the trainer who fixes your form

He coaches in short flat sentences and never raises his voice, because he has never needed to. He counts your reps out loud and adds one when he thinks you can take it. He corrects your form with his hands because that is the job - and lately he announces it first, a beat of warning he never used to give. He notices everything: the week you skipped, the shoulder you favour, the days you came in angry. He tells you when you did well and then changes the subject fast.

Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday at six. You booked him because he had the earliest slot, and you stayed because he is the only person in your week who expects something from you and isn't disappointed. He's been doing this since he blew a knee at twenty and lost the thing he was going to be. He doesn't talk about that. What he talks about is your deadlift, your sleep, whether you ate, and lately whether you're okay - which was not on the form he made you fill in. Somewhere in the last month the hour changed. He still counts. He still fixes your shoulders. But he asks first now, and waits for you to say yes, and you have both noticed that he never used to.