Page 14 of Six Steps to Happiness
Except she wasn’t.
Ronnie suddenly felt guilty and seeing their continued delight, couldn’t bring herself to disappoint them. She fixed a desperate smile on her face. “How else am I going to complete my first task?”
9
Ronnie drove into the gym car park, eager to start her fitness regime and, determined to enjoy every moment, she pushed any whispers of guilt to the back of her mind.
In her view, feeling bad about misleading Willow and Bea was one thing, forfeiting the opportunity to get rid of Nick and Gaye for good quite another. Ronnie knew if she told her daughter and mother-in-law what she was up to, no way would they let her see it through; especially with a harassment notice hanging over her head. Besides, like Ronnie kept telling herself, they seemed so delighted at the prospect of her following their advice, and it would have been cruel to take that from them.
Pulling up right outside the entrance, she jumped out of the car, standing proud in her leggings, loose fitting T-shirt and brand new trainers. She slipped a bobble from her wrist she’d put there in readiness and, piling her hair on top of her head, secured it in place. About to complete part two of phase one inOperation Poltergeist, Ronnie was on a mission.
She smiled as she looked at the building’s tired signage, glad to see that Jim’s Gym was the kind of no-frills establishment she’d hoped for. If her reckoning was right, unlike in one of the snazzier fitness centres about town, there’d be no make-up clad goddesses swanning around to make her feel insecure, and no posing gods to distract. Inside, she’d simply find a bunch of individuals working hard to keep fit. “Perfect,” she said, marching towards the entrance.
Letting herself into the foyer, there was no reception desk or anyone there to meet and greet; simply four white walls, a dirty-brown weaveless carpet and a glass panelled door that Ronnie peeked through. Staring in at what was obviously the workout area, she observed a couple of teenage boys who seemed more interested in taking selfies than getting fit. Frowning, Ronnie wondered what they were even doing there. Shouldn’t they have been at school?
Ronnie turned her attention to the more dedicated handful of men and women in the room, cringing at the sight. Battling against various pieces of equipment, their strained facial expressions, muscle-clad physiques and bulging veins suggested there was some truth to the often heardno pain, no gainmantra. Theirs wasn’t quite the extreme Ronnie wanted to go to, but still, she had to admire the dedication.
She pushed the door, opening it just wide enough to slink through and, hoping not to disturb the bodybuilders, glanced at her surroundings. Two more doors to the right identified the male and female changing rooms and a slightly ajar third, this one to the left, revealed what was evidently an office. Ronnie couldn’t see the man inside, presumably a member of staff, but she could hear him chatting to someone on the phone. Listening to the conversation, Ronnie gathered it had something to do with an up-and-coming spinning class and as she again looked around, clocking the line of heavy-duty exercise bikes with their weighted solid flywheels, she couldn’t think of taking part in anything worse.
Finally, the office fell silent and the staff member appeared from within. “You must be Ronnie Jacobs,” he said, smiling.
Ronnie smiled back and nodded, taking in his size as she excitedly stepped forward. Although not particularly tall, what he lacked in height, the man certainly made up for in width. His biceps looked bigger than her thighs, even his muscles seemed to have muscles.
“I’m Michael, your personal trainer.”
Michael thrust out his hand to formally greet Ronnie, and she accepted the gesture. His was a hand that clearly had the power to crush hers in an instant.
“Now if I remember correctly, when you rang you said you’re new to this.”
“I’m afraid so.” Ronnie surveyed her surroundings again. The bodybuilders might be pushing themselves to the limit, but thanks to brute force and serious muscle power, they made operating the gym’s equipment appear straightforward. To a novice like her, everything looked seriously complicated thanks to the various rope and pulley systems. She took a deep breath, holding on to her optimism. “And I can’t wait to get stuck in.”
A chap preparing to tackle a few pull-ups caught Ronnie’s eye and as she watched him, he leapt up with a surprising grace. His hands effortlessly caught hold of the metal bar above his head and the rise and fall of his body quickly settled into a rhythm. Ronnie couldn’t help but marvel. He had such control. She recalled how she’d struggled to haul herself into the loft, her legs thrashing and floundering like they had a life of their own. “I’d love to be able to do that,” she said, keen to get started.
Michael laughed. “You’ll be an expert in no time. If you could follow me, we’ll get you warmed up.”
As she did as she was told, Ronnie clapped her hands, unable to hide her excitement.
“So, what we’ll do is go around the room and I’ll show you how to operate the equipment. We can discuss your fitness aims along the way and then I’ll draw up a tailored exercise plan for you, based on the session as a whole. How does that sound?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“Here we are,” Michael said, as they came to a stop.
Ronnie’s smile froze. “You want me to get on that?”
“I certainly do.”
She grimaced. Out of all the machines he could have picked, why did he have to choose that one? When he’d mentioned a warm-up, Ronnie had envisaged doing a few stretches, not taking part in a marathon. “But it’s a treadmill.”
Michael laughed, her reluctance clearly amusing him. “Believe me, the last thing you want is muscle cramp. It’s for your own good.”
As a woman who couldn’t run for a bus, Ronnie struggled to believe him.
“When you’re ready?”
Ronnie shook her head as she stepped onto the conveyor belt, insisting thatOperation Poltergeistwas worth the risk of embarrassment. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she replied, already imagining her flapping arms and uncooperative legs.
Michael turned his attention to the control panel, but as he pressed a series of beeping buttons, his fingers moved too quickly and Ronnie couldn’t follow. Unable to even recognise astopbutton, she hoped the man wasn’t being too zealous on the machine’s speed front.
