Page 30 of Ellie Hayes and the Himbos
I nod, having read testimonials after my endometriosis diagnosis. Patients being denied care for years, their doctors insisting that their weight was the underlying issue to the chronic pain. “And it was different here?”
Her face immediately brightens. “When I sat down with Ian, he asked me what I wanted to be able todo.” She ducks under the bar to set up her lift. “I wasn’t told tobe less. I was shown that I coulddo more. That was it. I knew I’d found my place.”
She’s quiet as she performs her squats, grinding through the heavier set with the same control she had with the lighter weight. That’s fifty pounds more than I’ll be working with, but she’s breezing through it. I wonder how long it will take for me to work up to that, or if my body will turn on me before I have the chance…
I shake off the thought.
Helen racks the bar, and we busy ourselves switching around the plates. “I’m not going to act like I wasn’t open to losing weight,” she resumes. “And I have. I have less body fat, but more muscle, so the number on the scale isn’t too different from what it was on day one.” She lifts her chin. “And that’s not how I measure my success here, anyway.”
“That’s what PRs are for,” says Babs, proudly.
“When I get to ringthat.” Helen points to the bell hanging on the wall beside the workout whiteboard. Beside it in—shudder—Comic Sans is a sign readingNEW PERSONAL RECORD?RINGTHATBELL!“That’ssuccess.”
There’s a thumping sound to our left, and we turn to see Penny pounding the window, cheering for her mom. She presses a hand to her lips, then swings her arm low, blowing a kiss that sends her hand straight into Grant’s face. He laughs it off.
Helen blows a kiss back. “And it matters to me that my girl gets to see it. I never had that growing up,” she adds. “Never got to see bigger women do anything athletic. Maybe in field events or weight lifting in the Olympics, but even now, you really have to seek that out.” She sticks her tongue out at her daughter, who does the same. “Penny will have whatever body she has, but it’s important to me that she’s seen what bodies like mine can do.”
Before I can say anything, she laughs. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t too soapbox-y, was it?”
I shake my head as I step under the bar. “I asked. And it’s nice to know that you don’t have to look like something from the Parthenon to be a powerhouse.” I unrack the bar and get into my squatting stance. “My coworkers are threatening to skew my perspective.”
Helen laughs, and I brace, starting my set. I’m absolutely feeling those additional twenty pounds, but it’s still manageable.
I’m on my last lift when Babs asks, “So, you’ve seen Ian’s nude?”
I seize up, halfway out of my squat.How does she know?
“Babs!” Helen chides, but the older woman is laughing. They’re behind me, so I can’t see them, but Babs must realize that she’s thrown me off, as her laughter tapers some.
“Oh, shit. Sweetie,” she says, still giggling. “You okay?”
“Ellie, are you stuck?” Helen asks. “Do you need to bail?” Ian had shown how to bail on a lift if we were unable to complete it. It’s simple, a matter of releasing the bar and shrugging it off your shoulders, but I’m just out of sorts enough that even those two motions are beyond me.
My legs are shaking. “I don’t—”
“Hayes!” Ian bellows from across the room. “Push through! You’ve got this. Up!”
The command activates some unknown source of strength and I propel myself into a standing position. I rack the bar, stepping into the rig, relieved of the chrome and plates, but feeling the weight of the entire class’s attention instead.
Then Ian’s at my side, and my awareness homes in on him. “Are you okay?” he asks, voice tense with worry.
While I’d happily keep my focus on the gray swell of concern in his eyes, I glare at Babs, who tries not to smile back, both of us knowing full well that explaining the situation is not an option. “I’m fine. Just lost tension,” I say, recalling something he’d warned of while demo-ing.
“Okay,” he says, taking in each of us in turn: me, glaring at Babs; Helen still wide-eyed; Babs, unbothered. “Well… don’t.”
“Noted. Thank you,” I say. Ian sends a final, skeptical glance to our trio, then departs. I scowl at Babs, who finally looks abashed. “Are you going to say something aboutintrigue?”
“Girly, that goes far beyond intrigue. That wasdangerous,” she admits. “I’m so sorry.” Her serious face holds for another few seconds, then she cracks a smile. She leans in, waggling her brows. “So that’s a yes on the nude?”
12
I SHOVE MY PHONE INTOmy shorts’ pocket and grip the counter in the ladies’ locker room, forcing myself to take in slow, even breaths. I shouldn’t have opened that email. The subject line was warning enough, but I ignored my mom’s all-capsSO INSPIRING!!and clicked. Photos of celebrities with canes. The link to an MS podcast hosted by an actress who can no longer even use a cane. Something about a study involving mono, which I had in middle school, so…Why? I didn’t read on to find out.
The heavy weight of guilt pulls me deeper into the doom spiral. My parents still don’t know about the breakup. They had to deal with enough last week, and after our weepy call with my results on Friday, it seemed cruel to ring them up and hijack their tentative relief with a new source of worry.
That’s what I’ve been telling myself, anyway. But the noble motive hasn’t stuck, which is probably why I subjected myself to my mom’s MS “research” as penance for not fessing up. I just really,reallydon’t want to get into all things Cole again. Sunday’s partial unpacking with Heather and Mark exceeded my thresholdfor emotional excavation, and I’m unwilling to dig any further. The bedrock is cracked enough as it is.
I’m breathing normally when I exit the locker room and walk toward the gym floor. Ian’s filling his battered Yeti at the drinking fountain.
