Page 6 of The Weight Of It All
“I have to work tomorrow,” I admitted, trying not to sound like a whiney baby. “And I can’t turn up at the office and not be able to move.”
“What exactly does a financial actuary for one of the country’s biggest banks do?”
Oh, so he read my personal information sheet I filled out yesterday. “I study statistics and trends to manage potential risks.”
He blinked. “Potential risks?”
I nodded. “Yes. I evaluate the likelihood of future events that would impact our industry.”
Reed made a thoughtful face. “Interesting.”
“You’re the first person I’ve ever met to call it that.”
“Really?”
“Most people think it’s boring, but I actually enjoy it. I like numbers. They’re constant, and the answers are invariable.”
“Even in a hypothetical event that may or may not happen?”
Now it was me who stared at him. My God, he understood what I did? “Yes, even then.”
He nodded slowly as a smile played at his lips. “I like that.”
“You like numbers?”
“Maths was always my favourite subject at school,” he answered. “Well, sport, then maths.”
“I hated sport.”
He smiled. “Well, you did great today. Nailed the equipment. Did you have a chance to look over the diet plan I gave you?”
“Yeah. I intended to go shopping later today, but I think I might just go home and die first. I’m already starting to feel sore.” I rotated my shoulder and regretted it immediately. “Ow.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, you’re going to be sore. But, and this is only a suggestion… go shopping before you get home. Once you get home, showered, and sitting down, the very last thing you’ll feel like doing is grocery shopping.” Then he added brightly, “Plus, you can get some Epsom salts or another muscle soak. Have you got a bath at home?”
“Yes.” Though I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually had a bath.
“It will help. A hot bath with magnesium salts and a drop or two of lavender right before bed, and you’ll sleep like a baby.”
I reluctantly agreed. “Anything that helps has to be a good thing, I guess.”
Reed’s perfect smile beamed. “Excellent. So, take it easy tomorrow. Do the stretches I showed you and some gentle walking, and that will help. I promise you, Henry, if you do three sessions a week, by the end of next week, you’ll see and feel the difference. I’m not going to lie to you: it’s not goingto be easy. You will hurt; you will want to never come back. But youwillcome back. You want this, and you can do this.”
I nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
His smile died and his brow furrowed. “You okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
“No snarky comment.”
“That’s just because I’ve gone into an exercise-induced shock. Loss of humour is the first sign of impending death.”
He gave me a weak smile and gently clapped my shoulder. “I will see you the day after tomorrow, yeah? 7:00 a.m.”
I nodded and winced. “Nodding hurts, so can I give one blink for yes and two blinks for no? I’m pretty sure my eyelids don’t hurt, though it’s highly likely I feel so sore, my brain has sent out neural blocks and I can no longer feel pain.”
He laughed again, just as someone called his name. He checked his watch, told me he’d see me next time, and went off to see his other clients. I limped to my car and set about driving to the nearest Coles. I tried not to think about the pain, lamely telling myself I was changing my life for the better. And that worked just fine and dandy until I actually had to get out of the car and walk into the supermarket.
