Dear cam, don't die reading this. Love you! Enjoy you knob.
The barbell hit my chest rather roughly, making me cringe in agony; not the first time it has happened. I pull the weight off of my chest, a hasty attempt, it obviously not weighing much to where it would do much damage. I stood from the machine, sighing in frustration. What the fuck am I doing? I stand gazing back at the reflection that was mirrored in front of me. I stare at my body, not pleased at all with where I have been progressing since I joined this damn gym last month. I had to fucking fix this, I had to learn how to really push myself until I couldn't take it anymore.
An idea sparked in my mind as I saw multiple personal trainers pass me, working with overweight clients that didn't know much more than I did about this place. Grabbing my towel and water, I make my way to the front desk of the gym, standing in the small line that has formed for a customer request.
Eventually, it is my turn to talk to one of the perfect, bimbo blondes that works the front desk, asking her the question that was burning my thoughts ever since i looked at myself in that damned mirror.
"Are there any personal trainers available for training starting tomorrow?" I ask, my voice coming out genuinely curious and sweet.
"Of course, you're in luck since this is our last one working with a client. I'll put your name down for tomorrow?" She squeaks, her voice high pitched which matches the flash of perfect pearly whites in my direction. Her brows are risen, obviously awaiting my answer, her smile impatient and fake.
I furiously nod, "Yes, that would be fantastic." I smile, watching her fingers fly over the keyboard to enter something into the computer.
"Well then, it's settled. Coach styles will see you tomorrow, around five p.m." She informs, her smile not really meeting her eyes as she dismisses me to be on my own once again. Styles? My mind is now raw and open, the thought of me actually having a personal trainer being beyond my comprehension which in fact frightens me; yet at the same time excites me to hope for an outcome I will achieve.
My feet carry me out of the gym, my mind however, trailing on the thought of how tomorrow will play out. What will my trainer look like? Will he be polite, or rude and arrogant? Will it be hard? I can only assume, the night changing as I arrive home and await the next night with my nails in my mouth, anxiety spilling into my dreams once I fall asleep.
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School is a drag. The entire day moves with a speed of a snail, and I'm practically falling asleep in my last period before I remember my training tonight with my own personal trainer. I begin to over think this entire situation, did I really need to have someone show me the ropes? Of course I did. I was sick of repeating the same old routines that I had guessed were helping me out, I mean for fucks sake I couldn't even squat properly on my own. These thoughts push me through the remaining hours before my arrival; until I'm sitting in my car, the clock ticking at 4:58 pm. I close my eyes and contemplate whether I should just go home, or if I should just get the fuck out and see this Coach. My fingers rub against my temples in circular motions, relaxing my thoughts and panic stricken assumptions. I swiftly grab my gym bag and hop out of the car, huffing as the cold air creeps up and touches my bare cheeks. My lip quivers from the December air, but I'm greeted very quickly with opposite warm air that instantly puts me at ease.
I clap my hands together to create friction, the biting temperatures sucking all of the regular circulation to give me heat. The front desk area approaches my view, and I hand my gym card to the blonde sitting there, her only job being to look pretty and swipe a card that someone literally hands her. She smiles at me, speaking with a tone that carried the average 'I'm-fake-and-my-voice-is-nasally-' stereotype. She points to the main gym, giving me instructions.
"Your coach is going to meet you over in a few minutes, just start off on the treadmill, and he will be over to you shortly! Have a great workout, and have fun with Harry." She winks, sending me a smile that's meant to be warm, but makes me uncomfortable. My brows pull together as I make my way over to the many rows of expensive looking cardio machines. I was still thoroughly confused as to why the girl at the front desk winked when she mentioned my apparent coach, who's name is Harry? I shake the thoughts, beginning to lightly jog, pushing away the world for a little bit, before I feel a small tap on my shoulder. I'm startled, and I almost trip over my own feet, when I stop the treadmill, turning my head to face whoever tapped me, my chest heaving as beads of sweat drop down my forehead and onto my light grey shirt.
