chapter 3: february

Jesus Christ, two hundred twenty-two pounds! I've been so good, or at least, I've tried to be good. I've maintained my workouts, though over the course of the month I slipped from five days a week to four, and then to three, and I've spent an hour on the treadmill when I went, though the speed has fallen from seven to six to five (most days, sometimes four when I'm tired) but the point is I've been going to the gym! I've been working out! And while I've been lulled by the flashing of the touch screen on the treadmill and the music in the room, and I don't remember EVERY part of my workout while I'm here, I've been doing it! I've been working that fat, I've been doing my best!

So how have I somehow managed to gain two pounds?

Okay, calm down, it's not that big a deal. I know it's not, it's only two pounds in a month, in December I gained twenty-five, so I've at least managed to slow things down a little. It's just disheartening.

Part of it's been lack of sleep, almost certainly. I've been waking in the night, lately, weird dreams I can never remember by the time I'm fully awake, and I know that lack of sleep can mess with a person's metabolism. But even then, the workouts should have been doing more to help me get back into shape, more to help to... to...

Work that fat.

Still, I'm keeping at it, that's gotta be worth something. I'm on the treadmill, doing my best, trying to ignore how tight my t-shirt is across my belly, or how tight my sweats are across my butt, or how quickly I'm drenched in sweat, and the flickering light on the treadmill has become almost comforting, and the music is soothing me, helping me to fall into the rhythm, to sink down into my workout, to lose myself in it...

Like an empty vessel, waiting to be filled...

Work that fat...

"Hey Brian!" Paul calls as the treadmill slows, then stops, "How's the treadmill?"

It takes me a minute to recover my thoughts to the point where I can answer, and for a moment I wonder why that would be, but the thought escapes my head before I can properly grasp it.

He's topless, again, and if anything his gym shorts are even tighter across his muscular thighs, thighs I stare at and can't help but wonder...

"Yeah, no," I stammer, "it's fine, I think it's gone fine."

"Nice, glad to hear it. Trust me, I know it's tough to whip yourself back into shape, but good for you for sticking with it. You need a drink?"

"Trust you..." I say, hand out for the offered drink.

He tosses his water bottle and I greedily slurp it back, grunting thanks as I toss the empty bottle back to him. He sets it with his things, smiling a little at some private joke I'm unwilling to admit I don't understand.

"So," he asks, staring at my belly a moment longer than I'm comfortable with, "how's it been going? You managing to sweat off any of that Christmas weight?"

I blush, knowing I could lie, that he'd never know, but it doesn't seem right, I trust him, it would be wrong...

"To be honest," I say, "I'm actually up two pounds, it's frustrating."

"Yeah, I get it," he tells me, leaning in, and I'm acutely aware of how little he's wearing, the smell of him, his presence and strength, "it's tough. Always is when you're starting off a workout plan. A lot of people gain a little at first, muscle weighs more than fat, and anyway, working out makes you hungry. Stick with it, though, it'll get easier."

"Thanks for the support, man."

"No problem at all. Trust me, this is only the beginning for you."

"Trust you..."

It's almost a whisper, my face flushed, my breathing heavy, but before anything else can happen he laughs and gives my belly a pat.

It jiggles under his hand, and I get the strangest sense of déjà-vu. When did my belly start jiggling?

"Yeah," he tells me jovially, "you totally got this. Just give it time. Anyway, I've got to get back to my workout, you ought to go shower, you've been working hard."

And with that, Paul turns on his heels and goes back to his workout as though I weren't even there, leaving me to clean up the treadmill and head back up to my apartment on my own...

It's not 'til I'm safely home that I realize how high my t-shirt's ridden up over the pale, hairy paunch I've unknowingly had hanging out for the world to see...