Free Pushing Upward by Andrea Adler

I’ll talk to them about you using them instead. There’s also a track at the high school a few blocks away.”
    â€œI guess I could lose a few pounds.” I laughed, knowing how true that statement was. Emma didn’t reply, not so subtly implying agreement.
    â€œYou did say you wanted to be an actress, didn’t you?”
    â€œYes, well …”
    â€œWell, then you will need to be in pretty good shape. Comprenez-vous? ”
    â€œPardon?”
    â€œThat is French for ‘Understand?’”
    â€œSí,” I said. “That’s Spanish for ‘Yes.’”

    It was a lie. I didn’t see, nor did I understand, that within a few weeks this little woman with white hair and bifocals would have me running miles around Fairfax High School, perched in the bleachers, making sure I jogged with proper breathing, timing me as I’d try to reach her newest goal.
    â€œKeep your knees up and in sync with your breath!” she’d yell out. “Try it again. One more mile, but keep your pace steady.”
    I had no idea I was joining the Navy SEALs or signing up for boot camp. Where did Emma ever learn how to train? Each week I had to accomplish an additional half mile or she’d be disappointed, and I couldn’t deal with that. It didn’t faze her that other joggers were amused. Every time they passed her, they’d yell, “You tell her, Mama!” “Don’t let her quit before fifty laps!”
    As she sat by the apartment pool, in her cloth director’s chair, the little lady with the surprising set of lungs reminded me: “Keep your shoulders high and your legs extended. Cup your hands.” Using her black binoculars, she watched me swim—five laps, six laps, then ten.
    â€œSynchronize your breath … with the movements of your stretch. Yes. Better. Smoother now. Be a fish.”
    If not done to her satisfaction, I was asked to do them again. My arms and legs cried out for a reprieve. I was freezing. My muscles ached to be submerged in a hot bath of bubbles. And this was only during the day. At night she’d have me read newspapers and the labels off canned goods out loud using a wine cork between my upper and lower front teeth. This technique was to train me to speak from my diaphragm and not my throat. After only a few weeks, I was reading the yogurt container—“Cultured pasteurized milk, honey, blueberries, pure maple syrup, all natural flavors”—like a Shakespearean actor.
    And since the oracle had made it clear that it wasn’t my time to lead, but to be led, I obeyed. She was the whip, the disciplinarian, the enemy to my lethargy. I never would have imagined how strenuous life on unemployment could be. My lazy self was beginning to resent her and this routine she thought I was in such great need of, but the hero in me wanted to push through. My inner child wanted her approval. I asked her where on earth she had learned this technique.
    She said, “I read about it in the National Enquirer while waiting in line at the supermarket.” She smiled. “Telly Savalas said it worked for him.”

Chapter 8
    Progress like a hamster….
Undertakings bring good fortune.
    I was dying to talk to Rachel. It had been weeks. I needed to bring her up to date on my new life and tune in to the latest episode of hers. We decided to meet at the Self-Realization Fellowship Lake Shrine in Pacific Palisades. It had become a haven for us, as we tried to keep our balance in the midst of L.A. mayhem, and we came as often as possible. The beautiful human-made lake and temple had been dedicated to the spiritual leader and teacher Paramahansa Yogananda, who died in 1952. Yogananda was recognized as one of the greatest emissaries to the West, bringing India’s ancient wisdom. Rachel and I loved soaking in the energy of this sacred place, strolling along the tranquil lake and sitting in the simple, elegant