do it 'til it hurts less

"the weekend" by sza & "sex, lies & sensibility" by nikki payne

Before this week, I can’t even remember the last time I ran. Like even a jog. Why would I run if something’s not chasing me? Even watching all this America’s Next Top Model lately, seeing girls running to find out if they made it into the house, running to get to the makeup counter first for a challenge, running on the streets to get to the next go-see. Whether I made it into the house or not, that result won’t change based on how fast I get to my picture. Honestly, even if I made it to the makeup counter first I wouldn’t know what to do with anything once I got there so what does it matter. I guess you could get me to jog across the street if a car was coming. But generally, no, I’m not running. It’s undignified.

I got it into my head recently, though, that I wanted to do a 5k. There’s one in particular that I had my eye on, because I like the medal/t-shirt and there are some other things that make it appealing. But mostly, I’ve just been in the mood to change one of the stories I tell myself about myself. Why do I always say I hate running or I won’t run? How do I even know?

One thing I love about reading is that there are these things from books that really stay with you, and sometimes they’re not what you would expect. For example, now when I think of running I always think of Nikki Payne’s Sex, Lies & Sensibility. If you haven’t read the book yet, you really should — but also, I’m going to spoil parts of it in this newsletter, so fair warning.

Sex, Lies & Sensibility is a truly brilliant modern retelling of Jane Austen’s Sense & Sensibility. I think the book is better if you have some knowledge of the source material — you’ll get a kick out of how Payne reimagined the sisterly relationship between Elinor and Marianne, how the older, stodgy Colonel Brandon is now the CPA helping the sisters with their renovations, how Edward’s obligations and betrothal have such pathos and resonance when reframed as more contemporary problems. It’s just really smart, and if you’re an Austen fan, you’ll be especially delighted.

But in this retelling, elder sister Nora Dash is reeling after the death of her father, when she learns that he had an entire second family and left her and her younger sister nothing but Barton Cove, a dilapidated old property in Maine on the verge of foreclosure. Nora and her sister Yanne go to Maine to try to save it time, armed only with Nora’s HGTV obsession and an entire bag of salt ‘n vinegar chips on their shoulders to make sure that the property doesn’t land in the hands of Felicia, their dad’s other stepdaughter. (One of my other favorite characters — “…her real name is Felicia, as in ‘Bye, Felicia.’ She is an absolute cartoon villain.” She really is, and any time she gets her ass handed to her it is SO satisfying.)

In Maine, Nora runs into Ennis “Bear” Freeman, an Abenaki man who runs a nature guide business in the area and who doesn’t see the problem with using the abandoned Barton Cove for his own purposes . . . until he meets the new owner. He’s immediately drawn to Nora (OF COURSE HE IS) and even though there are business reasons why it makes sense for him to end up partnering with her and helping with the renovations, you know his main reason is just. He likes her.

This is a romance novel!

Bear and Nora are both such incredible, rich characters. Neither of them are perfect. They’re dealing with a lot. Nora has her guard up from a sex tape she filmed with a boyfriend in college, one that ended up going viral, costing her a track scholarship and derailing the rest of her life. You can tell that Nora is naturally a warm, nurturing person, but after going through all that and now this stuff with her dad, there are about five different walls you’d have to scale before Nora would let you in.

Bear has such a strong sense of honor and loyalty — to his tribe, to the land, to other people — that it’s actually his fatal flaw. I know, I know. Real this kind of energy:

(actually one of my pet peeves in a romance novel, god save us from a perfect man)

But here, Bear’s greatest strengths truly are also his greatest weaknesses. Before he meets Nora, Bear is a man who is drowning. He has overpromised his time, his money, his emotional labor, he is trying to do too much and be everything to everyone and in all of that he’s worried he’s letting people down. Worst of all, he knows he’s letting himself down.

When Nora and Bear first meet, one moment that I love is when he immediately clocks her. He knows her. How does he know her?

He took another step closer. “I’ve seen you somewhere, I know it.”

“No, you haven’t.” It came out sounding like a wish. Something tightened around her lungs. Like sudden-onset asthma.

“Yes, something to do with sports? You were sweating . . . and moving.”

Obviously at this point, Nora is freaking out because she’s sure she knows where he knows her from. The sex tape. She’s gotten it before, it always changes how guys look at her, and she was especially relishing how this guy looked at her before he put it together. I love this line — “It came out sounding like a wish.” She really, really doesn’t want him to put her in that box, the same one she’s felt constrained by the last few years. And her sister’s not helping — she’s like “Was there moaning?” YANNE. Stop. I swear, little sisters. (Mine reads this newsletter so I have to say, not you, Brittany, obviously you’re perfect.)

But Bear puts it together. He remembers her — did she run track for UMaine? (That’s where he went.) Reluctantly, she admits that she ran track for the University of Maryland.

“That’s it.” He snapped his fingers at his ears. “God, that body. The way you move. I should have known.”

I love that in this moment, he IS being too familiar with her. You should mayyybe not comment on someone’s body and the way they move within minutes of meeting them. (Okay, you definitely shouldn’t.) But I love it because he’s just so legitimately, very wholesomely, excited. He’s excited that he figured it out, that he remembered her, that she was so fucking good. He respects her body and the way she moves in an athlete-to-athlete kind of way, there’s actually a lot of respect in it. He shouldn’t really be saying any of these things but he can’t help himself because he’s so caught up in memories of Nora Dash, the amazing track star.

Someone who Nora left behind a long time ago, and hasn’t let herself think about in a while.

And she realizes she vaguely remembers him, too:

But there was a flicker of memory. A ribbon of hair floating behind him, a podium. At the D1 level, the track world was small. You would meet the same handful of folks pretty regularly. Still, she didn’t think the men paid much attention to the female athletes. Perhaps he really did remember her, even after seven years? A flush of pride washed over her. She had been pretty good.

We’re only thirty pages into this book and already I know so much about both of these people, and I care about them so much. I know that Bear is the type of man to have taken notice of talent, regardless of gender, in a very authentic way. I know that Nora used to feel this kind of pride all the time — it was probably a big part of her identity, celebrating what her body was capable of — but that she hasn’t ever since that sex tape rewrote the stories she told herself about herself. I know that it feels really fucking good to see her feel that pride again, that I’m already rooting like hell for these two. She lit up that part of him (that loves running and track coaching) and he lit up that part of her.

A few weeks later, after Bear and Nora have started working together on renovating Barton Cove, they start running together. I wish I could quote this entire chapter tbh because it’s my favorite kind of romance — this slow getting-to-know-one-another where they’re learning about each other (I won’t spoil you on all the fun banter, but I side with Nora on most of her opinions). And then there’s also this moment, when his earbuds fall out of his pocket and she realizes he could’ve been listening to music that whole time but he’d chosen not to:

“If you wanted to listen to music, you could have.”

“I normally do, but I wanted to hear you.”

“Hear me run?” She tilted her head.

“Hear your pace, your breathing. It helps me know if I’m going too fast or too slow.” He fished for the other tiny bud in the sand.

She wanted to say that she didn’t need headphones because she heard a real life orchestra when he turned to face her. Movie-score violins. But the gesture was so quietly attentive that the words kept running over her. I wanted to hear you.

!!!!!!!!!

SWOON CITY.

I mean, I personally don’t want anyone listening to me breathe because I’ve quickly realized I don’t actually know how to do it! One of my running friends was giving me advice, and she literally said, “At the risk of sounding like an asshole, how are you breathing? In running it DOES make a difference” and I was like oh you do not sound like an asshole AT ALL how the fuck can I breathe through this giant clown nose I am apparently wearing all the time. The basic gist is that you just need to remember to breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth, hold your breath in your lungs for a little longer. I’m working on it.

This past weekend I was starting to feel a little FOMO for not being at either of the two big romance cons where most of my friends were. At one point I thought, “haha joke’s on you, while you’re all having fun I’m over here cleaning my bathroom,” and then I realized, no. Actually I was very happy to be cleaning my bathroom. It was exactly where I wanted to be. I pretty much mainlined the audiobook for Sex, Lies and Sensibility while cleaning and driving to and from Orlando (I’m making that drive SO much this week and it’s two hours each way!!!) and doing Happy Color on my phone. I finally bought myself those running shoes (another piece of advice I happily took, because I knew if I even thought about running in the only sneakers I owned — Converse — instead of 1 min run/2 min walk interval training I’d be doing 1 min run/59 minutes on a stretcher).

At one point in Sex, Lies and Sensibility, Bear tells Nora that, instead of her thinking about something DQing her from a race, she needs to start thinking about how it qualifies her for something else instead. That was a really powerful sentiment, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot. That, and the idea that we tell ourselves these stories about ourselves that don’t always have to be our story forever. That’s why I’m trying running, even if only to do this one 5k, even if only to say it’s something I can do.

. . . when does that alleged runner’s high kick in tho?????

I chose this SZA song off Nikki Payne’s playlist for Sex, Lies and Sensibility, which is (no surprise) such a vibe. I love SZA and Ctrl in particular (“Drew Barrymore” is my favorite off that album, I think? But also ask me again in a week and that might’ve changed.) I also chose this song off the basis of this lyric alone, which is how I feel about running: do it ‘til it hurts less.

We’re about four months out of the publication of my next book, In Every Possible Way! I actually just sent off some stuff today for preorder swag 👀 and I’m very excited about it! I’m going to be sending signed bookplates and swag to several bookstores around the country, so you’ll have lots of options — I’ll be telling you more about that in the coming months. And of course, you can always preorder a signed copy through Tombolo Books, where you can write any personalization request you want in the comments section of your order.

Currently reading . . . I listened to Leslie F*cking Jones on audio because when the Olympics are on it always makes me think of Leslie. If you’re going to read it, you have to do the audio — there’s like five extra hours of content, apparently, and it really is just her riffing a lot. Which I kept wondering as I was listening because there were parts that were so conversational, or just got into the nitty-gritty about stuff I wouldn’t have thought would be in a memoir, that I kept being like . . . wait, is this in the book? Or have we gone rogue? Oh, we went rogue, motherfuckers, you know that’s how Leslie F*cking Jones is going to do it. It also got me to go back and watch or rewatch a bunch of SNL skits, which got me nostalgic for just how much I used to LOVE that show. I really wanted to be a comedy writer at some point! Like thought I could write for SNL or Conan or whatever!! I had completely forgotten about that dream. Leslie’s confidence in herself and the fact that she made it (relatively) later in life was so inspirational to listen to. She kept saying, I’m not cocky, I’m convinced. I liked that phrase.

I’m also currently listening to Queenie by Candice Carty-Williams on Rachel Lynn Solomon’s recommendation and really enjoying it so far. Finally, I’m rereading Wuthering Heights because I want to see the movie and I realized I hadn’t read the book since college. There’s already this part toward the beginning when the tenant Mr. Lockwood is in Heathcliff’s house, and being subjected to just some of the worst hospitality including these dogs who are all over him (Heathcliff is just like don’t bother them then!!!). And Lockwood is trying to be conciliatory with this young woman who’s just shown up and he has no idea who she is (Heathcliff’s wife??? daughter???) so he makes conversation about the dogs like, “A beautiful animal! Do you intend parting with the little ones, madam?” and she’s like, “They are not mine” (aka I don’t care, stop talking to me) so he gestures over to what he thinks are some cats and is like, “Ah, your favorites are among these!” and she’s like “A strange choice of favorites” (aka seriously you fucking weirdo) and that’s when he realizes it’s actually a pile of dead rabbits. I don’t know, I DIED. This book is hilarious.

watching . . . I’VE WATCHED EPISODE 1/3 OF THE ANTM DOCUMENTARY ON NETFLIX! I already have so many thoughts. I am literally going to watch the second episode the minute I wrap up this newsletter.

I’ve also still been watching the Olympics! I admit, I couldn’t want the final night of men’s figure skating live because I had an event, and then I got spoiled on the results. Inevitable, I know, in this age of social media, but I somehow got SO bitter about it that I took the weekend off the Olympics in protest. But I have licked my wounds and now I’m back watching the women’s figure skating, which I will ALSO not be able to watch live on its last night, so here’s hoping I can STAY OFF THE INTERNET long enough to watch the replay later.

listening to . . . I’ve been listening to Bad Bunny’s Debí Tirar Más Fotos. I know none of us are over that halftime show — there’s just more and more to it every time I read some new analysis of it. There were so many layers. An incredible performance.