Moore To Love (4 page)

ASHLEY NEVER MENTIONED THAT JANE
was
the
G.I. Jane. Holy Mother of God, I’ve never seen a woman with so many muscles. It’s scary, and crazy, and kind of freaking hot. “Ash, I want to look like her when this is all over.”

Ashley giggles, no words necessary. Her thoughts mirror mine—
fat chance in hell.
“You never know, babe. Crazier things have happened.”

“Yeah, like me being carried out on a stretcher after three minutes with this chick. You do know I won’t last a whole hour with her, right?”

“Leave your negativity at the door,” she smarts and points at the plaque right beside the entrance to the gym. Sure enough, it says the exact same thing.
Clever.
However, if I had a choice it would say something like
welcome to hell.
But that’s considered negative so I’m already losing this battle.

“Hey, girls!” Mandy bypasses Jane who’s been on a call at the front desk for the last few minutes. If I thought Jane’s physique was flawless then this woman’s body was carved out of stone. It can’t be natural. She’s got to be an alien, or a robot. No human I know is this naturally proportioned and athletically enhanced.

Ashley is first to greet the Gym Goddess with a warm smile and a hug. “So nice to finally meet you! Jane can’t stop talking about you. She’s head over heels for you, girl.”

“She better be,” Mandy quips, winking my way. The whole interaction totally intimidates me. I am by no means uncomfortable with same sex marriage, dating, you name it, but the “she better be” throws me off. Is she implying that she’ll nunchuck her chick into submission?
Who am I kidding? She’ll use her bare hands.

“You must be Madeline,” Mandy extends a strong hand to me and I shyly reciprocate.

“Leni, please. And it’s nice to meet you, too.”

“Then why do you look like you just crapped yourself? I won’t bite, Leni, I promise.”

Ashley and Mandy share a laugh as my stomach inverts into my abdomen and nearly falls out my rectum. Am I that transparent? The mixture of embarrassment and fear must be written all over my face.

“Leni here is a gym hater.”

Mandy gasps and every occupant of the gym turns their head to see what’s going on.
Way to ease away the discomfort, girls. Real good.

“There’ll be none of that. By the time you’re done with us you’ll hate the gym so much you’ll fucking love it.” Mandy’s face is painted with pleasure as she says the meaningful phrase. I get it. I’ve heard this before—people learn to crave the pain, love the burn, and embrace the after-workout-soreness. I want more than anything to be that type of person, but I’ve been here before and I just can’t get comfortable with having to ask for help to sit on the toilet after leg day. That ain’t cool, no matter how much my rocking ass with thank me for it later.

I take a deep breath and decide to go with it. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, and I am obviously ill equipped to give these two any kind of beating. “I’m ready. You’ve got my word. I might whine and bitch, but it’ll all be worth it in the end, right?”

“Exactly!” Mandy shouts.

“Yay, Leni! I’m so proud of you!” Ashley beams.

I wish I could be that excited about the torment ahead.

An hour later, I swear to Jesus Christ and every saint, martyr, and Apostle that I’m going to die. Death by lunges wasn’t what I imagined in my obituary, but they better call the morgue because I’m done for.

“Fuck!” I scream, keeling over and collapsing on the rubber mat.

“Let it out, babe. Yell all you want, but you did it and lived to tell about it.” Jane kneels beside me on the floor, handing me a sweat rag and my water bottle.

“Barely,” I manage to breathe, realizing that I did in fact live to tell the tale of the Lunge Monster and her evil queen, Squat Beast. “But—would you look at that? I still have a pulse.”

“That you do. I’m proud of you, Leni. I wasn’t sure you had it in you.”

“I was,” Ashley’s quick to interrupt Mandy at my defense. “You got this. I told you! And the first day is always the hardest, but tomorrow you’ll get back on the horse and—”

“Tomorrow?” I nearly cry. Like full on, sobbing, weeping, throwing a tantrum
cry
.

The three mocking bitches laugh, clearly ignoring the seriousness of this ludicrous situation.

“Yes, tomorrow. And the day after that, and the day after that, babes. After you’re done down there on the floor, you’re going to come into our office and we’re setting you up with a weekly diet and exercise plan. This won’t be easy, Leni, but nothing worth it ever is. You game?”

Can I say no? I want to say no. I really, really want to fucking say no. But I can’t. She’s right. It’s time to grab life by the balls—if I had any, I would have squatted them off today—and do this shit wholeheartedly. “Yeah, I’m game,” I whisper.

“Say what?” Jane barks. “I didn’t hear you.” She cups her ear and leans down, waiting for my response.

“Yes! I’m game! You happy?”

“Yes!” they all shout in unison.

“And you should be, too,” Ashley reminds me.

And I am. I truly am so proud of myself for getting through this without giving up. It’s an accomplishment and while I’m certain this’ll be an uphill battle . . . I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.

Okay, so screw the gym,
this
is the hardest part of the whole shebang.
Willpower.
I have none. And while I emptied my fridge and cabinets of anything unhealthy and fattening, I have no problem getting in the elevator in the hallway, taking it down to the lobby, and walking (exercise!!!) the three blocks to McDonald’s to feed my late night craving. But I digress.

When I watch TV I like to snack, and I don’t care who you are but carrots and hummus are not considered an acceptable
Late Nate with Jimmy Fallon
accompaniment. I want chips, dip, popcorn, something with crunch that isn’t a raw vegetable! But I refuse to undo what I did today with Ashley, Jane, and Mandy. Forget about disappointing myself—I’ve learned to live with self inflicted guilt—I can’t let
them
down. They put their faith in me and I want to deliver. So, instead of laughing it up with my man Jimmy, I decide to call it a night before the temptation of food, alcohol or anything with a caloric intake over five comes knocking on my door.

Tomorrow is a new day. I’ll be in pain, I’ll want to eat things I shouldn’t, I have to start my daily walking regimen under Jane’s instruction, and I’m not looking forward to any of it, but if I learned anything today, it’s that Ashley was right in that dress store the other day. I don’t give myself enough credit. I can do this. I will do this. G.I. Jane and Mandy, beware—you’ll make a gym lover outta me yet.

MY TUNE IS MUCH DIFFERENT
this morning. Less a song, more a battle cry. “Ouch! Ooo. Eee. Ahhh.” I can’t even get my legs over the mattress without wincing. How the hell will I ever get them to
walk
again? The sore-beyond-belief lumps of dead weight that seem to have replaced my legs, protest everything my brain is telling them to do. And, you know what? I don’t blame them. The shit I made these poor, flaccid, underworked muscles do yesterday—“I’m so sorry,” I cry, rubbing my legs in hopes they’ll sympathize with me and get to doing what they were designed to do.

But I can’t wait for them to move of their own accord so I force myself to roll off the bed—yes, roll—and land on the floor with a loud thud. “Jesus!” I whimper, soothing my elbow where I banged it against the bed frame. I’m a walking—well, not really—disaster. This can’t be good and there are no excuses.
Be stronger than your excuses, Leni.
If I can get through this pain and go on with the workout plan, I can do anything. I’m sure of it. However, I’ve gotten pretty comfortable here on the plush, cream carpet and I’ve just spotted a giant bag of Kit Kats hidden under the bed!
Oh my God! Mecca!

I almost reach out for the bag of wonderfulness but force my nose in the air in disgust, remembering that nowhere on the “what to eat” list from Jane and Mandy are Kit Kats or their equally yummy counterparts Twix (the backup plan buried deep inside my closet).
Willpower, I apologize to you, too. Just like my leg muscles, you’ll be tested in ways you’ve never imagined possible.

I hate that I forgot that stash because it’s just another obstacle to zig zag through, but just like the gym, I’ll face this head on. Tossing every smidge of leftover candy in the trash moves straight to the top of my to-do list. Which also includes crawling to the bathroom so I can wash up, stuffing my junk in the cute pair of yoga pants and running shoes Tatum helped picked out on our shopping spree at the athletic store, and setting my feet to the pavement at Central Park. I hope my body cooperates because it actually sounds like a great start to my day. A new start I hope to implement into my daily routine and one that Jane and Mandy suggested since my options stretch far beyond the gym.
“You don’t have to sequester yourself to the four walls of this torture chamber, as you like to call it, Leni. You can work out—aka a nice, brisk, break-a-sweat walk—anywhere. Your home, the park, the mall. Just make sure you incorporate an hour of cardio at least five times a week, and you’ll keep me—and your scale—very happy, babes.”