It’s the new “usual” guy at the register. I don’t see Eric, but I assume he’s in the back. There are also two baristas working today. Business must be picking up—good for them. I order my large almond milk latte and notice in the bakery case there are the vegan, gluten-free scones I taste tested. “And one of the scones,” I say, acknowledging Eric’s healthy menu effort with a sale.
As I carry my scone over to my table, the guy watching my stuff says, “Be careful of the scone. I saw they were vegan and gluten-free.” He makes an expression of mock horror.
“That rumor is true, but they also happen to be very delicious,” I volley back.
“Is that so?” He leans back a little in his chair and gives me a not-so-subtle once-over. “I take it you’re a healthy eater.”
“I do my best.” Ugh. I don’t really want to get into a conversation with him except to thank him for watching my laptop bag.
“There’s this vegan place in my hood—”
“Sorry to interrupt. Here’s your latte, Allison.” Eric sets down the oversized mug and saucer on my table. He smiles and nods at the guy next to me, as if to acknowledge that he knows he’s interrupting, but doesn’t seem that sorry about it.
“Thanks! I didn’t realize you were here,” I say, smiling up at him.
“Yep.” He points to my plate. “And I see you ordered a scone. So you were telling the truth when you said you liked it.” His tone is teasing.
“Of course I was.” I laugh. “So how are you?”
He gives a low chuckle. “A little tired. Mind if I sit down and join you for a minute?”
“Not at all.”
As Eric sits in the empty chair opposite me, my minder seems to mind a bit, but he must know he’s been beat because he turns back to his book.
“Why so tired? Late night last night?” I ask.
“Nah. More like an early morning. Had to get up early and make the scones.” He grins, and then he shrugs one shoulder as if getting the kinks out. “And a hard CrossFit session last night. My shoulders are a little tight.”
I note that they’re also rather broad. “How long have you been doing CrossFit?”
“A few years now. I started getting into it when I was working in finance. It changed my body and eating habits, and I guess in a way it changed my life.”
“So, is it as cultish as I hear it is?” I tease him.
He laughs. “Yes. But it’s also an amazing workout. It covers everything—strength, cardio, mobility. But what I really like is its focus on community.”
“What do you mean?”
“I assume you belong to a gym.” I nod and he continues, “Okay, so how many people have you met there who know your name?”
“The people who work there, I guess. The front desk person, some of the instructors.”
“Fair enough. But do you know the names of the people in your classes? Do you talk to them?”
“Hmm … sort of?” I think back to the mid-morning weekday yoga class I recently took, and I’m not sure if it was friendly chitchat so much as sizing up the new person—me. “But I tend to go early in the morning. So it’s more of a let’s-get-this-over-with-so-we-can-get-to-work-on-time crowd.”
Eric nods knowingly. “I went to my gym for years and I couldn’t tell you the name of the person on the spin bike next to me. But at my box, everyone introduces themselves before the WOD and you cheer each other on. It’s very motivating and encouraging. A totally different scene. I don’t think I could go back to the globo-gyms.”
“Box? WOD? Globo-gyms?” I laugh. “Yes, it definitely sounds like you’ve drunk the Kool-Aid.”
He puts up his hands in surrender. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Mock if you must, but until you’ve tried it, you don’t know how life-changing it is.” He points to my laptop. “Enough about me. What are you up to today?”
“Speaking of exercise, I’m researching upcoming half-marathons.”
“A half-marathon.” He gives a low whistle. “Good for you! I run about six miles and after that I’m done.”
“Six miles is nothing to sneeze at.”
“After I did an Ironman, I was done. My knees can’t take it. In fact, that might be the only thing I don’t like about CrossFit, when we have to sprint.”
“Hold on, there!” I put my hand up and lean forward. “You’ve done an Ironman?”
He laughs. “Well, I haven’t done one in a while.”
“Still.”
He shrugs and smiles at the compliment, but unfortunately our conversation is interrupted by Brian who leans over our table and says, “Hey, Eric. Sheila wants to take her break, but we’re still busy with customers.” Brian looks at me and says, “Sorry.”
Actually, I’m surprised Eric has been sitting with me for so long when the place is the busiest I’ve seen it.
“That’s the end of my break.” Eric slaps his hand on the table. “Duty calls. We’ll catch up later?”
“Sure thing.”
Brian gives me another apologetic smile, and then they head back to the counter. As I open my laptop, to my relief, the guy who had been sitting next to me has left and I can now focus on my research in peace. While it takes a second for the screen to appear, I recall that Eric said he used to work in finance, though he didn’t say when or doing what. And while CrossFit has been around for a while, it hasn’t been that long. I sneak a glance at Eric behind the counter. So what’s he doing here managing this place? Could it be that he also lost a job? I don’t want to pry since I’m sensitive to this issue—much easier to discuss running and workout trends. With that thought, I start researching half-marathons.
There are some upcoming races in the Chicago area, but they all seem to be in the summer. Summer in Chicago is my favorite season because the entire city comes alive. After a brutal winter, Chicagoans emerge from hibernation, and it’s a hundred-day-long party. Everyone is outside picnicking and watching movies in the parks; sunbathing, riding bikes, and running along the lakefront; partying in boats on the lake; and attending festivals that put other cities’ festivals to shame. However, it’s also known for high temperatures and being disgustingly humid, and for my first big comeback race, I’m not sure I want to do one in the middle of August.
Out of curiosity, I research races outside of Chicago and, even more fun, races outside of the Midwest. What if I did a destination race? I’ve always wanted to have that feather in my cap. Perhaps the London marathon is calling. Getting more fired up, I start looking at races overseas. Though all these destination races sound exciting and exotic, the sobering truth hits me—I don’t have anyone to go with. Who would help me back to my hotel? What if I got injured in a foreign country? Who would take me to the doctor and take care of me afterwards? No one. That’s who. My initial euphoria dissipates. Looks like it’s going to be the Chicago half-marathon in August for me.
I must have a disappointed look on my face because when Eric walks by, he asks, “Why so glum?”
“I guess I’m running the Chicago half-marathon in August,” I say without much enthusiasm.