Dear Fitness Gods. It has been four days since my last confession. In that time I have done pretty much none of the exercises Trent has set for me. I have eaten two Cherry Ripes, one bowl of ice cream and had numerous inappropriate thoughts about Ryan Gosling. I know I know, do ten stomach crunches and seven push ups.
Trent had set me daily exercises to do as homework after our last session together. I swear to every fitness god out there I tried, I really did, but I was just too sore! It took me three days to walk properly again without looking like I was trying to do the Harlem Shake or whatever that thing is the young folk are all into these days.
But, today was Friday, and today was also my next session with Trent. I have no idea why I didn’t cancel. Still hoping I was going to spontaneously combust I suppose. Or that Trent would. But, here I was outside the gym again, ready to face my tormentor. I knew better than to try and jog in like before. There would be no jogging from this old boiler. Not today.
Trent met me at the front desk again. He looked kind of startled when he saw me there, but strode straight up to me with an enormous smile on his face.
“Jen!” He announced, as though he was surprised I came back. I have no idea why.
“Great to see you again. To be honest, I wasn’t sure you were going to come back. I was moments away from calling you an ambulance last time. It’s great to see you.”
I kind of stammered a squeak that sounded like I was choking and followed Trent to a new area of the gym. There was machinery there. Strange whirring things with people on them. Running people. Running, sweating people. Running, sweating, panting people. Running, sweating, panting, pleading with me to save them, people. Ok that last part wasn’t true but had they asked me, I would have gathered them all under my bingo wings and herded them all outside to safety.
Trent stopped in front of one the whirry machines. There was an awkward silence before I suddenly realised what was about to happen.
“What? ME? You want me to get on that thing?” I squeaked again.
“Well you’re not here to watch me run,” Trent replied, tilting his head to indicate I needed to climb aboard the whirry thingy.
So up I got. Who’d have thought? Me. On a whirry thingy!
Trent explained how to start the machine (apparently it’s called a treadmill, not a whirry thingy), and promised he’d just get me walking on it until I was comfortable enough to run a little. The machine started with a bit of a jolt. I started walking along with it, still scared as hell but trusting that Trent knew what he was doing. Trent started going on about how good Bacardi was for me. I totally agreed with him of course and was planning to tell my GP Sarah when I suddenly realised Trent was saying ‘Cardio’, and not Bacardi. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement.
Trent increased the speed a little and I started to walk a little faster. I was working up a bit of a sweat and gradually losing my breath. So I decided it would be easier to jog and broke into a lovely paced stride. Ok, so the lie detector test determined ‘that was a lie’.
Trent said he was going to take the treadmill up just one more notch and promised he wouldn’t make it go any higher. I couldn’t breathe and talk, so didn’t even try to tell him I was beginning to fear for my life. Just as Trent hit the ‘take it up a notch’ button another trainer came to talk to him. This trainer was a girl trainer. A pretty girl trainer. A pretty girl trainer with breasts. Pretty breasts apparently, because Trent was looking at said pretty trainer breasts and not what he was doing. He hit the ‘take it up a notch’ button and didn’t take his finger off it. The treadmill got faster. Very much faster. Very much faster, very quickly. Fear shot through me like a bullet but I there was nothing I could do. Short of flying off the back of the treadmill and smacking into a wall, the only thing left was to run!
So I did. I ran. Great big galloping leaps. I looked like someone who was pretending to run in slow motion, only I was not going in slow motion. I was going in fast motion. Very fast motion. Very fast, terrifying, oh god I am going to die, motion. It may have been the sound of the treadmill or the sound of my screams that bought Trent's attention back, I can’t be sure but he quickly slowed down the machine.
Trent's face was a mix of horror and hilarity. He was trying to look concerned but was also trying not to laugh. By this stage I was just so relieved that the treadmill had slowed down I couldn’t care less about anything else. My face must have been etched in fear because Trent was trying to reassure me everything was ok. All the while still trying not to laugh.
“Jen, well done! You ran! That was a good 30 seconds or so that you ran for. Well done!”
“Huheeeeeshhhhhhhhhh huayyyy pbththtb”
“Jen are you ok?”
“HEEEE, hhh hu huh huh, ho, ho GOD, oh God, Oh God what the HELL!?”
“Jen you ran, that’s great! Wow, you’re doing so well for someone who’s only on her second day.”
“What? Lord, Oh god. Oh god no. Oh god that hurt! That really, really hurt. Shit!”
“Calm down. You’re ok, you’re safe. Shhh” I think he may have started singing Kumbaya, but I can’t be sure. There was no oxygen left in my brain.
Then it dawned on me. I ran. I ran! I actually ran! I ran and I didn’t die. Suddenly I started to feel better. More than better. I suddenly started to feel a little euphoric.
I didn’t know it at the time, but looking back now, this was the start of my new addiction.
Next week Jen goes back to visit her long suffering GP, Sarah. The news isn’t good.