Page 17 of Captured Love

I can't help but chuckle at my own ridiculous assumptions. Here I was, convinced that everyone was silently mocking me, when in reality, they couldn't care less. It's oddly freeing, in a way, and I’ll take a win where I can get it.

As I step off the treadmill on wobbly legs, I feel a sense of accomplishment wash over me. I did it. I survived my first workout. And you know what? It wasn't nearly as horrific as I had built it up to be in my head.

After I wipe off the treadmill, I grab my water bottle, headphones, and phone. The free weights area is still packed, and the weight machines might as well have flashing neon signs that sayIntimidating as Hell, so I head to a quieter corner of the gym where a row of yoga mats is neatly stacked.

I drop my things beside one, unroll the mat, and sit down, stretching out my legs. My calves still feel tight from thetreadmill, but the slow pull of the stretch feels good. After I’m done, I take a second to swipe open my phone to switch my playlist to something more mellow. I find myself nodding along to the soft beat that plays through my earbuds as I take a long sip from my water bottle.

Okay, so maybe cardio won’t kill me after all.That’s a relief. I still need to work on toning up and eating better if I want to see real changes, but… maybe this won’t be so bad.

That thought alone should motivate me to continue. Instead, I find myself checking my social media accounts.

Procrastination at its finest.

I scroll mindlessly through my feed until without really thinking about it until I end up on Knox’s profile.

I know it’s a bad idea, but I do it anyway.

Most of his posts are hockey-related like action shots from games, team photos, a couple of candids with his teammates. I smile when I see that some of the photos have Isla credited. His follower count is ridiculous, which makes sense, at least to me. Hot guy + hockey + social media? Sounds like the recipe for a thirst trap if I’ve ever heard of one.

I scroll past a shot of him in his Red Wolves jersey, with his hair damp from what I assume is sweat and his gaze locked on something off-camera. The post has thousands of likes, plus enough comments to make my thumb cramp just from scrolling through them.

I know I shouldn’t look.

But I can’t help myself. Especially when one comment in particular catches my attention:

TessaM9352: Looking good as always. Some things never change

My stomach tightens, heat rising up the back of my neck before I can stop it.

Seriously?

Then I catch myself. It’s not like Knox and I are anything anyway, so why do I care? I shake my head, lock my screen and toss it beside my water bottle with a little more force than necessary.

I shove the thoughts from my mind and focus on doing two sets of crunches and feel the burn in my core. It’s a familiar pain as I wince and let out a deep breath as I take a break between sets. It’s amazing how quickly your body can start to remember what it’s forgotten.

By the time I finish the second set, my abs are screaming, but there’s a strange sense of satisfaction that comes with it. I take a moment to just lie back and breathe, staring up at the ceiling. I sit up slowly, not wanting to rush and make myself dizzy. I look over in the mirror across from me just to see how much a mess I look.

My face is bright red, my ponytail is a mess, and my t-shirt has sweat stains on it. I look like a drowned rat, but I’m at least I’m being productive, and it is time to wrap this up.

Stretching has always been my favorite part of any workout. It's the one thing that doesn’t make me feel like I’m dying. I sink into a runner’s stretch, and the tension in my calves and hamstrings eases a bit. I probably should have done this before I got on the treadmill, but here we are. I move through familiar poses: downward dog, child’s pose, seated forward bend.

When I’m done going through the motions, I wipe everything down, stand, and roll up the mat. After I’m done cleaning up, I stretch my arms over my head as if I’m reaching for the sky.

As I’m putting my arms down, I glance out the gym’s large windows. The sun has dipped closer to the horizon, painting the sky with strokes of orange and pink. There’s something romantic about the sunset that makes me pause and take amental snapshot. I feel... hopeful. Like maybe this is the start of something better.

I head toward the locker room, my legs still a little wobbly, but I should be able to shake it off before I have to walk back to my room. Inside my locker, I find my gym bag and pull out a fresh t-shirt. I think about it for a second before stuffing it back in my bag. I’m just going to go back to my dorm and shower anyway.

Instead, I throw my coat on and take out my ponytail, allowing my hair to flow freely on my shoulders. As I walk out of the gym into the evening air, it cools me instantly, cutting through the warmth still radiating from my body due to the workout.

My phone suddenly vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and look at the screen. It’s a text from Isla.

Isla: How'd it go?

Me: I survived. I’ll see another day.

Isla: Proud of you! See, it wasn’t so bad. Next time I’ll join you. But there’s something I wanted to ask.

Me: Shoot.

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