No Pain, No Gain

Chapter 1

“Come on, tubby! Keep going! You can do it!” Mercedes barked, her voice sharp and piercing like the crack of a whip.

Brandi’s legs burned with every step, her breath ragged as she clung to the treadmill’s railings. Sweat poured down her face, pooling beneath her chin before dripping onto her oversized workout shirt, which clung to her body like a second skin. The air in the room smelled of rubber and desperation, a cruel mix that turned Brandi’s stomach.

Mercedes, tall and lean, with an almost predatory grace, prowled alongside the machine. Her high ponytail swung with every step, and her eyes narrowed as she shouted, “Is that all you’ve got, Brandi? Pick it up! No pain, no gain!”

The treadmill’s steady hum drowned out Brandi’s quiet whimper. Her chest heaved as she tried to keep pace, her flabby gut bouncing up and down with each step, her feet barely lifting off the belt. Every second felt like an agonizing eternity to Brandi.

“Don’t slow down now!” Mercedes snapped, slamming her clipboard against the side of the treadmill for emphasis. “You think this is a game? Eating pies and cookies all night long, then dragging your fat ass in here like it's some sort of joke!” 

Brandi flinched, her hand tightening on the railing. She knew that she’d been caught. Unable to resist bingeing on sweets the night before, just as she had the night before that and even the night before that, the scale had given away her sins, and there was no denying that her weight was going up instead of down. The ache in her knees shot up her legs, and a tear slipped down her cheek, unnoticed in the torrent of sweat.

All of this torture she was enduring was all being done in the name of saving her marriage. She married Peter, knowing full well that he would never accept her the way that she was. In his mind, being fat was one of the worst things that a person could be. To him it was a sign of weakness, of vulnerability and softness. In her mind, Brandi figured that maybe the pressure that he put on her to slim down and lose weight would be a good thing for her. Maybe she would finally be able to get in shape and live up to the image that her own mother, family and society at large had always held up for her as being ideal. 

It wouldn’t come easy though, if at all. 

“Why do you make this so hard on yourself, Brandi?” Peter’s tone had been cold and dismissive as he adjusted his tie in the mirror earlier that morning, not even glancing her way. “I’ve given you every resource—a state-of-the-art home gym, the best trainer money can buy—and yet you refuse to make an effort. Do you even want to change?”

“I’ll try harder,” she said as she nodded silently, staring down at the floor. There was no use arguing. She knew how this conversation always ended, with Peter’s eyes narrowing as they flicked over her body, his lip curling in disgust.

“I expect results, not excuses,” he’d said before walking out the door, leaving her to face another grueling day under Mercedes’s merciless guidance.

Those words echoed in her head now as the treadmill’s hum seemed to grow louder, mocking her every step. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her vision swimming with tears she refused to shed. Not here. Not in front of Mercedes.

“Faster!” Mercedes barked, her voice cutting through the haze of Brandi’s fatigue. “You’re not quitting until I say so!”

Brandi bit her lip, trying to block out the pain in her chest and the searing ache in her legs. The digital display blurred before her eyes. She couldn’t stop—not when Peter’s disappointment loomed over her like a storm cloud, even in his absence.

Her legs finally gave out. Her knees buckled, and she slammed the emergency stop button as she collapsed onto the treadmill. The belt jerked to a halt beneath her, and she crumpled in a heap, gasping for air.

Mercedes clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Pathetic,” she muttered, scribbling something onto her clipboard.

Brandi lay there, her body trembling with exhaustion. She didn’t need Peter to be there to feel his judgment. It was etched into every corner of this gym, in the mirrors that reflected her failures, in the treadmill that demanded she run toward a goal she could never reach.

She closed her eyes, her chest heaving as a single tear slipped down her cheek. Her entire body ached, but not nearly as much as the hollow ache in her heart.Later that week, Brandi sat all alone in the empty kitchen, the silence pressing down on her like a weight she couldn’t escape. The treadmill still haunted her dreams, and so did Mercedes’s scathing remarks. It was Peter’s final words before he walked out however, that clung to her soul, as sharp and bitter as the winter wind that rattled the window panes.

“You’ll never be thin enough for me,” he balked. “You’re fucking hopeless.” 

That was it. No long speeches, no dramatic goodbyes. Just those ugly words, delivered with the casual detachment of someone pointing out a stain on the wall. He had packed his bags in the middle of the day, leaving her standing dumbfounded in the hallway, her heart sinking as she watched him walk out of her life.

At first, Brandi thought she might feel relief. After all, the constant pressure, the daily humiliations, were finally over. As the days went on however, the weight of rejection bore down on her, heavier than any barbell Mercedes had ever forced her to lift.

As had always been the case for Brandi, food became her solace in the midst of this heartache. It didn’t judge her, didn’t demand she be anything other than what she was. Slowly at first, then with ravenous abandon, she indulged every craving she had denied herself during her years with Peter. The salad containers in the fridge were replaced with boxes of doughnuts and tubs of ice cream. The kitchen, once pristine and orderly, became a haven of excess, its counters littered with crumpled wrappers and greasy takeout bags.

At first, she told herself it was temporary. Just a way to cope. Her hunger, both physical and emotional, was insatiable though. She ate until her stomach ached, until she could barely move, but still, it wasn’t enough to fill the void she felt deep inside of her.

Brandi no longer needed to weigh herself incessantly to know that she was once again gaining weight and getting heavier. As the weeks stretched into months, her clothing grew tighter and tighter, until she felt that she no longer fit into anything anymore. She didn’t fit into the world that Peter had built for her anymore, and she didn’t have to care about it anymore either. The dresses he’d bought her, carefully tailored to his vision of who she should be, now hung in the back of the closet, abandoned. Her wardrobe shrank as her body grew, her favorite stretchy sweatpants and oversized T-shirts becoming her uniform.

Months passed, and Brandi saw the changes in herself every time she caught her reflection. Her body had grown fuller, her face rounder, her curves more pronounced. She didn’t feel shame or pride—just a quiet acceptance. Deep down, she wondered if this was who she was always meant to be.

As the holidays drew near, and the loneliness in her heart rivaled the fullness of her belly, Brandi decided she couldn’t bear the awkward questions or pitying looks from family and friends. Rather than face the shame of divorce amidst festive gatherings, she resolved to celebrate on her own. Just her and her one true companion: food.

She ordered a full holiday feast from a nearby restaurant—a roasted turkey with golden, crispy skin, rich mashed potatoes swimming in butter, savory stuffing, and three kinds of pie. When the delivery arrived, she laid it out on the table, the spread worthy of a family banquet, her stomach growling in anticipation.

The first few bites were heavenly, the flavors rich and decadent. Each forkful was a small rebellion against the years of deprivation, a middle finger raised to Peter and the life he’d forced her to endure. As the meal went on however, the pleasure dulled, replaced by a familiar ache. Still, she kept eating. She wasn’t just feeding her body; she was feeding her anger, her sadness, her yearning for something she couldn’t name.

When the turkey was picked clean, Brandi leaned back in her chair, her eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion. Her hand brushed against something hard and brittle. 

It was the wishbone. 

She picked it up, holding it gingerly between her fingers. For a moment, she just stared at it, memories of childhood holidays flickering in her mind. Her grandparents had always made a game of snapping the wishbone, teaching her to close her eyes tight and wish with all her heart. “It only works if you truly believe,” her grandmother would say with a wink.

Brandi’s lips curved into a faint smile as she turned the bone over in her hands. It was silly, childish even, but maybe it could work. She closed her eyes and whispered her wish into the quiet room.

“I wish I could meet someone who loves me no matter how fat I am. Who will love me and accept me no matter how much I overeat or how big I get.”

When she opened her eyes, the wishbone had snapped cleanly in two, the larger half still clutched tightly in her right hand. Brandi’s heart gave a tiny, hopeful flutter.

Maybe it was foolish—but maybe it wasn’t.