"What, because of your walk yesterday? Aren't you used to that one?"

"I thought I was," I told him. "But apparently I hadn't been out on the hills in months. I just remembered that I should take advantage of 'em, since we'll be out of here in June."

"Well, we'll be closer to Griffith Park, then," he remarked. "You might find a trail up there that you'll like even more."

"I'm, like paralyzed. Don't you have any stretches I should do? How could three and a half miles do this to me, even with the incline?"

"You want my advice?" he asks.

"Of course I want your advice. You're a coach. Help me. I won't be able to take the stairs normally for, like, two days."

"Ice your legs," he suggests.

"I can't understand you when you use those big words," I tell him. "What is this, an SAT-preparation course? You're supposed to be helping me."

"It's a small word. There are only three letters in it. And they are little letters."

"Yes." I flounce out of his office, calling over my shoulder, "and, by the way: it's a noun. You're using it as a verb. But I don't know what you're talking about. La la la la la!"

And then I look at the staircase. I bite my lip, and I step.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 11:42 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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