Page 2 of The Weight Of It All
Oh shit. Did I? “Graham… Graham is the new Sauron. We don’t speak his name out loud anymore.”
Reed’s look of worry was soon a smile. “Oh.” He nodded sagely. “And this is the Sauron you want back?”
“No. Yes. Well, maybe. It’ll take more than gathering up a few Hobbits, I’m afraid. Unless you can call running on a treadmill a Hobbit. Maybe Mordor is more appropriate. You know, the encapsulation of doom and everything.”
Reed blinked slowly. “A what?”
“Mordor. You know, fromLord of the Rings?”
He looked genuinely surprised. “Right. And Sauron’s the bad guy, I take it.”
“Evil.”
He smiled then. “I’ve never actually seen the movies orread the books. Though I have heard of Hobbits, but not Mordor or Sauron.”
I stared at him then leaned in like it was top secret. My voice was just a whisper. “So, you’re the one?”
“I’m the one what?”
“The one person on the planet who hasn’t seen the movies or read the books.”
Reed laughed this time. “Yes, that would be me.” Still smiling, he held up the clipboard. “Some questions for you.”
I leaned back and sighed. “Does this include a waiver in case I drop dead on the StairMaster? Because, just so you know, it probably should because I probably will.”
He chuckled just as the lady behind the counter called his name and held up the phone receiver. He looked at me apologetically. “Sorry, but I better take that call. How about you fill in the details, and I’ll come back when you’re done?”
“Sure,” I said, taking the clipboard. The first questions were the usual: name, address, occupation, private health cover details. I considered drawing a little hand with its middle finger extended next to the age bracket box but figured it probably wasn’t appropriately mature next to the 35-40 box. I mean really, would it have killed them to have the selection criteria as 30-35? Why did the 35s need to be grouped with the 40s?
Right about then, I could’ve killed Anika. When I told her, my best friend since college, that I was going to join a gym, she told me that Graham was a jerk and I didn’t need to change one thing about me. But when she realised I was adamant about losing weight, she was most encouraging. Told me it was an excellent idea! When I asked her to come and join with me, she simply patted my hand and told me not to be a fucking idiot. I considered putting the form down and bailing out. I could be home with a bottle of wine and some Greek food in twenty minutes, wallowing in my own loneliness,telling Anika over the phone about my harrowingly close call with a gym.
But then what would I achieve? I didn’t want to be the overweight drunk guy crying in my bathroom ever again.
So with a deep breath, I filled out the rest of the form. There were other questions like allergies and other sports-related injuries, which made me snort because they assumed I’d actually done some kind of sport in my life.
“What’s so funny?” Reed asked. He was now standing in front of where I sat, obviously finished with his phone call.
He was so tall, I had to crane my neck to look at him, and I briefly considered writing down that as an injury. “Well, sports-related injuries would imply partaking in some kind of physical activity. The only marathons I’ve done areGame of ThronesandBreaking Badmarathons.” Then I remembered another one. “Oh, andSex and the City, but I was sick that week, so it doesn’t count.”
This time, he sat down beside me. “You’re really funny.”
“Well, I tend to talk a lot. When I’m not at work, that is. You know that song ‘the knee bone’s connected to the whatever bone’?” He nodded and I sighed. “Well, my mouth isn’t connected to my brain.”
“No filter?”
I shook my head. “Birth defect. Suffered from it all my life.”
He tried not to laugh and took the clipboard. “Okay, you ready for a quick physical?”
I blanched. “Like now? Today? Here? With you? Ugh, do I have to be there?”
His grin was wide and perfect. “Kinda helps if you are, yeah.” He stood up and waited for me to follow. “Come on, this way.”
I reluctantly followed him into what I thought was an office, but as it turned out, it was some kind oftorture chamber. There were weighing scales, and a “Healthy Eating Pyramid” chart on the wall. I’m sure if I went through the desk drawer, there’d be horrendously cruel implements like measuring tapes and fat pinchers.
“No need to look so scared,” he said, sliding the clipboard onto the table.
“Has anyone died in here?”
