Page 5 of Can't Fight It

“Why don’t we go over the informed consent form?” she says brightly, her smile forced.

I sigh, tugging off my jacket before sitting in the chair she indicates, ignoring the way her eyes widen as I push up the sleeves of my henley. It’s getting ready to snow outside, but it’s a lot warmer in this office.

She positions herself behind the desk, a clear division between us. “First, did you have any questions about the paperwork we emailed to you?”

“I didn’t get to it.” It had all been a bunch of legalese I couldn’t fully decipher. Maybe she can explain it face-to-face better.

She blinks at me for a moment before jumping into a clearly rehearsed spiel. “Well, it’s a six-week study looking at how different forms of non-physical stress management impact athletes. You’ll get paid seventy-five dollars a week, made payable at the three-week and six-week mark, which is dependent upon your attendance in the Stress Lab weekly and completion of the exercises we’ll go over.”

Exercises? Tyler didn’t say anything about that. At least the money part sounds good.

“The two main stress management techniques we’re studying are applied relaxation and meditation,” she continues. “We’ve randomly split the participants and you’re in the applied relaxation group.”

Sure. Whatever.

She picks up a handful of papers off the desk, shuffling through them. “What kind of, um, athlete are you?”

“Boxer.”

Her gaze rakes me up and down, giving me a once-over. Based on her earlier admission, I shouldn’t read into it at all, but something about it has a tingle racing down my spine, the baser part of me ready and at attention.

Down boy.

The girl made it clear she couldn’t be less interested. And if she was the one that wrote that paperwork, she’s obviously way out of my league in the smarts department.

She looks down at her papers. “I didn’t realize the university offered that sport.”

“I have no idea. I don’t go here.”

“Oh. I guess I assumed.”

“Yeah, well…” I rub the back of my neck, not liking this turn in conversation. “I never went to college.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “That’s not a big deal,” she says softly. “Lots of people don’t.”

I nod, not having anything to say about it.

“Anyway, today I’m going to teach you progressive muscle relaxation. You’ll practice it daily on your own throughout the week and next Tuesday when you come back, we’ll go over a shorthand version of it.”

Okay, that sounds more involved than what Tyler made it seem like. “What’s, uh… muscle whatever you said?”

“Progressive muscle relaxation. We’ll contract and relax different muscle groups of the body, with the goal being to reduce somatic anxiety symptoms.”

I cross my arms over my chest. What the hell is she talking about?

She must notice my blank look because she immediately says, “Sorry, I got used to using all these technical terms when writing the IRB application. I forget they mean nothing in the real world. Basically, what we’ll do is learn a tool you can use to lessen the physical effects of stress.”

“Sure,” I grunt. “Sounds good.”

She goes over some form with me, spouting stuff aboutmethodologiesandconfidentiality, but I can’t keep track of it all, and sign my name at the bottom when she’s finished. Pretty sure I’m not signing away my life’s rights or anything.

She hands me two other pieces of paper. “Before I forget, here’s the baseline questionnaire you’ll need to fill out tonight. You can bring it back next Tuesday.” She pauses. “Or I guess you could bring it to me next door.” She gives a weak chuckle, then stops when she sees I’m not laughing. “And this has the instructions for the progressive muscle relaxation sequence you’ll do at home twice a day.”

I place the papers on the edge of the desk. What did I get myself involved with?

“So, if you’re ready, we can start now.”

“Uh, sure.”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com