The page I kept in my glove box

I'm not a person who keeps things. No journals, no photos on the fridge, no app streaks. But there's a folded page in my glove box that's been there since last spring.

I look at it in car parks. Waiting for my kid, waiting for a delivery. It has three numbers and a line my coach wrote about my knees, and reading it takes forty seconds.

I've tried fitness apps. I have the notifications off because the graphs make me anxious and the badges make me feel like a child. Paper does something different — it doesn't ask me for anything.

The other reason it stays is the signature. It's a person's name at the bottom, not a logo. I've had maybe six coaches in fifteen years and this is the first one whose name I'd recognize on a document.

I don't know what a good retention rate looks like in this industry. I know that a folded page in a car is worth more than a notification I've muted.

MOJOWAY's cards print that way on purpose: one figure, one sentence, a name, nothing that demands a response.