“We’ll skip pull-ups for today. I doubt you’d manage even one,” she says, her words blunt and unapologetic. “Instead, we’re finishing with a three-mile run. Or walk, if that’s more your speed.”
Her tone is dismissive, but I can’t deny the relief washing over me.
No humiliating pull-ups?
Fine by me.
“Okay, three miles. Got it,” I say, following after her.
Every muscle in my body is screaming already, but I’m determined not to show any more weakness in front of Jillian.
Granted, I might need an ice bath and a vat of vodka after this.
We head over to the treadmills, and Jillian sets one up for me.
“I want you to alternate between running and walking. I have it set to start with a brisk walk, then jog. Try to maintain a steady pace,” she instructs.
She puts a heart-rate monitor on my arm without a word. Probably so she can make sure my heart doesn’t give out in the middle of the run.
I nod, stepping onto the treadmill with less enthusiasm than a kid on their way to the dentist.
I start with a walk as Jillian promised, the pace brisk but manageable. After a minute, the machine increases the speed to a jog. It’s been a while since I’ve run, and my lungs start to burn almost immediately.
Jillian stands nearby, her arms crossed, watching me with those discerning eyes of hers.
“Keep your back straight, and don’t slouch. Good posture is key,” she calls out.
I straighten up, focusing on my breathing and trying to find a rhythm. The treadmill hums beneath my feet, and I fall into a pattern of walking and jogging. It’s tough, but not impossible.
I can do this,I tell myself.
As long as I don’t trip …
The thought alone is enough to unleash a torrent of fear in me as I think back to my first session with Adam.
Please, please don’t be a klutz. Please please please.
As the miles tick by, I start to find my stride. My breathing evens out, and the initial burn in my legs fades to a dull ache.
I’m not breaking any records, but I’m doing it.
I’mactuallydoing it.
When the treadmill finally beeps to signal the end of the three miles, I’m sweating and out of breath, but there’s a sense of accomplishment that wasn’t there before. I’ve pushed through, and I’ve survived.
Jillian makes another note on her clipboard.
“Not bad, Carlie. Notgreat, but better than I expected,” she says, her tone slightly less frosty than before.
I step off the treadmill, trying to catch my breath and focusing on not falling over.
“Thanks, I guess,” I reply, unsure whether to be insulted or encouraged.
Jillian’s final words are a brisk, “I expect you to be here at our designated time on Monday. No excuses. Be here on time.”
Then, she’s off, leaving me there to gather my things.
I drag myself out of the gym, feeling both physically and emotionally drained.