Redefining Beautiful

Chapter Ten: Fit and Toned, Not Skin and Bones

Roebuck wasn’t kidding when he said he was Satan. I thought he was just messing with me and trying to be the intimidating Varsity coach that he is.

Turns out, I underestimated him.

I arrived at the field. Roebuck, in a black short sleeve shirt and black basketball shorts, was standing by the bleachers next to the track waiting for me.

“Hey, Coach Roebuck.” I chirped. You could say I was pretty optimistic about being trained by the toughest, most fit guy I knew. I really didn’t think this road to getting into shape would be difficult. Then again, if it were easy, I would have been in shape a long time ago.

Roebuck’s arms were crossed over his broad chest, and he wore these ski-like sunglasses that I could see my reflection in and a baseball cap with the Emery Tiger’s logo on it. “Four laps.”

“What?” He didn’t even give me an acknowledging look. Just a split second after I spoke, he was already ordering me around. 

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Chub Lee.” demanded Roebuck. I’m guessing he isn’t a morning person.

“So you want me to run four laps?” I wheezed.

“Eight.”

“What happened to four?!”

“You keep talking, Chub! I suggest you get running.” Roebuck flicked his wrist at the track that was laid before us. I didn’t linger any longer, so I started sprinting. Partly because I wanted to get the eight laps over with, partly because I wanted to impress Roebuck.

I wasn’t even a half way through my first lap when I felt a sharp pain in my lungs, a throbbing in my knees, and I had trouble catching my breath. I felt like I was on the verge of death. Realistically, though, I felt like passing out. I stopped running to catch my breath.

“THERE’S NO STOPPING!” shouted Roebuck, as he jogged up from behind me. “RUN! RUN! HUSTLE!”

“I feel like...I’m going...to...throw...throw up.” I panted.

“Ready to quit?”

“What? No.” I tried straightening myself up to continue, but I became lightheaded. “Are you sure we can’t start with maybe a beginner’s workout?”

“Are you questioning my judgment, Chub Lee?” Roebuck stepped closer to me. Arguing with Roebuck is like telling the king he isn’t a real king—fatal.

“Uh, I’ll just go in for a light jog.” I started jogging—or more like hopping—away.

“Your form is horrible, Chub Lee.” He said. I mumbled “yeah, yeah” under my breath as I continued to jog the track. It was seventh grade P.E. all over again.

If I didn’t lose twenty pounds after the first workout with Roebuck, then I was doing something wrong. After I ran/jogged/walked/crawled the eight laps, Roebuck made me do lunges. As if my legs weren’t already jelly. He kept repeating that my “form” was horrible, and when I finally asked him how I am to fix that for him so he’d stop pointing it out, he made me do exercises that he said will be my warm-up every morning.

The warm-up is made up of four parts; lunges, high knees, skip drill, and short distance sprint. I’d start at the first white triangle marked on the rubber track, and end twenty yards at the fourth white triangle. They weren’t that bad. I hated them three weeks into the workouts because I was unbelievably sore that I couldn’t get out of bed, but I didn’t even know the definition of sore until Roebuck decided to introduce “Roga” to me on the fourth week.

“So what exactly is Roga?” I asked, taking a sip from my jug of water. Roebuck told me it is very important to stay hydrated since I am in the hot sun all day. With all this working out, he recommended a diet. That way the exercise would be in full effect. I wasn’t too keen on it at first, but when Roebuck said bacon was part of the diet, I was alright.