.” Confessing that to her feels strange, like I’m letting her in somewhere I usually keep people away from. “I keep saying I’m going to start with a therapist, but I haven’t pulled the trigger and done it yet.”
Charlie hums. “Why not?”
“Because then I’d have to say it out loud,” I mutter. “And it’s easier to just keep running.” I wipe some sweat off my face before starting in on my last set. “Why do you hate me so?”
“It’s a gift.” She hands me my water bottle. “Keep going.”
After I finish the set, she moves me to another superset duo of exercises. Cable face pulls and side planks with reach through. It’s like she thought, “What would be the most brutal workout for Rhiannon the morning after her thirtieth birthday party?” and went with everything she came up with.
After we’re done with the strength block, she grins. “Conditioning time.”
I bend over, hands on my thighs as I suck in some deep breaths. “Just let me die.”
“Nope.” She pops the P. “And I think a therapist might help. I can’t send you to mine, but I can ask around to get you a name if you’d like? Someone on the outside if you don’t want to use the team’s therapist.”
I definitely do not. I know that there’s a patient-therapist confidentiality thing. But I’d still like to keep it on the down-low. “I’d love it if they weren’t a rugby fan.”
She laughs. “No desire to sign autographs while getting your mental health help. Got it.” She pretends to tick off something on her notepad. “Anything else?”
“I think I’d prefer a man, but I’m not sure.”
“Trial and error,” she says. “Not everyone gels with the first therapist they meet. I wish someone had told me about that before I started going. Think of it like trying a pair of gym shoes, or a car before you buy.”
Makes sense.
“Every Minute On The Minute for ten minutes. Odd minutes burpees, even minutes kettle bell swings.”
“Aren’t you supposed to do one of those while I do the other?”
She shrugs. “You can handle it. High output with thinking under fatigue.”
She’s wrong; I can’t handle it. And explaining the purpose of the specific exercises to me doesn’t make them suck any less. But I get a few sets in, even if they aren’t EMOM.
By the time she lets me start my cooldown and stretch, my body has shut down, but I’ve only puked twice. My brain has wandered to Robert and what he’s doing while I’m here. On holiday, he did Pilates with me in the morning. If we lived together, would he keep me company on my morning stretches?
The two of us getting sweaty on the floor of his home gym, after enjoying a nice cuppa and breakfast together.
“Rhiannon?” Charlie’s voice is sharp, like she’s had to say my name a couple of times to make me pay attention.
“Hmm?”
“Where’d you go? You stopped paying attention and haven’t moved from pigeon pose for a couple of minutes.”
“I love pigeon pose.”
“No one loves pigeon pose that much.”
I move to stretch my aching shoulders.
“Where’d you go?”
I shake my head. “Just got distracted.”
“If I had that hunk of a man waiting for me at home, I’d be distracted too. Leave the boy out of the brain at training.” She manipulates my body to deepen the stretch. “And off the field. Last thing you need is a concussion because you’ve got dreamy love hearts popping out of your brain.”
When I change my stretch again, she pats my shoulder. “I’m happy for you though, love. You seem more settled than I’ve ever seen you.” She drops her voice. “And it’s good to see you making a decision for yourself for once.”
Wow. My face flushes even warmer than it already is, but I can’t find any words to reply.
