Chapter 41
Doing this for yourself
I’ve been sitting in my car for thirty minutes now.
My appointment isn’t for another ten, which means I have eight minutes to get my shit together and two minutes to walk into the building.
It’s a good thing I thought to come here early so I had time to get my panic attack out of the way on my own, rather than in front of loads of other people.
I’ve already humiliated myself in one gym, I’m looking for a fresh start in this one.
I take a few deep breaths and spray some water onto my windscreen so I can watch it drip down the window.
I’ve found having something to focus on helps to relieve my anxiety, so I choose a water droplet and watch it trace its way down the glass until it meets a second drop and they combine, continuing their path down.
Once it reaches the bottom, I choose another and repeat.
It helps a little. I can breathe now at least, but my heart is still racing with nerves.
I reach for my phone to check the time and realise I have a message from Connor.
Connor
Stop panicking in your car and go in. You can do this. I’m so proud of you.
I roll my eyes at his assumption that I’m still in my car, even though I am, and put my phone in my pocket. I’ll reply later to tell him how it goes.
“Let’s do this,” I say to myself in the rear-view mirror.
As I walk across the carpark, my legs feel like jelly.
Not a good start, you haven’t even done anything yet.
I straighten my hoodie and tighten my ponytail, feeling the need to make a good impression on the trainer I have an appointment with. With a final deep breath, I reach for the glass doors and walk through.
The entrance to the gym is open and, to my great surprise, fairly welcoming.
There are no intimidating pictures on the walls, just a few schedules and class timetables.
There’s a vending machine selling protein bars and a water fountain next to the reception desk, where a woman in a comfy-looking sweatsuit is typing on a laptop.
Next to the desk are the turnstiles leading to the main gym floor, all of which have a small glowing red pad on the top.
“Can I help you?” the woman behind the desk calls.
I look over, and relax when I see her friendly smile aimed in my direction.
“Erm, hi.” I try to reciprocate her smile, but I’m still nervous, so it looks more like I have wind than anything. “I’m here to meet Natalie for a consultation.”
“Okey dokey.” She cheerfully taps some keys on her laptop. “Matilda Simmons?”
“That’s me.” I pull my arms further into my oversized sleeves and find my foot tapping agitatedly on the floor.
“Great! It looks like you filled everything out online,” she says, looking at her screen. “So, all that’s left to do now is scan your thumbprint and you’re good to go.”
She holds out a scanner, and I press my thumb on the pad, worrying slightly that my nervous shaking will cause the print to end up unrecognisable. Luckily it works out, and I’m guided through the turnstiles to meet my trainer for the first time.
There’s no one on the other side that looks like the pictures I found of Natalie online, so I take a minute to compose myself and look around.
The entire gym floor is full of machines and people milling about from one to the other, some lifting weights and training while others sip water and chat.
And it’s then that I realise that everyone in here, every last person seems…
normal. There are people of all different ages, sizes, shapes and, presumably, backgrounds, all here to work on bettering themselves in some way.
There’s still a fair amount of very fit, toned people walking around in tiny workout gear that seems to be more for style than function, but it’s balanced out with regular people just doing their best.
After that realisation hits me, I take a closer look at some of the people working out closest to me for any sign of them watching others and judging, laughing, criticising. But they don’t. Everyone is so occupied by their own routine, they barely notice anything going on around them.
Maybe this isn’t going to be the battle I prepared for. And it makes me wonder if the other gym was as awful as I’d thought, or did I project my own fears and insecurities on the place?
“Matilda?”
I turn towards the light, confident voice on my left and see the person I’ve arranged to meet smiling back at me.
The first thing I notice is that she’s not overly skinny, as I expected a trainer to be.
She’s slim and looks great in her fitted shorts, but I don’t find her body intimidating, more realistic.
“Yep, that’s me,” I nervously reply with an awkward little wave.
Great, she thinks you’re a moron already.
“It’s so good to meet you!” she says and pulls me into a quick hug. “I’m Natalie. Shall we get started?”
“Yeah, sure.” Gripping my water bottle more tightly, I wait for her to show me which gruelling machine I’ll be using first. I follow her across the main floor and up a set of stairs, where I try not to let her see how out of breath I am as she talks about the weather.
To my surprise, she leads me to a comfy-looking lounge.
“Take a seat.” Natalie gestures towards a sofa while she sits on the armchair opposite, crossing her legs and pulling them underneath her so she resembles a pixie.
Confused, I perch on the sofa and wait for her to organise her tablet.
“Right,” she says after a minute of tapping on her screen. “So, Matilda Simmons, how can I help you?”
“Well, I’m looking to lose weight. I’ve tried it on my own, and I’ve had a trainer before, but I haven’t found anything that works for me.”
“Yet.” She points at me with her pen.
“Sorry?”
“You haven’t found anything that works for you yet.”
“Right, and I’m hoping that’s where you come in.”
“Okay! So, let’s figure out your goals and see if I can help you achieve them. What are you hoping to get out of working with me?”
“Well, like I said, I want to lose weight.”
“Why?”
I take a quick glance down at my stomach rolls and enormous thighs before looking her in the eye and raising my eyebrow.
“Why? Because I’m overweight, and it makes me unhappy.”
“Ah, so you’re looking to be happier?” she asks, nodding her head and typing on her tablet.
“Yes. I want to look in the mirror and not hate what I see.”
“Mhmm. So you want to feel confident?”
“Well, yeah. I think losing about two and a half stone should do it.”
“Okay, let’s just park that number for a minute, shall we? What makes you think losing weight will make you happier and more confident?”
I struggle to find the words to explain because I feel the answer is too obvious to warrant an explanation, but Natalie sits calmly waiting for my answer.
I pick at a loose thread on my sleeve and try to figure out how to explain to this clearly fit, confident person how it feels to be fat and hate yourself.
“All my life I’ve been big. And I don’t remember the last time I felt truly happy, despite having no reason to feel that way other than my weight. So it just makes sense that shedding the fat will be the thing that finally makes me happy.”
“So, you think that losing two and a half stone will magically make you happy?” Natalie asks bluntly, but not unkindly.
“Well, no, not magically, but…”
“Look, Matilda. I’ve been doing this job long enough to know that when people come to me for help losing weight, it’s not generally about losing weight, you know?”
“Not really.” This isn’t the way I was expecting this session to go, and the surprising turn of events throws me off.
Natalie puts her tablet down on the coffee table between us and leans towards me. “I understand that you want to lose a few pounds—”
“Two and a half stone, actually…”
“—but I think there’s more to it than that, and I’m worried that you’re never going to be satisfied with how you look physically if you’re not there mentally too.
If you choose to start up sessions with me, then you need to know I’m in this for you.
We’ll work on losing weight if that’s one of your goals, even though you don’t have as much to lose as you think, but there’s so much more to it than just that.
I can help you, I really think I can, but you’re going to have to commit to the whole journey if you want to see any real changes. How do you feel about that?”
Terrified. Anxious. Hopeless.
“Sounds great,” I choke out, forcing a smile.
“Okay. I’m going to need you to tell me everything you can about your life, your story, how you feel. Then I can get a plan in place for you. Ready?”
“Ready.”
Thirty-five minutes later, I’m still sitting on the sofa, but now my face is red, puffy and tear-stained.
Natalie has moved from her chair to sit on the couch next to me, rubbing my back comfortingly as I finish telling her about my job, Rhys, Connor, my mental health, everything.
Hearing it all spill out like verbal diarrhoea was cathartic in a way, but seeing the look of pity on Natalie’s face stings.
“Thank you for being so honest with me, Matilda. That couldn’t have been easy for you,” she says after handing me yet another tissue.
I sniffle in response, too emotionally exhausted to use words.
“I have some thoughts and a plan in mind if you’re interested in hearing them?”
I nod my head and take a deep breath to prepare myself for what she’s about to propose. Hours of intense exercise? Limited eating? I brace myself for the worst scenario.
“I want you to start exercising regularly. Nothing extreme, just get your body moving every day, and come train with me once a week.”
Okay, not too bad so far.
“I want you to eat well. Loads of nutrients to fuel your body and boost your mood.”
Not unexpected. I can manage that.
“And I want you to start being kinder to yourself. So, you eat a doughnut? So what? Enjoy it and move on, don’t beat yourself up about it.”
This one surprises me, but I nod in agreement and promise to try.
“This next one isn’t a goal as such,” Natalie says, suddenly sounding a little apprehensive. “It’s more like something to think about.”
“Okay…”
“After everything you’ve been through, I think you should be careful jumping from one relationship into another.
Connor sounds wonderful, but you really need to focus on yourself right now.
Having the pressure of a new relationship might hinder your progress rather than help it, and I’m worried about you relying too heavily on someone else to succeed.
It’s not a deal-breaker, and totally up to you what you do, it’s just easier sometimes for people outside of the situation to see things more clearly. ”
Hinder my progress? A spark of defensiveness flares in my chest. He’s my anchor, my literal reason for living. Doesn’t she see that?
“Connor is the only thing getting me through this mess of a life,” I say in disbelief. “I’m doing this to be better for him.”
“Exactly,” Natalie sighs. “But you should be doing this for yourself.”