“That’s a good idea,” she mumbled, looking down at her shoes.
Wake up an hour earlyto run? Was he mad? Running was something she’d only ever done as a form of punishment, like when her coach had ordered one lap for every free throw she missed. Her aversion to running had created the perfect shot her neighbor admired so much.
“Run with me,” he said.
She shifted the basketball to her hip and tried to look her neighbor up and down surreptitiously. He appeared to be some kind of geriatric iron man, lean and wiry, but still muscular.
“I couldn’t keep up with you,” she said, attempting to hide the truth behind a lighthearted smile. “And I have to get the boys ready for school. We’re going to start homeschooling today, and ... well, there’s just a lot going on. This is a bad time.”
He raised an eyebrow. “On a scale of one to ten, I’d give that excuse a three.”
She felt a prickle of irritation. “Look, here, Mr. ...”
“Call me Reggie.”
“Okay, Reggie. It’s not anexcuse, all right? You said it yourself. I have this whole platoon of boys, and I have to get them ready for school and—”
“Didn’t you just say you were homeschooling?”
“Well. Yes. I did.”
“So school is right here, isn’t it? At home. You don’t have to drive anybody anywhere. You just got the gift ofextra time. Time you can use to exercise. If you really want to, that is.”
Her mouth dropped open. “But—”
He held up his hand, stemming the tide of words about to flow from her mouth. “I am a retired Marine Corps drill instructor, and I have heard every excuse ever devised by the human mind to avoid physical exercise. I know an excuse when I hear one.”
“But—”
He raised an imperious hand again. “And I see before me someone who used to be a damn good athlete. Someone who used to enjoy pushing her body to accomplish great things. And if you want to be that person again, I’ll help you. But if you want to make lame-ass excuses, well, that’s your business. But don’t expect me to call those excuses anything but what they are. Lame. Ass.Excuses.”
Her eyes flared with surprise, followed by a surge of anger. People didnottalk to their neighbors this way in rural Minnesota.
“Is that the official military term?” she asked caustically. “Lame-Ass Excuses?”
“Damn straight,” he said with a sharp nod. “You are suffering from a terrible case of LAE.”
She glared at this man. “And you’re ...”
“A neighbor man sent from God to call you on your bullshit?” he asked with a good-natured grin.
His smile melted her irritation, and she couldn’t help but smile back. “I don’t think we have those where I come from.”
He grinned. “Welcome to the DMV, honey. I’ll be here tomorrow morning at 5:00 a.m. to take you on a run. First we stretch. Then we run. Then we eat protein for breakfast.”
“So you really want me to go running with you every morning at 5:00 a.m.?”
“I really do.” He nodded. “And you can have Sundays off.”
“How very kind of you,” she said, inclining her head in a mock bow. “How far do we run?”
“As far as I tell you.”
“Look,” she eyed him warily, “I don’t want to be Marine Corp fit. I just want to be ... fit-into-my-old-pantsfit.”
“Leave that to me,” he said.
And then a brilliant idea popped into her mind.
