I just lay there, like hugging the mat is my number one priority.
“Seriously?” Jillian exclaims, her tone mixed with frustration and disbelief. “What is with you today? You’re not even trying.”
Slowly—so slowly, I push myself up, feeling a flush of embarrassment heat my cheeks.
“Iamtrying,” I protest, but even to my own ears, it sounds weak.
Jillian shakes her head, her hands on her hips. “This is a gym, not a playground. If you can’t take this seriously, you shouldn’t be here.”
I bite my lip, trying to focus, but it’s like my body has forgotten how to function properly. Well,properlymight be a stretch for me, come to think of it.
With a huff (from both of us), we move on to weights, and that’s when disaster really strikes. My grip slips and the weights clatter to the floor with a resounding thud that echoes through the gym.
Everyone’s attention snaps in our direction and Jillian’s patience snaps like a rubber band.
“That’s it! You’re a hazard to yourself and others. Get out—” Her index finger points in the direction of my walk of shame.
Her words sting, but part of me feels relieved to have an escape route. I gather my things, my hands shaking slightly.
As I walk out, I hear Jillian muttering something about “hopeless cases.”
And “can’t believe he’d be seen withthat.”
I can only assume she means Adam and the whole Instagram thing. Unless rumor has already reached the gym that we went on a date last night. Wouldn’t be surprised, actually.
Outside, I lean against the wall, taking deep breaths.
“Great job, Carlie. Really nailing the whole fitness thing,” I mumble to myself.
The thought of going back home and working out there, where the only judgment comes from my grandma, suddenly seems very appealing.
As I walk home, my mind is hijacked by the blur of embarrassing and frustrating memories at the gym. Jillian’s words echo in my head, but there’s a small, defiant part of me that whispers, “I’ll show her.”
Maybe I’m not cut out for gym life, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find my own way to stay fit.
By the time I reach my apartment, I’ve made a decision.
I’m going to cancel my training sessions and start working out at home.
It might not be as fancy, but at least I’ll be in my element. And who knows, maybe I’ll actually enjoy it more without the fear of public humiliation.
As I step inside my apartment, the quietness envelops me like a comforting blanket. Dropping my gym bag by the door, I let out a long, tired sigh.
My reflection in the hallway mirror catches my eye. Hair disheveled, outfit sweaty—I’m a hot mess in the most literal sense.
Kicking off my shoes, I shuffle towards the kitchen, the desire for fresh coffee and the promise of solitude pushing me forward.
After brewing a fresh pot, I fill my mug with coffee, the steam rising in lazy swirls. Taking a cautious sip, I wince as it scalds my still-fuzzy tongue.
“Perfect,” I mutter, setting the cup down. I lean against the counter, closing my eyes for a moment trying to center myself.
From the my pocket, my cell phone buzzes, jolting me from my thoughts.
It’s a text from Adam.
My heart leaps, then sinks.
What if he heard about the gym fiasco? What if Jillian’s comments were about us and he knows?