Bobby sneers. ‘Okay, college girl, let’s show these guys some moves. Come up here, up to the top. Teach us how to do a squat. A squat is one of the Big Three exercises. Basic. Teach us that, Natalie, university queen.’
Shit.
I stumble to the top of the room. The last time I squatted was on a South American mountain.
As we break for lunch, I stay back to speak to Bobby. My mouth is dry and my tongue feels thick. I say, ‘You’re making me feel inadequate.’
His eyes are alight. ‘I’m not making you feel anything.’
‘You are.’
‘I’m not inside you making you feel things. I’ve my own feelings to deal with.’
‘But I feel—’
‘Exactly. You feel. You’re responsible for how you feel. Natalie, you’re not training, and for all your knowledge of theory, you’re not going to pass the practicals if you don’t train.’
‘I am training.’
‘You’re not.’
‘I am training.’
‘If you’re training, why can’t you do any of this?’
‘I am fucking training. Call to the gym I’m in and have a look at my admission history. I’m in there every evening.’
Bobby chuckles and put his hands up. ‘Okay okay, calm down, woman. No need to be oversensitive.’
The table talk is about steroids, competitions and cheating, as we eat lunch. I’m oblivious to all things doping and how it’s poisoning professional sport.
‘Winning is more important than being honest?’ I ask.
‘For a lot of athletes, winning’s the only thing,’ Lucy says.
‘And they cheat to win?’
‘They’ll do anything to win.’
‘But cheating is lying? Is that not an automatic loss of integrity?’
‘I dunno, Natalie,’ Christian chimes in. ‘A win is a win.’
Lucy and Magdalena nod in agreement.
I lie on the bench under the twenty kilo bar. I can’t lift it off the hook, never mind press it.
Now as Bobby glares at me from above the bench, I notice the asymmetry of his nostrils, the roof of his mouth, how some of his grey eyebrows stick out rather than fold along with their counterparts.
‘Why haven’t you done this before?’ he asks.
I sit up on the bench. ‘Because the rack and bench are over by the men on steroids who are grunting and looking in the mirror. It’s intimidating to go in there.’
It’s one thing to be in the gym, it’s another to strut around it like you know what you’re doing.
‘Intimidating is an excuse. If you’ve paid membership, you’ve every right to use the rack as much as those men. I have a feeling you don’t do any resistance training. Zero.’
‘I don’t, not really,’ I say.
‘Why not?’
‘It’s boring.’
‘Boring?’ His eyes grow wide. ‘Do you think fitness is supposed to be entertainment?’
‘It wouldn’t hurt if it was a bit more exciting.’
‘We are not clowns for lazy people. If you can’t lift that bar, give me teaching points at least,’ Bobby says.
‘They’re not lazy. They’re just not sporty. Sometimes there’s a big chasm between athletic people and the rest of us.’
‘Big words too like chasm. It’s lazy, Natalie Dillon. In plain and simple language. And you’re lazy, why aren’t you benching daily?’
‘I’ve already told you.’
‘How do you expect to make it through this course? Why on earth are you even here?’
‘Because I see how to bridge that chasm.’
‘You need to go back to an office, woman. This is delusional.’
‘You aren’t even aware of the market I’m talking about.’
‘Oh right, the lazy market?’
‘Look, Bobby, who’s out of their comfort zone here?’ I ask. ‘Who’s doing something different?’
Bobby taps the bar. ‘Get back down and show me where your hands should be.’
I put my hands on the bar, judging it by the ring marks.
‘How wide should the grip be?’
‘Depends on which muscles you want to target. Bring down the bar to the midline of your chest, don’t pause, push the bar back up.’
‘Do the action, since you can’t lift the weight.’
I mime bench pressing, exhaling noisily as I raise the imaginary bar.
‘How can we regress this for people who are too lazy to be in the gym?’
‘Push-up.’
‘Okay, you know something at least. Let’s see your push-ups.’
I go onto the ground and feel a tremble come to my hands as I kneel.
‘No more excuses, Natalie. Everyone gather round, let’s watch this.’ He waits until the other students, all eight of them, are in a semi-circle around me. He folds his arms and smirks.
‘Teaching points, go.’
‘Assume plank position,’ I say and put my palms under my shoulders.
‘More teaching points,’ Bobby says.
‘Keep your back neutral, you don’t want to arch or bend it.’
‘More.’
‘You can modify by putting your knees on the ground.’
‘A lady push-up, okay,’ he says. ‘What are the muscles involved?’
‘Shoulders, chest, core.’
‘Muscle names.’
I hesitate. ‘Pecs. Triceps. Deltoids. Abs.’
‘Now dip,’ he says.
I take a breath and go down, trying to get as close to the ground as I can. My arms are shaking. I go low and then push myself back up to the starting point.
‘Again. That one doesn’t count.’
Fuck.
I bend down low, feel the pressure on my upper arms, push up unsteadily.
‘Are you breathing out on exertion? I can’t hear you. Go again, that one doesn’t count, not low enough. Your elbows are flaring.’
I go low, my arms turn jellylike. On the ground, I notice a hairball with a red string tangled in it.
‘Now push,’ Bobby says and I push shakily back up. ‘Another one. That doesn’t count.’
I sit back on my knees and say nothing.
‘What’s Natalie’s problem here?’ he asks the class.
They look at their feet.
Christian says, ‘She isn’t used to doing it.’
‘No, well, maybe yes, she hasn’t created the neural feedback in her muscles for this move, but what’s her big problem? It’s pretty obvious. We’re all fitness instructors here, there’s no need to be mincing our words.’
Here we go.
‘We’re going to be meeting many clients like Natalie, full of excuses, no responsibility.’
Everybody stays quiet.
Bobby says, ‘Natalie’s problem is that she’s at least ten kilos overweight thereby making a push-up extremely hard on her already weak arms. She is too weak and too heavy.’
Some of the others in the class appraise this statement by staring at my body. Lucy pretends she hasn’t heard and is intently watching a man run on a treadmill. Magdalena makes a face at Bobby when he’s not looking.
Christian tries again. ‘She needs to train her arms. Get more power in them.’
‘Yes, Christian, it’s true she’s no gym rat like you but she also needs to release all that excess subcutaneous fat. You’re all aware that your body is your selling point as an instructor? Who’s going to go to someone like Natalie and say “yes, I want to be that shape, sign me up”? No one.’
Christian says, ‘Chill, man. I don’t think it’s necessary to—’
Bobby breaks in. ‘It’s the truth and I’m saying this so you people know, your body is a visual display of your fitness prowess. Natalie will be making minimum wage on the gym floor, if she can’t master these basics. Life is tough. Be tougher.’
I wipe my hands on my Lycra leggings. I roll my shoulders back and forward to loosen them.