Dani nodded once. “You’re right.”
I had expected an argument. It was difficult to continue one without opposition.
“I do take your goal seriously,” she said. “The marathon is hard. Training for it from your current base will be harder. I’m not going to lie to you about that, but I’m also not going to make you feel stupid for starting.”
“I don’t feel stupid.”
“Good.”
“I feel underprepared.”
“That’s more useful.”
She turned the tablet so I could see the intake form.
“Your appointment today was meant to be a consultation, not a fitness assessment. We’ll review your health history, schedule, goals, and current activity. If we decide to work together, I’ll assess you tomorrow.”
“At six?”
“If that works.”
“It does.”
She studied me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You keep saying that when something is clearly occurring.”
“I’m deciding whether you’re always this formal.”
“I am speaking normally.”
“Then yes.”
I folded my hands on the table. Dani scrolled through the form.
“You had mild asthma as a child?”
“I haven’t used an inhaler in years.”
“We’ll note it. Any recent pain or dizziness?”
“No.”
The treadmill incident flashed through my mind.
“I didn’t ask about Geraldine,” Dani said.
I refused to react. She continued through questions about sleep, work, stress, and nutrition. The process was more thorough than I had expected. She asked what my workdays looked like during quarter-end reporting. She asked how much time I could realistically devote to training. She asked whether I had access to safe outdoor routes, whether I preferred mornings or evenings, and whether I had anyone who could support me during long runs.
“Tessa,” I said.
“The friend who posted the video?”
“You saw it?”
