Page 3 of D.I.E.T. (Did I Eat That?)

Oh god, oh god, oh god… I had to get out of this trip, but how? I’d promised Kam. If I turned her down now, she’d be devastated. I couldn’t live with myself if I ruined my bff’s wedding. I tossed my partially eaten burger back down on the wrapper, having lost my appetite. This was going to be a complete and utter disaster.

Right. I bookmarked the hotel page just in case I ended up needing it, then opened up my Facebook to distract me while I figured out a way to beg off this trip. And wouldn’t you know it, one story down there was an ad for Super Fitness—The Jerk-Free Gym. What were they advertising? Not any ordinary membership, oh no, no, no… A six-week bootcamp. Six weeks? What were the odds? Big Brother had to be listening in to know I needed to shape up in six weeks if I had any chance of not dying during my girl’s wedding.

I supposed there was no begging off tonight. Instead, I clicked on the link, filling out the form and used my credit card to pay for it.

And I still wasn’t hungry, but I ate my burger and fries anyway knowing that I’d just signed up for fast food jail.

I had a feeling I was going to regret this decision.

Two:

I was right in the middle of getting the business from a buff, tall drink of water when the fire alarm went off, the infernal sound ripping through my ears and my eyes popped open. Dang it! It was only a dream—and he’d been cute, too. I shook my head to clear it of the sleep fog, only to hear the sound still ripping through my room. I leaped from the bed, getting tangled in the blankets and bedsheets, and ended up falling face-first onto the floor.

Even through the closed curtains, anyone could tell morning hadn’t showed its annoyingly happy face to the world yet. When I glanced at the clock to check the time, that was when I realized my mistake. It wasn’t the fire alarm at all. My alarm clock had gone off at five in the freaking morning. I didn’t even know 5:00a.m.existed. Why would it go off at such an ungodly hour?

Crap.

Right. It went off because I’d set it to go off. Bootcamp. Why did I suddenly hate myself?No, Geet. This is for Kami. Now, get your butt out of bed, take a shower, and do this for your best friend. As I hefted myself off the floor, I contemplated a life without Kami. I mean, really, did I actuallyneeda best friend?

Best friend. Comfy bed.

Best friend. Comfy bed.

Apparently,best friendwon out without my conscious decision because as I weighed the pros and cons of showing up to bootcamp today, I ended up in the bathroom turning on the shower. Hair and parts washed, I toweled off, blew out my hair, throwing it up in a high ponytail and dressed in a pair of gray sweats with the wordPinkon the thigh in glittery pink rhinestones, a pink, ribbed tank top and a gray, oversized T-shirt made to drape off one shoulder that tied in a knot at my hip. My tennies I threw in a small duffle bag—pink satin, because I was a girl who loved her pink—along with clothes to change into for work.

Before leaving, I sucked down a bowl of cereal—frosted wheat squares. The wheat tasted like cardboard, so it had to be healthy, go me. When finished, I slipped on my boots and bundled up for my arctic expedition to my car. The wind howled, pushing me back a step for every three I took. At this rate, I was going to exhaust myself before ever reaching my actual misery, I mean bootcamp. So much snow had accumulated overnight that despite it still being dark, the moonlight reflected off the white wet stuff, making visibility better than I would’ve thought, though I still drove a good ten miles under the speed limit. No sense dying before my new exercise program could kill me.

When I reached the gym there were actual people walking in. Like actual other people as crazy as me existed in this town. Inside, one side of the massive room to the other was filled with machines. Stair steppers, bikes—both regular and recumbent—treadmills, weight machines.

I can’t do this. I turned around to make my escape when the receptionist caught me.

“Are you here to sign up?” she asked. Slowly, I turned back around. She appeared pleasant enough. Smile on her face. Not a gym bunny bod. No tiny, little bralette thing showing off her tight, toned abs. Surprisingly, aside from her bad frosted highlights that seriously needed a do-over, she wore an oversized T-shirt in aqua with ‘Super Fitness: The Jerk-Free Gym’ –their signature colors—written in pink lettering across her bosom. It couldn’t be all bad then, right? A gym using pink. Pink spoke to me in a way no other colors could. You didn’t justwear pinkbecause pink wasn’t simply a color. Pink was an attitude.

“I signed up online last night for the six-week bootcamp. Brigeeta Posch,” I said, handing off my phone with the confirmation brought up on the screen. She typed in the remaining info and activated a keychain.

As she handed it to me, she pointed to an area away from the desk. “We scan you in with the keychain and then you can use the women’s locker room to stow your belongings. If you didn’t bring a lock, you can purchase one here. We strongly suggest you use a lock, as we are not responsible for missing items. Then make your way to the room in the back.”

I followed her pointing finger to locate the room in back. “Thanks,” I muttered as I plastered on a fake smile. My stomach managed to twist itself into knots between her welcoming me and pointing out that room.

As it turned out, I already owned a lock. It hibernated in the bottom of this very bag since the last time I’d broken it out. Years ago, when I’d been expected to be a bridesmaid in my older sister’s wedding and the bridesmaids’ dresses she’d picked out were—gasp—strapless, I’d attempted to go to a gym. Briefly.

“Don’t worry about it,”she’d said.“You look beautiful,”she’d said. In the end, I’d ditched the diet and workout opting to wear a shrug. I called that a win-win.

Now, however, I held my head up high and strutted with my bag slung over my shoulder over to the women’s locker room. Once inside, given that I was alone, my bravado in my chest deflated and my shoulders sank. But still, I threw my gym bag and purse into a locker and locked it. Situated my AirPods in my ears. Called up an exercise playlist that I hadn’t used since my sister’s wedding on my phone. And I walked my butt out to that back room.

Yeah, the room was already three-quarters full and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who the trainer was. The only man in the room wearing skintight anything. In his case, the aqua Super Fitness T-shirt that I think he vacuum-sealed himself into this morning showing off his ripped abs through the fabric. Biceps the size of a child’s head and golden blond hair with fringy bangs I knew he had to keep for the specific reason of feathering them back with his fingers to look sexy. If perfection had a face, it belonged to him. If perfection had a name, its name was Trevor, or so his nametag said. Trevor smiled at me as I walked into the room, his baby blue eyes and his bright white teeth both glinting in the light. He walked over to shake my hand and I actually held it out like one of those women in an old movie turned palms down instead of palm out.

“And you are?” he asked.

“Brigeeta. Brigeeta Posch.”

“Brigeeta? I have to say you’re the first Brigeeta I’ve ever met.”

“It’s a family name.”

“Well, I like it. It suits you. Unique.”

This man, he was good. Hadn’t even started the work out yet, and he’d already given me the vapors.

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