I don’t reply.
‘Doesn’t everyone?’ he says and laughs manically.
‘I already have a body that can go to the beach.’ I look at him but he doesn’t meet my eye.
‘Or The Incinerator programme. It’s new. It’s brutal but it is damn efficient.’ He slams his fist into his open palm. The slap of it echoes.
His face gurns.
‘I’m a newly qualified PT,’ I say. ‘Looking for a job.’
He cackles a laugh then stops abruptly. ‘What about The Transformation? On this eight week programme you will shed some serious pounds. It is brutal,’ he says and slams his fist into his palm again. ‘But success is guaranteed. Failure is not an option.’
The receptionist clacks on her keyboard.
‘I read somewhere that failure is a door not a wall. I like that perspective,’ I say.
Joel isn’t convinced. ‘If winning isn’t important, then why does nobody remember losers?’
He waits for me to answer.
‘Missus, why does nobody remember losers?’ He says it slowly this time, giving a pause after each word.
‘How do we know nobody remembers them?’ I wrinkle my nose.
‘I asked why. You gotta know your whys.’
‘How is this being measured, Joel? It sounds a bit unquantifiable to be true. The losers would remember losing probably. Other people would as well, the winners who beat them, anyone who was a spectator?’
He makes eye contact with me for the first time. His pupils are dilated. ‘Nobody remembers the losers.’
‘Are you high?’ I ask, thinking out loud.
He does the fist palm thing again.
I edge away from him to the glass revolving door.
The air is fresh outside and I dash down the street without realizing I’m running until I stop at the traffic lights. A sudden and heavy downpour of rain comes as I wait for the green man to blink and let pedestrians cross.
My CV turns mushy in my hand. I sigh and ball it up. This is turning into a fucking nightmare. I cross over and duck under an awning, wait for the shower to pass. Sheets of water roll down the footpath into the drains. At the end of the street, a waiter struggles to stack metal chairs. Parasols are unfurled over the tables. I turn to the window behind me and check my face, to see if my make-up has washed away.
I run down to the café and say hello to the waiter before stepping inside. I wipe my face and blow my nose. Checking their specials, I order a cauliflower soup and sit at a table by the window. I strip off my coat, put it beside the radiator, and re-tie my hair.
The rain calms to a steady but weaker flow outside. People dart by the window, suit jackets or scarves over their heads. I take my phone out to Google where my nearest bus stop is. I see, from maps, there’s another gym across the road. I look over.
There’s a small sign on a board that says ‘Fitness Classes Inside’, but that’s it. The building is nondescript.
I don’t know if I can face more rejection today. When I finish my lunch, I pay and head towards the bus stop.
The timetable says the bus will be there in eighteen minutes. Fuck it. I have enough time to check. I go back.
The rain is spluttery now. The sky is brighter. I wipe myself down and pull the heavy fire door. The gym is at the back of the building. It’s signposted through the hall. I follow to a large open room.
In the corner, there are two bench press racks, suspension ropes and a three-tier dumbbell rack. Kettlebells line the floor in front of the weights. A man high-kicks an orange dummy in elaborate ways. I stand at the counter. He doesn’t notice me.
I should go.
He continues kickboxing. I feel short of breath as I walk towards him.
‘Hello,’ I say.
He spots me and stops. The rubber dummy retracts to an erect position.
The man smiles. ‘Please excuse me, I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘That’s okay,’ I say.
He walks towards me and shakes my hand, tells me to follow him back to the front counter. He stands in behind it and picks up an information leaflet and a black book. He’s breathing heavily.
‘It’s all a mess at the moment. Hold on a second.’ He plucks a pen out from underneath a card holder. ‘We’ve nobody to run the desk. I have to do it and it’s not my thing. So okay, here we go,’ he says and smiles up at me. ‘How can I help you? Are you looking for membership?’ He tears off some blue kitchen towel and wipes his brow.
My stomach flutters. ‘What do you mean you’ve nobody on the desk?’
‘We need someone front of house.’
‘This is weird timing. I called in because I’m looking for a job. I’ve been on the desk for a leisure centre already. I’ve lots of admin experience. Been doing it for years.’
He grows excited. ‘You’d like to work here?’
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘But our day is broken. Starts at 6 a.m., but reception begins at 7.30 until 10 a.m. back for 12.30 to 2 p.m., then 5.30 until close. The hours suck, I know, but that’s how we can serve our members best. Nobody sticks around too long with these split shifts.’
‘That sounds okay with me. I want to be here. I’d love to be.’
‘I’ll ring the boss. Could you start soon? Today? I can’t do everything, it’s bullshit for me to be on this counter and to set up and instruct and then try to be presentable back here again. It looks bad. I want to sweat freely. I’ll tell him to come to meet you right now.’
‘Are you not the boss?’
His face lights up. ‘I wish but no, I’m a trainer. Vitomir is my name. Nice to meet you.’ He smiles at me again and presses at his phone screen.
I know I should mention my cert, that I’m a trainer too, but it feels promising. I can’t jeopardize this opportunity.
James is there twenty minutes later. He lets me know all the perks of the job, mainly that I can go to a bunch of free classes as long as I let them know in advance which I’ve chosen for the day. He explains that the main ethos of the gym is accessibility for anyone who wants to get healthier.
‘You’ll be the first person people see, Natalie, when they step through the doors. It’s essential that you are friendly. Some of our members are fighting themselves to even come here and work out. We want nobody feeling afraid in this environment.’
‘I understand,’ I say.
He welcomes me to the team with a pat on the back.
The reception job is from Monday to Friday. I greet members, update the system with names of those who manually sign up for sessions, check that those who register on the app actually turn up, answer the phone, give information, post on social media, book-keep, send group texts, make sure the trainers sign in and out for their sessions.
I meet lots of interesting people from all walks of life, all shapes and sizes.
I enjoy Vitomir’s classes the most. I go to his circuit training, his strength and conditioning and spin classes, all of which are great. He’s a martial artist and knows his stuff. He likes that I have lots of questions for him.
The more I learn and improve, the more I realize how little I know and how poor my technique is. I’m embarrassed about how shit I am, and how ridiculous it was for me to want to be an instructor.
At first, I spend the time in between the splits going for breakfast or a long lunch but then as I settle in and learn more, I spend that time in the gym, studying.
Vit notices me hanging on. ‘Are you waiting?’
‘Yes. By the time I get home, I have to turn around to come back for the evening. I could spend three hours here or on a bus.’
‘Would you like to kick Martin with me?’
‘Martin?’
‘Yes,’ he says, pointing at the orange dummy at the back.
‘No thanks, me and Martin are okay. I’ll read instead.’