with the demons I can’t always keep buried, it’s no wonder I’ve fallen back into a funk.
“You’re nearly there!”
Trainer guy claps his hands together, and I lose the will to live. I must look like such a slob. It doesn’t hit me until this moment, how unfit and out of shape I am. And when I look down and see my stomach—through the top of my vest—hanging down like a beanbag, I want to die of shame.
I pray that the housekeeper doesn’t walk in and see me like this.
I get back up for the fourth press-up and I want to give up. A part of me gave up after the second press-up, but my pride and persistence makes me follow through. Even though it feels as if my arms are on fire, I force myself to press down and come up for the last time.
“Five! Well done.”
This patronizing little shit is doing my head in.
I’m going to complete the set of ten he originally set me.
With a huge grunt, I lower myself do the floor again. “You’re doing more! Excellent,” he says, as I start my sixth one. I’m in danger of collapsing. This is fucking hard but I am determined not to give up.
Good for nothing worthless piece of shit.
I can’t give up. Clamping down on my jaw, trying to muster every ounce of willpower in me, I grit my teeth and manage to complete the set of ten. My heart is racing, as if I’ve done an hour’s worth of high intensity workout. It is pathetic to feel like this after only ten push ups. I’m in worse shape than I thought.
“Well done, Ward.” He claps his hands together as if I’ve run the New York Marathon.
My face feels hot. My arms sting from pain. It takes a heroic, almost superhuman bout of determination for me to get back up again.
That killed me.
“Well done. We have a lot of work to do. What are your goals? What do you hope to achieve out of these sessions?”
I’m glad he asked me that now, because if he’d asked me first thing in the morning I’d have said eating donuts and watching day time TV would have been worthy goals. They’re also a good enough excuse for when I struggle to write. For where I am in my career, with the pressure of a film and the final book of a trilogy to release this year, I’m completely paralyzed into inaction.
“I need to lose weight and get fit, obviously.” I feel like a rhino standing next to this guy. I saw the housekeeper looking. Saw her judging.
“We can do that. I’ve got a program in mind and we’ll slowly ramp up to it. I can see we’re going to have to go slower than I originally thought.”
Fucker.
“I haven’t worked out for a while. It will come back.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. You’ll be fine once we get into it,” he says quickly. “You write most of the time, I imagine, so it’s important to have a good mix of cardio to get your heart working. We’ll do some muscle toning work.” He pointedly stares at my belly. “With a good diet, we’ll get rid of those extra pounds in no time.”
“Good. Are we done for the day?” I ask. I need to get back to work.
“Yeah. Almost. How about you do fifteen minutes on the treadmill?”
Hell, no. “Sure.” I say, walking reluctantly over to the treadmill.
“Any chance of an autograph?”
No. That’s my reflex action. That and not answering questions I don’t want to answer, but I’m going to be stuck with this guy and that woman for a few months, unfortunately. “Sure, when I’m done here.”
MARI
I strain my ears to listen out for sounds of another argument. Ward clearly doesn’t like people around him, but he seems to hate the idea of exercise more. I wonder what today’s outcome will be but it seems to be calm and peaceful there as I walk past the door to the gym.
I examine the rooms downstairs so that I can plan my cleaning schedule. I have no idea what his royal highness wants for lunch, and I’m determined to hold my ground and not make something that he’s going to turn his nose up at. I’ll find out from him first, before I waste my time making him something he won’t want, though clearing up the TV room gives me a good idea of this man’s diet. I’m not surprised he’s in the shape he’s in.
Around