CHAPTER ONE
GREER
My ass hurts.
I pick up the fifty-pound kettlebell and proceed to squat for what feels like the hundredth time.
You like working out.
You’re improving your mood.
You love food.
You have a pint of Cherry Garcia ice cream in the freezer.
Moving your body is good for you.
I repeat my mantra at least three more times as I finish my set. My current client is already lying on the floor, groaning.
“Hell, Greer,” he says. “Day after day, you kill me while I’m here, and for some reason, I just keep coming back.”
“Well, David, that’s my job.”
David owns the building where I work. It started as a health and nutrition studio that my best friend Willa opened, but as the spaces on either side of her studio slowly opened, she added them to her lease. When I told her I wanted to branch into personal training in addition to nutrition, she signed me on as partner, and after many trainings and certifications, here I am.
“Of all the people you could have chosen to work out with today, I can’t believe you picked me,” He laughs and rolls up to sit.
I take the spot next to him, sticking my legs out straight and reach for my toes.
I take part in at least one client’s workout a day. I switch it up from time to time, since no two clients have the same workout.
“I needed a challenge today.”
Did I really?
Yes and no.
I needed something to push me. To trick my brain into thinking of anything other than my personal life.
That’s why I love what I do so much. I control the outcome when it comes to what goes in my mouth and my body movements. If I stick to the plan, it will work. The way I take care of my body is all up to me. Only me. Do I have days at home where I eat milk and cookies and vegetable fried rice takeout? Of course I do. I don’t believe in cutting out food. I believe in balance. Even if it can be a real bitch sometimes to maintain.
Plus, David’s workout was an hour compared to a lot of my thirty- or forty-five-minute clients, and today, I needed the full sixty minutes of distraction.
Unfortunately for me, it didn’t matter if I had a fifty-pound weight on my thighs during my wall sits. The question on my mind still remains.
Why do men have to suck so damn bad?
It shouldn’t be that hard to find a good guy.
I know they’re out there. My best friends are living proof that they are. I’ve seen them in action. I’ve just yet had the chance to date one.
Honestly, there was one who came close. I even went as far as to take him to a work retreat once upon a time. But he claimed I was too intense for him. He wanted a laid-back life. Not one filled with goals and working out every day and precooked meals.
I get it. My lifestyle isn’t for everyone. That’s just fine. No two people are supposed to live the same life or have the exact same goals. We’re meant to be different, but it does help if your partner gets you, supports you, and wants you to reach your goals even if they don’t look like their own. That was my only boyfriend who gave me an actual reason—shit. This is exactly why I needed the full hour of self-torture. Once I get going on this mindset, I obsess over it.
I’m not boy crazy or man crazy or whatever you want to call it. I just want to find my person and make a life with him.
It sounds a lot simpler than it really is.
