Page 24 of The Weight Of It All

Eleven

There was quite a crowd at the gym for the trainer’s challenge, which I wasn’t expecting. They were clearly all regular customers, each person fitter and more muscled than the next. I recognised a lot of faces, and even though they smiled at me, I got the feeling they saw straight through me.

After all week of feeling good, of thinking I’d made positive steps forward, here with all these super fit people I felt like a frump.

I was pretty much the biggest person there.

Well, the least muscled, the least buff.

They all wore singlet-style muscle shirts, and admittedly, they wore them well.

I had spent the last four weeks being sheltered by Reed, doing one-on-one classes, and not really noticing those around me.

They were all perfect specimens of health and fitness, and I may as well have been invisible.

They were all wearing the best brands, like they stepped off the actual ads and walked through the doors.

It hit me like a tonne of bricks that I didn’t fit in here. I wasn’t like them. I wasn’t good enough, and I had been kidding myself to think I even compared .

“Henry!” Reed said, spotting me through the crowd. He made his way over, and by the time he’d smiled and said hello to a dozen people as he weaved through them, he frowned. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I lied. I looked around the crowded gym. “There’s a lot of people.”

“Yeah, everyone comes to see who wins.”

I nodded slowly. “So? You ready to teach them all a lesson?”

He grinned. “Hell yes. I’m pumped for this.”

“Okay,” Lachie called out, wheeling a whiteboard out of the office. It had a sheet of some sort draped over it. “Trainers to the front.”

Reed grinned and rubbed his hands together, and giving me a quick nervous glance, he made his way back through the crowd.

He joined Emily and three other trainers to stand at the front. They turned and faced the crowd, and the cheering and clapping and jibes and taunts started, and I had to admit, it was kind of exciting.

Out of all the trainer’s competing, Reed was definitely the tallest. But any one of them could be a poster child for CrossFit.

The two women trainers were slighter in build, but still well-defined and incredibly strong, with muscles I could only dream of.

The men, on the other hand, had bulging biceps and shoulders, trim waists, and strong thighs.

They each wore their gym uniform, and they each wore it very, very well.

Though Reed was by far the hottest.

Lachie pulled the sheet off the whiteboard, and the room was silent for all of ten seconds while everyone read the challenge routine.

It was mostly a bunch of acronyms and percentage numbers next to weights that I didn’t really understand, but everyone around me let out cheers and “oooohs” while the five trainers out the front actually doing the challenge all groaned. Well, except for Reed. He clapped.

I was starting to question his sanity.

“Okay, we start in five minutes,” Lachie said. “Get your equipment ready.”

They set off to grab dumbbells and barbells and weights that seemed ridiculous, and each participant had their own space at the front.

By the time they got their barbells set up and had everything ready, the crowd―myself included―were lined up along the length of the far wall.

Lachie set the wall clock on zero to start, each trainer stood at the ready, and with a loud and excited, “Go!” the clock started.

They started with burpees, jumping over their barbell in between each one.

Their push-ups were some well-rehearsed mix of one-handed, two-handed, and some side reach thing that I think was purely for showing off.

Then they did sit-ups, but not the normal ones I could barely suffer through.

No, these were with their feet off the ground, doing some crunch/climb thing that hurt my abs just watching.

Everyone was clapping and cheering their trainer on, and Reed had his group of supporters.

I found myself cheering along; the excitement was hard not to get caught up in.

Reed was in the lead with one other trainer, who I’d seen before, but only learned his name by what people were yelling.

Seth had one full sleeve of tattoos and a wicked grin, and he and Reed were clearly trying to outdo each other.

When they’d completed the sit-ups, they each jumped to their feet and ran to the wall.

They picked up a twenty-kilogram medicine ball and, facing the wall, proceeded to throw it up to where the wall met the ceiling, only to catch it in a squat.

Then pushing up, they would throw the medicine ball again.

Checking the whiteboard, I deduced these were called ‘wall balls.’ I also deduced that I wouldn’t have been able to pick up a twenty-kilo medicine ball, let alone throw it that high and squat at the same time.

I also deduced Reed had really fucking hot thighs that bulged as he squatted, and his back muscles tightened his shirt very nicely.

They did that ten times, then dropping the ball, they ran back to their dumbbells and proceeded to do shoulder presses, then some single arm snatches.

Jesus Christ. Reed’s dumbbells were twenty kilos each!

They did some obscene number of those, then went back to do wall balls, then back to dumbbells, and alternated that whole routine five times.

By the fifth round, both Reed and Seth were sweating and flushed. Seth was groaning through each shoulder press, and even though his arms and shoulders had to be burning, Reed just smiled. His chest was heaving; his sweaty shirt clung beautifully to his frame.

And if it were somehow possible, he was even better looking.

They finished that round and went to their barbells.

Reed rubbed some kind of chalk on his hands, spread his feet, and put his hands to the bar, getting a feel for it before he lifted whatever absurd weight was on it.

But before he started, Reed stood up straight and pulled his shirt off.

Everyone clapped and cheered, and there was even a few “things are getting serious” and even one “Reed wins” from the crowd.

All I could do was stare.

Fuck.

I’d seen him wear singlet tops, muscle shirts, and tight T-shirts, but nothing― nothing ―prepared me for seeing him shirtless. Perfect was such an overused word, and it hardly did him justice.

Physically, he was better than perfect.

Personality-wise he was pretty damn close, and I had to wonder what his fatal flaw would be. The flaw that killed how perfect he was to me. There had to be something…

He lifted the bar in some kind of Olympic snatch, every muscle straining, his nostrils flaring, and pure concentration on his face.

He did that five times, then dropped it, only to walk over to the overhead bar and do chin-ups like they were the easiest thing in the world to do.

He did five of those, then went back to doing more weight lifting, alternating for five rounds.

It was insane and an incredible feat of human strength and determination.

Seth was close behind him, then Emily and the others, but Reed was the clear winner.

When he let go of the chin-up bar for the final time, everyone clapped and cheered, but he simply walked back to his barbell and dropped to the floor.

He sat, taking deep breaths, sweaty, exhausted and spent, and watched his friends get through the routine.

He clapped as each of them finished, and he cheered the final guy through.

And as I watched him, doing what he clearly loved surrounded by people he called friends, I figured out what was his one and only fault.

Me.

It was me that was wrong here. And I realised, with a stab of hurt and foolishness, that I was kidding myself if I thought for one moment Reed could be interested in me.

As the five trainers all caught their breaths, they high-fived each other and gave each other hugs. Seeing them with their hands on him and him with his hands on them, with their perfect bodies, it only further cemented the realisation that I was well and truly out of my league here.

Lachie wrote finishing times on the board, and when Reed was announced as the winner and as the crowd gave him high-fives and shoulder claps, I stood back and let them swarm him. When we made eye contact, I gave him a smile and nod, but before he could get to me, I slipped out the front door.

I drove home, and when lying on the couch wasn’t reclusive enough, I kicked off my shoes and climbed into bed. I wrapped my blankets around my head, and wallowing in self-pity and misery, I took my phone and sent Reed a text.

Well done on the trainer’s challenge. You deserved to win it. Sorry I had to leave. Wasn’t feeling well. Will have to cancel dinner. Sorry.

Ten minutes later my phone rang. It was Reed’s number.

I wanted to answer it. I wanted to talk to him, to hear his voice.

I wanted to make him laugh, I wanted to touch him like the other people had touched him.

I wanted to tell him how proud I was of him for winning today, and I wanted more than anything to have our non-date tonight.

But I’d had a sharp reality check today, and my heart was hurting, and my ego was in a dark corner somewhere, licking its wounds. I pulled the covers over my head and let the phone ring out, only to have it beep soon after.

It was a text from Reed.

Henry? You okay?

“No,” I spoke out loud. I didn’t reply to the text.

My phone beeped again a little while later.

Henry, I hope you’re okay. I’m sorry you had to cancel dinner. Can we take a raincheck?

I didn’t reply to that either, and some hours later, I was still cocooned in my bed covers when my phone beeped again.

I hope you’ll come in for our 8am session tomorrow. If not, I’ll understand.