‘Pay your deposit, put three hours of study and three hours of gym training in weekly and you will make it through the course,’ he said.
‘Even if I’m not as toned as the others,’ I asked, and he comforted me, saying musculature wasn’t as important for an instructor as the ability to motivate.
I wonder if he meant any of it.
‘There are things you should already have an understanding of, Natalie.’ Bobby makes notes, scratching his page with angry motions of the pen.
My gut compresses, I feel a shrinking sensation of inadequacy, but a radiating sense of humiliation throughout my body.
I am silent and my hearing seems to have turned itself down.
Bobby takes long strides over to Magdalena and Lucy. Lucy points at the Vibro-Plate and says something; the three of them laugh.
I am mute for lunch. Words don’t want to come while I feel like this. I wonder whether I could get a refund if I left the course?
I sit beside the others in the cafeteria. Christian has brought a packed lunch of four chicken breasts and kale salad in a large Tupperware box. He has a tin of tuna, a big tub of Greek yogurt and a bag of trail mix too. He alternates drinks from an energy drink can and a protein shake bottle.
Magdalena orders porridge with water and a glass of water which she adds blue powder to.
‘Is that your twelve per cent lunch?’ Lucy asks, distorting her mouth.
‘Yes. I have a strict food plan to follow.’
Lucy opens a bag of cheese and onion crisps; the strong smell off them wafts.
‘They look delicious,’ Magdalena says as Lucy scoffs.
‘D’ya want one?’
‘No. I cannot. Not until the contest ends.’
‘Your discipline is intimidating,’ Lucy says, licking her fingers.
‘It’s not discipline, I do not want to work where I work any longer. This is my path to freedom.’ She picks up a spoonful of the watery porridge.
I buy a cheese and ham sandwich from the fridge, and take out my flask with my homemade smoothie: wheatgrass, spirulina, spinach, apple, banana. I listen to chats about whey shakes, bodybuilding contests and supersets; stories of alternate universes.
After lunch, we’re lined up in the studio for group instruction. It’s been recently renovated and has a new hardwood floor and a fresh paint smell. Bobby drills us on an aerobic routine. Tap toes to get warmed up, march forward, step touch, curl our heels to our asses, then take a step knee lift.
It looks simple but I’m breathless as I follow the choreography.
Bobby hits play on his ghettoblaster. ‘Now, one of you instruct the class, with those four basic steps. Someone volunteer. Anyone?’
I avoid eye contact.
Bobby tuts. ‘No one? I’ll pick so. Christian, you’re up first.’
Christian walks slowly to the top of the room.
‘Count us in,’ Bobby says.
‘Three, two, one,’ Christian says, not in time with the music. He tries to explain what we have to do but mumbles his sentences. We remember the gist of the steps. He can’t keep the beat.
Bobby switches the music off. ‘Mr Muscles has two left feet. I’m hardly surprised.’
Christian wipes his nose.
‘Lifting is not going to help someone like you on this course. I recommend you go to zumba, step, line dancing – anything. Go and learn how to move in time with music instead of kissing your guns in the gym.’
Christian nods and walks to the back of the room.
‘Okay, who’s next?’ he says and I make myself small. He calls on Magdalena. She walks to the top smiling.
‘I must apologize for my English,’ she says.
Bobby presses play and Magdalena counts us down on her fingers. She goes through the first part of the routine without saying anything.
‘Explain the movements to the group,’ Bobby says.
‘And we go, with this leg, to cross it in front of the other,’ she says for the move, stunting us and losing the beat.
‘Afterwards, this other leg, it will go to this side,’ she says. The whole thing loses its flow. ‘Then we will go to the first side again.’
She gets frustrated. ‘Next, is this movement, to go this way,’ she says, hesitates, trying to mime the movement.
The group try to stay enthusiastic as we wait on her.
‘And then we will put this leg to this place,’ she says. ‘I am sorry. I do not have the words.’
Bobby is checking his phone.
‘Do it in Spanish,’ Lucy shouts.
‘Excuse me?’ Magdalena replies.
‘En español.’
Magdalena looks over at Bobby. She waits for the beat and snaps her fingers.
‘Okay, vamos a bailar,’ she says. ‘Cuatro, tres, dos, uno.’
She shouts confidently and for a while we dance, and understand Spanish.
‘Day one is done,’ Lucy says. We exit the turnstile and walk across the reception foyer.
‘I think I’m in the wrong place,’ I say, the first words I’ve spoken in hours.
‘Why?’ she asks. ‘You chose to be here?’
I nod.
‘And you paid for it?’
‘Well, yeah.’
‘Then you have your reasons for wanting this. Remember them.’
‘I wish I had more confidence.’
‘Fuck off, Natalie. You’ve loads of confidence. In class, you’re the only one who guesses.’
‘Yeah, but it’s no big deal.’
‘How about when you guessed and got it wrong earlier? How did that feel?’
‘I dunno. I never thought about it.’
‘When you got it wrong?’
‘I can learn from getting it wrong. I’ll know the next time.’
‘And what’s that, d’ya reckon?’
‘Yeah, okay, the theory is easy for me. But I don’t know if I’ll get good at the practical stuff quick enough. I don’t know how to even do the basic exercises properly.’
‘So what, Natalie? You don’t have to be perfect.’ She pulls the door open, lets me go out ahead of her into the weak early evening sunshine.
On the second week, my classmates are friendly and happy to see me as I enter.
Bobby gives us a lecture on the respiratory system.
Any time he asks a question, the class automatically turn to see what I’ll answer. I stay silent for someone else to guess, but when no one does, I say something.
Bobby says, ‘I want to talk to you today about proofreading your work. Christian, I had a read of your assignment. It’s polluted with errors. Did you even spellcheck it before you printed it?’
Christian scratches his stubble. ‘No.’
Bobby reads out a line. ‘The gym floor has place for weights, keep the floor clean, off the weights.’ What the hell does that mean? Is that even English?’
Christian blushes. ‘I meant about the obstructions, when people leave the weights on the floor, it’s a health and safety risk.’
‘That is not what I’m reading here. Look, none of you have been to college so you wouldn’t know that you can’t hand in any old rubbish when answering questions. You need to proofread. Hear me?’
I gasp as Bobby tears the paper in half.
‘Proofread your assignment and bring it in next week. You all have weaknesses, work on them before I point them out to everyone. Some of you, it’s rhythm, or the gym floor exercises, or voice projection. For a lot of you, it’s simple grammar.’
Christian bows his head. I feel a small fire in the pit of my stomach.
‘I went to college,’ I say belatedly and then clear my throat.
‘What?’
‘I went to college, I’ve a degree and a postgraduate diploma. And Christian, I’ll proofread your work,’ I say.