Summer Of Broken Hearts.

chapter 6

After checking so many plans, I decided to try running five kilometers since I want to run a marathon. Who would have told me? Me, Marta Garcia Lozano. I'm going to run a marathon. I don't recall the exact moment I decided this, but I'm committed now.

It feels like one of those things you write on a bucket list. I guess it was one of mine.

I put on my trainers, black leggings I used to wear for running (comfortable but they make my lower body look weird), an old gym bra that surprisingly still fits, and a big t-shirt from a random 10 km race I did four years ago, before coming to Ireland. I organized my curly hair into a ponytail. I didn't mind how imperfect it was; I didn't know if it would last.

I went downstairs and stood outside near the door. I did some warm-up movements, put on my running watch, and once I felt ready, I began.

The first ten minutes were easy since I used to do long-distance running in the past. Ten minutes passed; I knew because I passed the petrol station close to my house three minutes ago. Or at least I believed so. I began to feel fatigue and checked my watch. One kilometer, four hundred meters. "Shit, I am a goddamn turtle," I thought. But I didn't let this thought stop me. I was determined to run those five kilometers even if it took me an hour. I passed a small supermarket close to my house. It's relatively close because I just need to cross a park that's also nearby—a nice shortcut, somehow.

Somehow, I managed to cover two kilometers in fifteen minutes. I was sweating like a roast piglet, going through hell, and my mind started playing bad jokes on me, like my own demon whispering in my ear. "Just give up already, this won't do any good for you. We were fine where we were. Just leave it," said that devil voice in my head.

It's funny how your subconscious can be your cheerleader and your worst enemy at the same time. It took me forty minutes to run the whole round in my neighborhood. I looked at my watch and saw the time and the distance—five kilometers. I couldn't resist talking to myself again.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Marta? Goddammit, we used to do sub-twenty minutes for five kilometers. This felt endless, you lazy bitch." I started tearing myself apart. I didn't understand why it took me forty minutes to run five kilometers. But it also showed me how much my ex-girlfriend had drained my spirit.

Monday. Bloody Monday. I don't like Mondays, but since my failed attempt at running five kilometers and realizing how long my journey will be, I decided I must do something. I needed to get back in shape. I woke up like every morning, found a mobility workout, had breakfast, and got ready for work.

The long shift passed quickly since I was busy all the time, with only thirty minutes for lunch. After my shift ended, I went to the bank, deposited a check, and then headed to the gym.

It was a small gym close to the bank. Inside, I was impressed; the space was much bigger than it appeared from the outside. I walked to the reception.

"Hi, welcome to Fly Fit. How may I help you?" greeted the receptionist. Her hair was a funny shade of purple. It looked cool, but I wondered how many times she had to bleach it.

"Yes, I'm looking for a Pilates class," I asked.

"Sure, do you want to join the one starting in five minutes? It's Pilates with machines," she said. "Do you have a membership?"

"I don't, but I'd love to try this class and see if I like it. Maybe I'll get a membership if that's okay," I informed her.

"Sure! It's 12 euros. With the code on your receipt, you can enter and exit," she explained.

I paid the twelve euros, wondering if that girl inside might do CrossFit. She looked very strong.

I entered the class, where many people seemed to know each other well. I put myself in a corner, visible enough for the class but still somewhat invisible. "We weren't expecting so many people," my anxiety whispered. "Just follow the class, and everything will be fine," said the other side of my consciousness. I was fighting inside, trying not to run away. I felt very awkward. I never joined a gym except in Spain, and that was with my mom. But here, oh lord, it felt so wrong.

Luckily, the instructor came in. She introduced herself as Siomanne and began the class with some easy mobility workouts, then proceeded with the machines. For fifty minutes, it felt like the whole machine was forcing me to give up. I felt like a fish in foreign waters, a piece of the puzzle that didn't fit. After putting my body through positions I didn't even know were possible, the class ended, and everyone left.

"Well, that wasn't too bad, was it?" said my anxiety. I went to a coffee shop, ordered my usual, and sat down with a new book.

A girl from the gym sat down with her iced latte.

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" she asked politely.

"Please, take it," I answered.

"Wait, you were the new girl in the gym earlier," she said, recognizing me. I was impressed she noticed me. Surely, I must have looked ridiculous. I looked at the girl. She was blonde, with her hair in a bun, pretty skinny, and her skin seemed unevenly toned. She was wearing a full gym outfit from Nike, and I could see her flat belly.

"Surely I am, if you were in Pilates," I said awkwardly.

"I'm Mia. Nice to meet you..."

"Marta, pleasure's mine."

"First time doing Pilates?" she asked.

"In the machine, indeed," I replied, feeling embarrassed.

"Don't worry, I've been there. I still hate that machine," she joked.

"More than stretching, it felt like an abdominal battle with that thing," I joked back.

"I know, right? They could make it way easier."

"Oh, surely, but where's the fun in that? 'Please let the machine stretch me' would be way easier," I said.

For a moment, we laughed. It had been a while since I found something to laugh about. But I was laughing, and that's when I realized not everything was lost.

I talked with Mia about my new journey of running my first marathon, and she felt so keen on the subject. She said she was getting ready for Hyrox. We both talked and laughed for hours.

It was nice to connect with someone since I broke up with my ex-girlfriend.