Resolution

The gym's fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Kai swiped his membership card with practiced indifference. January 2nd. Amateur hour. He'd been coming to Summit Fitness for six years, long enough to see the predictable ebb and flow of resolution-makers. They arrived with shiny new gear and determined faces, crowding his usual machines and disrupting his carefully planned routine. By Valentine's Day, most would vanish, leaving behind nothing but unused memberships and abandoned goals.

"Busy today!" chirped Marcus, the morning desk attendant, with the forced enthusiasm of someone who'd already said the same thing fifty times since opening.

Kai grunted in response. He'd specifically waited until 10 AM, hoping to miss the early-morning rush of bright-eyed optimists. But the parking lot had been full, and the locker room hummed with unfamiliar voices. He changed quickly, avoiding the awkward small talk of newcomers asking about proper form or machine etiquette.

His usual treadmill was occupied – of course it was – forcing him to take one in the middle of the row. Number 8. He hated even-numbered machines. At least the display was working properly, unlike Number 7, which had been showing phantom calories for weeks. He plugged in his earbuds, queued up his carefully curated workout playlist, and started his warm-up walk.

That's when he noticed her.

She was probably seventy, maybe older, wearing a faded t-shirt that hung loose on her thin frame. "In Memory of Frank - One Year Cancer Free" was printed across the front in slightly cracked letters, suggesting it had been worn and washed many times. Her white hair was neatly tied back, and her face bore the concentrated expression of someone doing something difficult but necessary.

She caught him looking and smiled. Actually smiled. At 10:17 AM on January 2nd. Kai quickly turned back to his own display, increasing his speed to signal his disinterest in gym small talk. But he couldn't help glancing over again.

Image Credit: @gpthree

Her pace was slow but deliberate. The treadmill display showed she'd been walking for twenty-two minutes already. A small notebook was propped on her console, and every few minutes she'd make a mark in it with a stubby pencil.

"Keeping track helps," she said, catching his eye again. Her voice was warm but slightly breathless. "Frank always said that."

Kai nodded politely and turned up his music. He didn't come here for conversation. He came here because routine was safe. Because five miles every morning meant one thing he could control. Because sweat and endorphins were better than antidepressants for managing the anxiety that had nearly derailed his residency two years ago.

The woman made another mark in her notebook. Then, slowly but with clear intent, she increased her speed.

Kai found himself watching the numbers on her display tick up. 2.0 mph. 2.1. 2.2. Tiny increments, but her face showed the effort each one required. Her breathing grew more labored, but her steps stayed steady.

He realized his own legs had stopped moving. He'd been standing on his treadmill for almost a minute, staring. She noticed and gave him another smile, this one slightly strained with exertion.

"Frank and I used to walk together," she said, her words coming between measured breaths. "Thirty years, same route. Three miles every morning. Until the cancer came." She paused to wipe her forehead with a small towel. "He made it through the first round. We celebrated with a walk. But the second time..." She shook her head. "After he passed, I couldn't even make it to the mailbox without stopping."

Kai found himself removing one earbud.

"That was eleven months ago," she continued. "Started with one minute. Now I'm up to thirty." Another mark in the notebook. "Frank would say 'Margaret, you're lapping everyone on the couch.'"

Margaret. Her name was Margaret.

"My goal is a 5K," she said. "The cancer center is hosting one in June. Seemed fitting."

Kai looked at his own display. He'd planned five miles today, like every day. Safe. Predictable. His fingers hovered over the speed controls.

"You know," Margaret said, her eyes twinkling with something that might have been mischief, "I wouldn't mind some company in June. If you're not too fast for an old snail like me."

The joke surprised a laugh out of him – his first genuine one in the gym in... how long? He looked at her notebook, its pages filled with careful marks measuring progress in fractions of miles per hour. Then at her t-shirt, worn like a battle flag. Then at his own display, showing the same numbers it showed every day.

Slowly, deliberately, he reduced his speed to match hers.

"I'm not much for races," he said, surprising himself again. "But maybe we could train together?"

Margaret's smile widened. "Frank always said the hardest part of any journey is having the courage to adjust your pace."

They walked in companionable silence for a while, their footsteps finding a shared rhythm. Around them, the gym buzzed with New Year's energy – people beginning their own journeys, making their own marks. For the first time in years, Kai felt something shift in his chest. Something that felt like possibility.

When Margaret made her next notation, he found himself asking, "Got an extra pencil?"