Fake It List

Sixteen

Rule four: Try something new each month. 

Rule six: Be bold, even if it gives you hives.

It didn't seem to matter which of her rules she recited in her head, Reysha couldn't make herself get out of the car. She hated going to the gym. Okay, she'd never gone to a gym, but the idea of sweating near strangers or listening to big, bulging men grunt through weight lifts just weirded her out. In her head, all gyms were sort of like a bad eighties flashback—teased hair, spandex, and Jane Fonda bodysuits. If you go in, it's a twofer: two rules, one activity.

She gripped the steering wheel, wondering what she'd been thinking. You were thinking of doing something for yourself. A couple of listeners had come into the station to pick up their free passes to a local fitness centre and raved about the place. Reysha entertained the idea of checking it out, telling herself it would be a great way to meet people and get outside her Boring Comfort Zone, which Stacey referred to as her BCZ. To be fair to herself, she'd already pushed the boundaries of her comfort several times lately. She'd gone for sushi—which wasn't her favourite—on the latest date with her first like on the app, Brad. Total boundary pushing. So, what's one more?

"Yet you're still sitting in the car." She looked through the windshield at the quaint, rectangular building. She'd watched several people go in and out. The kickboxing class she'd looked up online, one of the ones recommended by the listeners, started in ten minutes. Reysha was intrigued by the idea of kicking and punching a heavy bag as a way to expel stress. Every woman wanted to be able to go a little Black Widow now and again. Black Widow kicked some serious ass and probably never sat in her vehicle wondering if she should go for it. "Consider it work. This way you can verify whether or not this place is as great as their ads say."

That bolstered her courage a bit, enough to get her out of the car and into the gym. It was different from how she'd expected ... more sedate, with less spandex and fewer mirrors. A woman dressed in athletic wear similar to her own—yoga pants and a tank top—greeted her with an easy smile. Her hair was pulled into a side braid, and she didn't look like she lived and breathed weight training. See? Not so intimidating.

"Welcome. Are you joining us for a class tonight?"

As she walked toward the reception desk, some of her unease loosened. "I am. I haven't been before. I was hoping to drop in on the kickboxing."

The woman typed something into the computer. "Awesome. I'm Misha. That's one of my favourite classes. The instructor is great for all levels."

Misha asked a few questions, charged a reasonable amount, and led Reysha through a state-of-the-art fitness centre. It was busy with people on treadmills, ellipticals, and other machines. Reysha kept her gaze on the receptionist's back so she didn't accidentally lock eyes with anyone. One night. Forty-five minutes of cardio. She could handle that in a roomful of strangers who would never see her again. Unless you love it—then you could be a regular; you could get a membership. An image of herself as Black Widow kicking ass popped into her overactive brain. It made her smile. One step at a time. Music buzzed quietly through ceiling speakers, and the news played on low from a television in the corner. There were rooms off the central fitness area with blackened windows, which increased her comfort level. Everything was better when people weren't staring. Misha stopped in front of one of the far rooms, and Reysha heard conversations coming from within. Laughter rang out, and different music played. You can do this. She felt like she was getting her cardio just by showing up and getting to the right room.

"Did you want me to introduce you to Rob, the instructor?" Misha smiled at her.

"No, thank you. I'll just find a spot at the back."