Chapter 11 #2
I roll my eyes. “Keep that up, you’re going to give your forehead a cramp.”
Her grin is unrepentant. “As I was saying, most of that manhunter flock dropped off. And those who stuck around found others onto whom they could project their affections.”
“There were four weddings with gym couples within a year of Firehouse opening,” says Helen.
“And a whole lotta babies.” She punctuates this with a nod toward the break room, left of our spot at the far end of the rig.
Filling the window that looks onto the floor is a group of kiddos under preschool age, observing the class with rapt interest. Grant stands behind them, Helen’s daughter, Penny, on his shoulders.
Firehouse offers childcare during some morning classes on Tuesday and Thursday, with Grant as sitter.
They’ve been clambering over him like chicks on a farm dog. It’s precious.
Penny waves to her mom. Grant waves to me.
“Why did you stick around?” I ask Helen. We step back so Babs can have her turn with the bar.
She seems to consider her answer. “Have you had your goal-
setting session yet?” I shake my head. “That was what sold me. Not that the workouts weren’t great.
But”—she gives me a droll look—“I’m a lot of woman.
” She gestures to herself, moving her arms to emphasize her generous frame.
“I came in expecting to be taken to task for being fat. It’s why Marcia dragged me in. She thought it would be ‘good for me.’”
“Neat friend,” I say.
“Right?” Helen laughs, retrieving another two ten-pound plates to add to the bar. Babs finishes her set, and she and I put the twenty-fives we’d removed back on.
Helen continues as she adds her tens. “Every other gym or trainer I’d met with before coming here gave me a goal weight. ‘Here’s your metric for success. Hit that, you’ve succeeded. You don’t? You’re a failure.’”
Her expression shadows. She crosses her arms, leaning against the bar.
“I was done with that. I was told to lose weight if I wanted to get pregnant. Or it was my physician’s opinion that my weight was contributing to my fertility issues.
And there might have been some truth to that, but Christ.” She sighs.
“When you’re fat, that’s the first thing you hear for anything medical.
‘Try losing X pounds; see how it goes.’”
I nod, having read testimonials after my endometriosis diagnosis. Patients being denied care for years, their doctors insisting that their weight was the underlying issue to the chronic pain. “And it was different here?”
Her face immediately brightens. “When I sat down with Ian, he asked me what I wanted to be able to do.” She ducks under the bar to set up her lift. “I wasn’t told to be less. I was shown that I could do more. That was it. I knew I’d found my place.”
She’s quiet as she performs her squats, grinding through the heavier set with the same control she had with the lighter weight.
That’s fifty pounds more than I’ll be working with, but she’s breezing through it.
I wonder how long it will take for me to work up to that, or if my body will turn on me before I have the chance…
I shake off the thought.
Helen racks the bar, and we busy ourselves switching around the plates.
“I’m not going to act like I wasn’t open to losing weight,” she resumes.
“And I have. I have less body fat, but more muscle, so the number on the scale isn’t too different from what it was on day one.
” She lifts her chin. “And that’s not how I measure my success here, anyway. ”
“That’s what PRs are for,” says Babs, proudly.
“When I get to ring that.” Helen points to the bell hanging on the wall beside the workout whiteboard. Beside it in—shudder—Comic Sans is a sign reading NEW PERSONAL RECORD? RING THAT BELL! “That’s success.”
There’s a thumping sound to our left, and we turn to see Penny pounding the window, cheering for her mom. She presses a hand to her lips, then swings her arm low, blowing a kiss that sends her hand straight into Grant’s face. He laughs it off.
Helen blows a kiss back. “And it matters to me that my girl gets to see it. I never had that growing up,” she adds.
“Never got to see bigger women do anything athletic. Maybe in field events or weight lifting in the Olympics, but even now, you really have to seek that out.” She sticks her tongue out at her daughter, who does the same.
“Penny will have whatever body she has, but it’s important to me that she’s seen what bodies like mine can do. ”
Before I can say anything, she laughs. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t too soapbox-y, was it?”
I shake my head as I step under the bar. “I asked. And it’s nice to know that you don’t have to look like something from the Parthenon to be a powerhouse.” I unrack the bar and get into my squatting stance. “My coworkers are threatening to skew my perspective.”
Helen laughs, and I brace, starting my set. I’m absolutely feeling those additional twenty pounds, but it’s still manageable.
I’m on my last lift when Babs asks, “So, you’ve seen Ian’s nude?”
I seize up, halfway out of my squat. How does she know?
“Babs!” Helen chides, but the older woman is laughing. They’re behind me, so I can’t see them, but Babs must realize that she’s thrown me off, as her laughter tapers some.
“Oh, shit. Sweetie,” she says, still giggling. “You okay?”
“Ellie, are you stuck?” Helen asks. “Do you need to bail?” Ian had shown how to bail on a lift if we were unable to complete it. It’s simple, a matter of releasing the bar and shrugging it off your shoulders, but I’m just out of sorts enough that even those two motions are beyond me.
My legs are shaking. “I don’t—”
“Hayes!” Ian bellows from across the room. “Push through! You’ve got this. Up!”
The command activates some unknown source of strength and I propel myself into a standing position. I rack the bar, stepping into the rig, relieved of the chrome and plates, but feeling the weight of the entire class’s attention instead.
Then Ian’s at my side, and my awareness homes in on him. “Are you okay?” he asks, voice tense with worry.
While I’d happily keep my focus on the gray swell of concern in his eyes, I glare at Babs, who tries not to smile back, both of us knowing full well that explaining the situation is not an option. “I’m fine. Just lost tension,” I say, recalling something he’d warned of while demo-ing.
“Okay,” he says, taking in each of us in turn: me, glaring at Babs; Helen still wide-eyed; Babs, unbothered. “Well… don’t.”
“Noted. Thank you,” I say. Ian sends a final, skeptical glance to our trio, then departs. I scowl at Babs, who finally looks abashed. “Are you going to say something about intrigue?”
“Girly, that goes far beyond intrigue. That was dangerous,” she admits. “I’m so sorry.” Her serious face holds for another few seconds, then she cracks a smile. She leans in, waggling her brows. “So that’s a yes on the nude?”