Tosh
The Wedding Body Blitz Diet hasn’t budged a pound off me.
Josh is surprised, but that’s because he doesn’t know how many Maltesers I've been nibbling in my lab. As good as they tasted (like heaven), I realise if I want my partner to want to have sex with me, then I’m going to have to put a bit more effort in.
The wedding is two and a half weeks away, so I’m not expecting miracles, but hopefully I can at least look better than I do in my lingerie.
I’m already out of bed, squeezing into an old sports bra when the Apple Radar alarm goes off. Josh is ecstatic when he realises what’s happening.
‘This is the first day of the rest of your life,’ he says, gripping my shoulders.
I gulp. ‘It is?’.
Vaux-Box Gym is in the arch of the railway bridge at Vauxhall.
The place smells of armpit and is full of people I would dodge in an alley.
Josh proudly gives me a tour of the place as if it’s his home.
It’s like every gym; machines, mats and sweat puddles.
Across the walls are motivational quotes that I’ve heard Josh say numerous times.
‘A one-hour workout is four per cent of your day’, ‘Only losers quit’, ‘Be stronger than your excuse.’ My favourite is printed above the treadmills, ‘If you can dream it, you can do it.’
‘Now for the best part,’ Josh says. We’re at the back where all the weights and humongous humans are.
There is a wall-length mirror with a line of men watching themselves bicep curl.
Josh looks tiny compared to them, which explains his obsession with building muscle.
It reminds me of the size zero trend, when the older girls at school were supposedly eating less than 500 calories a day.
It’s sad the pressure we put our bodies under to fit in.
‘And this is Tony, my gym partner,’ Josh says. It takes me a second to realise who he is talking about, and then it hits me.
‘Tony is a woman?’ I say slowly.
‘Course she’s a woman,’ Josh laughs as we approach Tony – his female gym partner.
He has mentioned Tony quite a few times over the last year, but either I wasn’t paying attention, or he has purposefully not elaborated on who Tony is. ‘Tony, Amy. Amy, Tony.’
Tony looks like she could save the world from an apocalypse.
She has gelled-back dyed mahogany hair in a high ponytail and high ‘don’t mess with me’ eyebrows.
Her tank top reads, WATCH THE SQUAT! On her left shoulder is a coloured peacock tattoo with its feathers spread out across her bicep.
Her cycling shorts are stretched over her solid thighs and peachy bottom.
Now I understand how she beat Josh at the squat challenge.
She scans me up and down without smiling, and then gives Josh a friendly punch in the arm. ‘You soft thing, bringing your fiancée.’ Josh flinches from the impact. She then points in my face. ‘Are you ready for destruction, Amy?’
‘Pardon?’
‘It’s Amy’s first day so she will take it slow,’ Josh says, coming to my aid.
Tony shakes her head. ‘You know what we say about excuses! Find the heaviest weights you can lift, Amy. LET’S GO, GO, GO!’
I hover by the weight rack. I try a set of 7kg.
Nope. Maybe 5kg. Nope. I pick up the 3kg; they’re still painfully heavy, but I guess if I want to change my body in under three weeks, I’m going to have to endure it.
Josh and Tony have already started when I get back.
They are standing side by side, curling in sync.
I stand next to Josh and join in with their rhythm.
I look over to Tony lifting her 10kg weights as if they are toilet rolls.
‘Are you okay with those?’ Josh asks, inspecting me in the reflection.
‘Of course,’ I say through breaths. I try to make it look effortless, even though my arms are being torn at the seams.
‘TWENTY!’ Tony suddenly shouts. And they both drop to the floor and start doing press-ups.
I get into a ‘woman’ press-up position and slowly press down, like an elderly chicken pecking at crumbs.
Tony counts faster as they press up and down at lightning speed.
‘18 . . . 19 . . . 20. Done.’ They’re back on their feet.
I wobble up. The exercise has now changed. They’re now opening and closing their arms with the weights in each hand. I try and copy them, but it’s impossible.
‘I’m so weak,’ I laugh, hoping to get an ounce of support from Josh, but he’s too focused on his reflection to notice me.
‘Go down a weight,’ Tony demands, her arms flying in and out. I go to pick up the 2kg weights. By the time I return, they’ve changed the exercise to tricep dipping without weights. ‘Sorry, Amy, the Tosh train is a fast one to board,’ Tony says with a straight face as she dips up and down.
Did she say Tosh train? What’s a Tosh train? Oh, Tony and Josh. It’s their names merged, like Brangelina. Is this typical for gym partners?
I go close to Josh on the bench and start dipping up and down with him.
‘My arms are going to fall off,’ I say jokingly in his ear. Again, he doesn’t say anything. It’s as bad as when I’m trying to talk to him while football is on. I try again. ‘No wonder your muscles are so—’
‘Thirty!’ Tony yells, and they’re back on the floor doing press-ups. I don’t even try to do 30; I barely do 5, and that’s on my knees. Tony counts to 30, and they’re back on their feet.
‘Round two!’ Tony screams.
‘Round two!’ Josh repeats.
I pick up the weights and feebly join the Tosh train for round two. They’re no longer concerned that I’m not keeping up. It reminds me of those dark days of the beep test in PE. Rebecca and I were always the first out.
Finally, after three rounds, it comes to an end. I collapse onto the mat, trying to catch my breath. Josh nods at me to see if I’m okay. I manage to give him a thumbs up for a microsecond. He turns to Tony, who is inspecting her arm, twisting it around.
‘Did you hurt it?’ Josh asks as he puts his sweaty hand on her sweaty peacock tattoo.
‘No. I’m still sore from yesterday,’ she says. ‘Just need to add extra—’
‘Protein,’ Josh says, finishing her sentence.
‘Exactly.’
They share a smile.
‘Workout rundown time?’ Josh says.
‘Workout rundown time,’ Tony repeats. And they begin reviewing the last hour in painful detail, of how they could improve and how they have progressed.
They are both so eager that they keep talking over one another.
Meanwhile, I’m lying flat on the mat nearby, feeling like a third wheel to my fiancé.
I’m waiting for the jealousy to hit me, but I’m far too distracted by how passionate Josh is right now.
His hands are animated, and his voice has this authoritative tone as he instructs Tony about her curling technique.
You could be fooled into thinking he’s talking about something that actually matters.
I will never understand his love for this place, like he will never understand my love for astronomy.
I guess we’re just very different like that.
I finally peel myself off the mat and hobble over to them. Tony seems marginally disappointed to have me back alive, but she welcomes me anyway with a playful smack on the back.
‘Good effort, Ames!’ I jolt forward from the power.
‘Thanks,’ I say. I try to slap her arm, but my body has turned to jelly, so I end up stroking the peacock instead. ‘Um, we’ve got to go, Josh, we’ll be late for work.’
‘Eurgh, work,’ he grunts.
‘Are you going to come back tomorrow?’ Tony asks me, more concerned than encouraging. She needn’t be worried, there is no way I’ll be returning. I know I need to change my body, but I’ll just eat less Maltesers and squat . . . occasionally. Nothing is worth this torture.
‘Ha. I think I’ve reached my final destination – I won’t be reboarding the Tosh train.’
Josh doesn’t laugh, nor does Tony. Geez, they really need to chill out. Tony grabs my shoulders and looks me in the eye.
‘Change starts at the end of your comfort zone, Amy,’ she says. And that is all the motivation I need to know that I am never coming back here again.