7. Selene
7
SELENE
I take a deep breath before I walk through the automatic doors. I can’t remember the last time I walked into Crestwood’s gym, but there is no time like the present.
The slight smell of chlorine from the indoor pool hits me, unlocking a memory. Has it been over a year since I’ve been in here? Wow. I pause, adjusting my tote bag on my shoulder, and survey the front lobby. I didn’t know they renovated the reception area. It’s sleek now, with modern touches like brushed steel fixtures and a minimalist, white marble counter. Everything looks so different that for a second I think I might be in the wrong place. The large, green potted plants behind the front desk add a touch of nature to the otherwise sterile environment.
“Can I help you?”
I jump slightly when I see a guy with a man bun staring at me from behind the reception desk. I force a smile and walk over.
“Hi, yeah. Do I just swipe my ID here to be let in?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
It takes me a couple of tries before the computer registers my ID.
“You haven’t been here in a while,” he says as he looks at the computer and then back at me.
“Yep. I definitely knew that,” I say as I slowly nod. Thanks, Captain Obvious.
He shrugs. “Well, welcome back.”
As I make my way past the desk, I can feel his gaze linger on me. That wasn’t weird or anything.
I walk until I’m greeted by a bunch of machines and free weights. I’m a little bit nervous given that there are a bunch of people here right now, but I chose to come during prime time. This is something I need to do in order to get used to working out with a crowd. Or so I tell myself. If I go at odd hours, I'll just psych myself out when it's busy. And this works with my class and work schedule.
I survey the area like a general planning an attack. The weight section is packed with dudes in cutoff shirts and gym shorts, so I decide to start with some cardio. Maybe by the time I’m done, there will be fewer people over there.
I make my way into the locker room and drop my coat and bag off while making sure to grab my phone, headphones, water bottle, and hair tie.
I take another deep breath as I walk out to the main floor and put my red hair back into a ponytail. I swipe open my phone and find a playlist I made specifically for this: “Gym Torture.” The first track is “Eye of the Tiger”.
A line of treadmills stretches across the far wall near the windows. Most are taken, but I spot an open one at the end and quickly walk over. I step onto the treadmill and examine the control panel. It’s been long enough that I have to reacquaint myself with all the buttons and settings.
I hit Quick Start before I lose my nerve. The belt jolts to life under my feet. My stomach lurches. God, I hate running. But I'm determined to make a change, to take control of at least one aspect of my chaotic life.
As I settle into an awkward jog, my mind starts to race, berating me with cruel jabs.
You're too slow. Too big. You don't belong here with all the gym rats. Everyone's probably staring at you jiggling with each labored step.
No. I shake my head, blinking back hot tears. I won't let the negativity win. Not today. One foot in front of the other. That's it. Just keep going...
Focusing on my breath, the music helps drown out the noise in my head. Slowly, I find a rhythm and realize this isn't so bad. I can do this. I AM doing this.
When I’m a couple of songs in, I steal a glance at the time display on the treadmill. Six minutes. It feels like an eternity, but I’m kind of proud I've lasted this long. My legs are starting to warm up and my breathing, while still heavy, isn't completely out of control. It’s going to take me some time to get used to this sort of activity again, but I’ll get there.
Because I AM doing this.
I let my eyes wander to the free weight section again. Still packed. A guy in a neon green tank top is grunting loudly as he does bicep curls, his veins popping out. Another dude in a backward cap high-fives his buddy after finishing a set on the bench press. The thought of walking over there makes me want to run right out the door.
But that doesn’t matter right now. I’m here, and that's something.
I turn my focus back to the treadmill and up the speed just a tad, pushing myself into a faster jog. The burst of energy surprises me; a small spark of hope. Maybe all those fitness articles I’ve skimmed aren’t complete lies—maybe there is such a thing as a runner’s high.
However, that quickly changes a few minutes later. My legs start to feel like Jell-o and my lungs are on fire. Time to slow it down before I collapse in a puddle of my own sweat. I gradually decrease the speed until I'm at a brisk walk, then finally a leisurely stroll.
As I catch my breath, I can't help but notice how effortless everyone else makes it look. This girl several feet in front of me on the elliptical looks like she is barely breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, I'm over here panting like a dog in the middle of summer.
I half expect to see judgy looks or hear snickers as I wipe the sweat from my brow with the bottom of my t-shirt. But when I muster up the courage to actually take in my surroundings, I realize that no one is paying me any attention. They're all too focused on their own workouts, their own goals, their own journeys.
Huh. Imagine that. The world doesn't actually revolve around me and my insecurities. Who would've thought?
I can't help but chuckle at my own ridiculous assumptions. Here I was, convinced that everyone was silently mocking me, when in reality, they couldn't care less. It's oddly freeing, in a way, and I’ll take a win where I can get it.
As I step off the treadmill on wobbly legs, I feel a sense of accomplishment wash over me. I did it. I survived my first workout. And you know what? It wasn't nearly as horrific as I had built it up to be in my head.
After I wipe off the treadmill, I grab my water bottle, headphones, and phone. The free weights area is still packed, and the weight machines might as well have flashing neon signs that say Intimidating as Hell , so I head to a quieter corner of the gym where a row of yoga mats is neatly stacked.
I drop my things beside one, unroll the mat, and sit down, stretching out my legs. My calves still feel tight from the treadmill, but the slow pull of the stretch feels good. After I’m done, I take a second to swipe open my phone to switch my playlist to something more mellow. I find myself nodding along to the soft beat that plays through my earbuds as I take a long sip from my water bottle.
Okay, so maybe cardio won’t kill me after all. That’s a relief. I still need to work on toning up and eating better if I want to see real changes, but… maybe this won’t be so bad.
That thought alone should motivate me to continue. Instead, I find myself checking my social media accounts.
Procrastination at its finest.
I scroll mindlessly through my feed until without really thinking about it until I end up on Knox’s profile.
I know it’s a bad idea, but I do it anyway.
Most of his posts are hockey-related like action shots from games, team photos, a couple of candids with his teammates. I smile when I see that some of the photos have Isla credited. His follower count is ridiculous, which makes sense, at least to me. Hot guy + hockey + social media? Sounds like the recipe for a thirst trap if I’ve ever heard of one.
I scroll past a shot of him in his Red Wolves jersey, with his hair damp from what I assume is sweat and his gaze locked on something off-camera. The post has thousands of likes, plus enough comments to make my thumb cramp just from scrolling through them.
I know I shouldn’t look.
But I can’t help myself. Especially when one comment in particular catches my attention:
TessaM9352: Looking good as always. Some things never change
My stomach tightens, heat rising up the back of my neck before I can stop it.
Seriously?
Then I catch myself. It’s not like Knox and I are anything anyway, so why do I care? I shake my head, lock my screen and toss it beside my water bottle with a little more force than necessary.
I shove the thoughts from my mind and focus on doing two sets of crunches and feel the burn in my core. It’s a familiar pain as I wince and let out a deep breath as I take a break between sets. It’s amazing how quickly your body can start to remember what it’s forgotten.
By the time I finish the second set, my abs are screaming, but there’s a strange sense of satisfaction that comes with it. I take a moment to just lie back and breathe, staring up at the ceiling. I sit up slowly, not wanting to rush and make myself dizzy. I look over in the mirror across from me just to see how much a mess I look.
My face is bright red, my ponytail is a mess, and my t-shirt has sweat stains on it. I look like a drowned rat, but I’m at least I’m being productive, and it is time to wrap this up.
Stretching has always been my favorite part of any workout. It's the one thing that doesn’t make me feel like I’m dying. I sink into a runner’s stretch, and the tension in my calves and hamstrings eases a bit. I probably should have done this before I got on the treadmill, but here we are. I move through familiar poses: downward dog, child’s pose, seated forward bend.
When I’m done going through the motions, I wipe everything down, stand, and roll up the mat. After I’m done cleaning up, I stretch my arms over my head as if I’m reaching for the sky.
As I’m putting my arms down, I glance out the gym’s large windows. The sun has dipped closer to the horizon, painting the sky with strokes of orange and pink. There’s something romantic about the sunset that makes me pause and take a mental snapshot. I feel... hopeful. Like maybe this is the start of something better.
I head toward the locker room, my legs still a little wobbly, but I should be able to shake it off before I have to walk back to my room. Inside my locker, I find my gym bag and pull out a fresh t-shirt. I think about it for a second before stuffing it back in my bag. I’m just going to go back to my dorm and shower anyway.
Instead, I throw my coat on and take out my ponytail, allowing my hair to flow freely on my shoulders. As I walk out of the gym into the evening air, it cools me instantly, cutting through the warmth still radiating from my body due to the workout.
My phone suddenly vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and look at the screen. It’s a text from Isla.
Isla: How'd it go?
Me: I survived. I’ll see another day.
Isla: Proud of you! See, it wasn’t so bad. Next time I’ll join you. But there’s something I wanted to ask.
Me: Shoot.
Isla: Do you want to attend a campus event with me and Hailey tonight? I can send you details in a bit, but I know free food is promised.
I think about my lack of plans for the night and find myself typing a reply back before I’ve processed exactly what was happening.
Me: You’re speaking my language. I’ll definitely be there.
As I put my phone back into my pocket, I realize I haven’t thought about Knox the entire time I was at the gym.
And that’s freeing.