Page 4 of The Weight Of It All
Three
Beingat the gym at eight in the morning on a Sunday was ridiculous. The fact that some people were finishing up from an hour session already was even crazier. Did these perfect people sleep? And realistically, that meant they must have gotten here sometime after six to be here to start at seven. To exercise. On a Sunday, the day where I normally slept in and went out for a lazy brunch. But exercising? I had concerns for their psychological well-being.
“Hey, Henry!” Reed greeted me cheerfully. “So glad you’re here.”
I watched two women as they left, all sweaty and laughing. “Do you do psych evals or blot tests on these people?” I asked Reed quietly. “Because I think they might have some mental health concerns.”
Reed threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, you crack me up.” He seemed genuinely happy, and given he’d been here, probably working out since six himself, made me question his sanity.
“So do you have to be crazy to do exercise for a living?”
He grinned. “Nope. But it helps.” He clapped his handstogether. “I’ve worked out an exercise and diet plan for you.” He collected some sheets of paper and showed me the exercise plan first. “Cardio, core training, and body strength will be the main focuses of the first four weeks. We’ll start slow and work our way up, okay?”
I nodded bleakly.
“And the diet plan is fairly broad. You said food is your thing, so it’s important to get this side right just as much as the exercise, because if this doesn’t work for you, then you’ll be more likely to quit.”
“Does it include kale?”
He grinned. “No kale.”
“Good.”
“Come on and I’ll show you what I’ve got planned for you.” He walked with a bounce in his step over to a row of treadmills.
I did my best David Attenborough impersonation. “Ah, modern, yet archaic torture devices in their natural habitat. Not a particularly threatening species unless you’re an overweight thirty-five year old who hasn’t run since high school.” Then I remembered that wasn’t exactly true. “Okay, well, running to grab a half-priced KitchenAid in the Boxing Day sales doesn’t count.”
Reed was staring at me, still smiling. “Did you get it?”
“Get what?”
“The KitchenAid.”
“Oh, of course. I love to cook. It’s my thing. And there was no chef or grandma alive brave enough to get in the road of a man on a mission. Although I still do feel bad about elbowing that lady. She was faster than me; she wore running shoes, and I wore my Diesel loafers. Style over comfort, you know how that is. But let me tell you, I never made that mistake on a sale day again.” Reed looked at me for a long moment, like I baffled and amused him in equal measure. “Sorry. I tend to talk a lot. Not a great deal of it makes sense.”
His grin was slow-spreading but genuine. “Makes perfect sense to me. Okay, we’ll start with some cardio.” Then he pressed some buttons on the treadmill. “I’m gonna set this for you. See this?” He pressed some more buttons while I watched. “It’ll start with a slow-but-steady walk, then it’ll get a little faster, incline a little like you’re walking uphill, then it’ll slow back down to your starting pace.” I stepped onto the machine, and he hit the start button. “I’ll be back when you’re done, okay?”
He left me to it, walking over to some other fit-looking gym members, giving them the exact amount of attentive and professional time he gave me. He was good at his job. Definitely a people person, and the way everyone called him by name and him them, I assumed he was well-liked.
I watched him while he spoke to a lady who was using some arm-pulling torture device and then helped a guy lifting weights. He looked over at me every so often and smiled as I huffed and puffed my way through what he’d called a gentle stroll. Jesus, if I walked this gently anywhere, I’m sure I’d be dead before I got there.
Then holy shit, the treadmill beeped and started to tilt. The platform rose up, and sweet mother of God, I was going to die.
After I got used to the change, Reed was beside me. “Looking good,” he said, his usual smile firmly in place.
I fully intended to reply with some intelligent and witty comeback, but walking up a non-existent hill for five minutes left me incapable of breathing and talking at the same time.
I thought about hitting the stop button. Actually, pressing that emergency stop button in hopes that an ambulance would arrive and drive me to the nearest coffee shop was very tempting.
But I knew if I started making excuses now, I was wasting everyone’s time and proving Graham right. And that’s what made me push through it. Sure enough, after an eternity in hell, the treadmill declined and the pace slowed.
When it came to a stop, I hopped off. My legs were absolute jelly, my lungs burned, and my heart was nearing cardio-fatal levels.
Reed clapped his huge hand on my back. “How was that?”
I held my hand up, still too out of breath to speak. So I nodded instead and managed a few one-syllable words. “Not. Good. Exer. Cise. Bad.”
He laughed again. “You pushed through it. You did really well.”
