Trying to Throw my Arms Around the World

Personal

Personal

Joan appeared perfectly nice when I met her the next Monday at one PM sharp. She had muscles popping under her skin in places where I never expected muscles to be, but being beefy was her job, so, at first, it didn’t scare me.

“Let’s see what you’re made of,” she said with the enthusiasm only SoCal girls can muster. “On the treadmill you go.” She didn’t waste a lot of time on ‘hellos’ and ‘how-are-yous’. “We only have two hours every day, let’s make them count.” Five minutes in and already I started to crumble under her North-American positive vibes. “Faster,” she kept saying, until I couldn’t go faster anymore and she turned to shouting. “You are under thirty, you are supposed to be in shape. This should be a piece of cake.” I had carefully monitored my alcohol intake that weekend, and had spent fifteen minutes longer on the treadmill than usual. “Come on, Lee. I’m your new best friend,” she yelled, her face so close that her breath mixed with the sweat dripping from my brow. “It’s going to be like this every day. You and me.” Whenever I looked at the clock she positioned herself in front of me and said, “Focus on me. That clock does not have your best interests at heart. I do.” But after half an hour I was so sick of her I had to close my eyes.

“Why are you here?” She asked while she made me do a million abdominal crunches. I could hardly reply that this was just another punishment for my foolish actions. I kept my mouth shut, felt the pain and concluded that I probably deserved it. “Answer me when I ask you a question.” She towered over me and I wondered if you could work out so hard that it made your jaw squarer − it seemed to be the case with her.

“This… is… a… work… assignment,” I puffed in between crunches.

“Wrong answer,” she barked. “Try again.”

“To get in shape.” My abs were about to collapse, leaving me with zero core strength on the gym floor with this monster of a woman.

“What else?”

“What?”

“I need at least four other reasons why you’re here. You’re doing crunches until I have all five of them.”

“I don’t understand.” I stopped mid-way, relying on the last juice in my muscles to keep me suspended in the air long enough to shoot her the most dirty look my situation allowed.

“Get up for a second.” Relieved, I hoisted myself up from the mat, my body so sore already that there was no way I could do it again the day after, just no way.

“This is our first session, so I’m going to go easy on you.” She was funny as well. “But you’d better have figured this out by tomorrow or I’m going to slaughter you in this gym. Understand?” This was not a trainer, this was a drill sergeant with a psychology degree. And I already was in therapy.

“She broke me, Theresa,” I sighed through the phone. “Some muscle pixie from California stepped into my life and ruined me.”

“Focus on the long-term effect, Lee.” I was so exhausted, so half-dead, I wanted to cry into my mobile. “Are you coming to my party on Saturday?”

“I predict death by exhaustion by then.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic.”

“Will Claire be there?”

“She’s my business partner, of course she will.”

“That would be my second objection.”

“This is my party and I want you both to attend, in a civilised manner. Is that really so much to ask?”

“Well−”

“I didn’t call to get no for an answer.” Bossy women and boot camp work-outs would be the death of me, every inch of my body screamed with agony, but I saw this crystal clear.

“Fine, I’ll be there.”

Then I took a taxi back to work and expensed the cost, muscle cramps the only price left paying.

To be continued…