After surgery, when it was all over except for living with my new (flatter) body image, I felt betrayed. Where was my valued mind-body connection when I'd needed it? How could I trust my intuitive sense ever again? I wondered if I'd been asking my body the wrong questions in the wrong way, or if I wasn't listening correctly. I finally stopped obsessing and just accepted my lack of a reliable intuitive connection, at least when it came to using it for myself. On a more immediate level, I had another mind-body problem. My surgeon had cleared me for daily exercise and I knew I needed to follow her advice, but I couldn't get moving. My mind wanted to, but my body wouldn't get on board.

One day, I saw Andrew, who lives across the street from me. He was outside on his front lawn playing with his dog, a fetching basset hound. I went over to pet the dog, and we chatted. He mentioned that he teaches basketball classes to young children. I asked if he could help me get into better shape and he eagerly agreed to be my personal trainer.

Andrew is a natural coach, demanding and encouraging at the same time. We started spending two, then three, sometimes four hours a week together, training. This is more contact than I have with anyone else in my life, except my husband. We've developed a kind of odd intimacy, speaking of little but exercise and basketball. When he asks each morning, "How are you?" he doesn't want to know the details of my life. He wants to know how my 56-year-old body feels: whether it's strong and ready for our workout. He sees me at my worst--red faced, gasping for breath, grunting to complete one more sit-up--yet this is what pleases him, helping my body test its limits. "Yes, Lynn, I'm proud of you, don't stop, give me 10 more!" he urges me on. By training me so intensely, he knows me in ways I barely know myself. Over nine months, I get stronger physically, more confident, stop almost all my complaining, and just try hard to do what he asks, even when it feels impossible to me.

This spring morning, I have one of those impossible moments. Our hour workout is almost over, and despite my initial desire to be poppin', I'm now just tired. Andrew looks at his watch and says casually, "We have five minutes left. You know what that means."

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