Can the entire trajectory of one's life pivot on the most trivial of events?
Jacob, my son, a junior in high school, was wrestling for the state championship. He and his opponent, Alex Jones, a senior, had met in the finals the year before; my son had lost. Since then both boys had moved up a weight class and were now wrestling at 188 pounds. Jacob was comfortably ahead on points. Aware that time was running out, Alex was on the attack, but Jacob executed a textbook double-leg take down, then rolled Alex onto his back. The clock ran out; Jacob had won.
Jacob and Alex sprang to their feet and shook hands. Jacob's teammates, who had been kneeling at the edge of the mat, sprang to their feet to congratulate my son; his win all but guaranteed the team its second straight state championship. The crowd, however, did not spring. Most of it, out of condition and overweight, staggered to its feet, applauding. Even I, who did pilates or yoga five days a week, was stiff. Bruce, my husband, who had been checking sports scores for his fantasy league, was among the last to stand. He'd put on a lot of weight.
And that's when my life pivoted. I compared the boys to the crowd. It was time to get back into shape.
The next day, over breakfast, I asked my son about CrossFit Memorial Hill, where he worked out. He seemed mildly amused, told me it was not the part-gym/part-country club I was used to, but when I persisted he said sure, he'd introduce me to his trainer.
And so I started busting my butt, changing my diet, sleeping eight hours a day, adopting new habits.
* * * *
My husband was supportive in an I-was-free-to-do-anything-I-wanted-as-long-as-it-didn't-interfere-with-his-life-kind-of-way. He and I had been together since high school; he'd been on the football team, a solid player, not a star; I'd been the editor of the school paper and yearbook. He had been, still was, gregarious and well-liked, which had attracted me; I was studious, private.
Our marriage was generally a happy stable one, although like most people we knew the passion had long ago drained away. Bruce and I now related more through our child than anything else, our shared activities usually involved Jacob: attending his wrestling matches, re-arranging our schedules to his. Otherwise, sometimes for days on end, our interactions were limited to my fixing meals, washing his clothes, answering questions about what he should wear, and reminding him where'd he'd left his keys; at times I felt like his mother. The truth was Bruce preferred hanging with his high school buddies. They were all good guys, fixtures in our community, members of every civic organization they could find: Kiwanis, Rotary, Exchange Club. They were a happy close knit group, getting together to watch sports, go fishing, drink beer, cook out, and, while it should have been clear from their ever expanding waist lines that actual sports were advised, managed to play more fantasy sports that I would have thought existed. They also helped him make a nice living; he sold cars at the town's biggest dealership and although never the top salesmen, he did well.
Unlike most of the wives, I was never really part of the group. While everyone was pleasant and polite, to them I remained Bruce's wife. I hadn't hung with them in high school, preferring my yearbook and newspaper buddies, most of whom had left town. I also had a full time job, working in the public relations office of the Missouri Department of Transportation. Some years into the marriage I'd complained to my therapist about Bruce's focus on his friends and my feeling like a third wheel, but she pointed out that I'd started dating him exactly because he was so popular and social. Now I was complaining about it? She also helped me realize that while I resented feeling like an outsider, in fact I didn't really want to be an insider, an integral part of the group, which would have consumed all my time. I came to accept what I had; Bruce was not perfect, but he was a good man.
Like many of our friends, our sex life had gotten pretty sketchy. Over the last few years he'd approach me, always at night, and using at little boy voice reserved for this situation, ask whether I was in the mood. I'd say yes, even if I wasn't, and take him in my mouth or with my hand. He'd come quickly and usually fall asleep, apologizing the next morning. Sometimes he'd stay awake, use his fingers or mouth on me, sometimes I would come, mostly I wouldn't, but I'd pretend; it made him happy. Intercourse had pretty much stopped. I think it embarrassed him. Clearly unhappy with his pudgy body, he took great pains never to be naked before me. When, on occasion, he did enter me, he'd come almost instantly, before I could even make a pretense of doing so.
I, on the other hand, rarely wanted sex. I am pained to admit that I was no longer attracted to him.
* * * *
To my son's chagrin, I became a regular at the gym. I liked it, I liked the way my body felt, and made a new group of friends, a dozen women about my own age, most much farther along the fitness path than I, but all friendly and encouraging. They were a diverse lot, some single, some married, some well off, some struggling, but when lifting weights in spandex, de rigeur with this crowd, we were all essentially equal.
And so my life changed. Hanging out with my husband and his friends was supplemented by me and the girls; most weekends there was a race or fitness expo to attend. With them I dressed to show off, let my brown hair grow out, wore it a little wilder, and favored jewelry and earrings that drew attention to myself. When I hung out with my husband and his friends, there was also a change in the dynamic. Jacob had encouraged me to dress to show off the new body and Bruce's male friends didn't seem to mind the emerging trim, hard-bodied version of Bruce's wife. I could feel their eyes on me and there was always a comment or two or three about how nice I looked, but there were also catty comments from the women about a skirt that was too short, a top that was too tight, or how picky my taste in food had become. Word filtered back about a few screaming fights that began with a wife complaining about her husband staring at me at a party. Initially my attitude was screw them all, but Bruce asked me to tone it down - "Just to keep the peace" - and after a talk with Jacob, I decided to frump it up. And so with my husband and his friends I dressed conservatively, disguising the goods.
And while it took me awhile to notice - it was already irregular - Bruce stopped approaching me in that little boy voice about sex. At night, sometimes, I'd take the initiative, reach for his manhood, but he'd say he was tired, not in the mood. I stopped trying.
* * * *
After expressing initial doubts about my commitment, Jacob became my biggest supporter. With him I restructured my diet and learned how to exercise. Reclaiming my body became the focal point of my life and as Jacob and I spent time together at the gym, working out at home, preparing meals, taking the time to massage a sore shoulder or leg, we grew closer, more intimate. He became my mentor, showing me what do, leading me.
My evenings, which had been ending with me on the couch doodling on my computer or reading a book while my husband watched sports on television, were now spent with Jacob in the basement, working with weights, or doing interval training, him pushing me through each step. I felt a level of energy I hadn't known in years and would grow antsy hanging around the house. Jacob and I might go for a run, see a movie, or stroll to the local coffee shop, sit and chat, listen to a local kid strum his guitar and sing.
Now the girls in my gym group were not above ogling (or, I learned, sleeping with) the hot young guys who worked out there. At first I shushed them, pointed out that they were young enough to be our children, that one of them was my child. But I have to admit those kids looked mighty good and the truth was I'd ogle them myself. Then one day we were at a triathlon and guys were emerging from the surf and I was admiring them and then one in particular and then I realized it was my son.
Yep, my son was a hunk.
* * * *
Jacob turned eighteen in January of his senior year. When Bruce and I asked him what he wanted; he surprised us. He'd be headed to college soon and wanted to spend some time with each of us. He proposed that he and his Dad go fishing at a friend's camp near Branson. For me, he said he'd always wanted to go to Mardi Gras.
The night he got back from the camp, I asked Jacob how'd it gone. It turns out his father had invited his buddies to join them. Instead of time alone with his Dad, it was like any of the cook-outs the gang threw during the summer.
"I'm sorry son, I knew you were looking forward to some alone time with your Dad."
More amused than anything else, he said, "Yeah, but it was okay. Are we really surprised? The most important thing for Dad is his friends. And they're good guys, there's nothing wrong with any of them."
* * * *
One night, the week before we were to leave for New Orleans, my son knocked on my bedroom door. I asked him to come in. I was wearing only a night shirt but, as I've said, I'd gotten used to being barely dressed around him.
