The Personal Trainer – Part 1: Twelve Weeks

The gym in South Beach was all glass and steel and mirrors that made everyone look slightly better than they felt. Gabriela had chosen it because it was close to her flat and because it had a rule that stopped people staring at each other during squats.

She had lasted four minutes on the treadmill before she needed a drink of water.

"You're holding on to the rails," said a voice behind her.

She turned. A man in a grey training shirt stood there with a clipboard and an easy grin, tanned, broad-shouldered and sweaty from the free-weight area.

"I'm holding on to the rails because they're there," said Gabriela.

"That's what everyone says in week one," said Sean. "I'm Sean. I'm your trainer, if you still want one. Your sister booked it, and she said you'd be grumpy."

"My sister is a menace."

"She's very worried about you," said Sean, gently. "She said you have twelve weeks until your ex gets married, and you want to walk into the room looking like you don't care."

Gabriela's face went hot. "She's a menace and a gossip."

"I'm not going to judge you for it," said Sean. "Everyone wants a good entrance. Shall we start with the rail?"

Twelve weeks turned out to be a very long time. There were sessions at six every morning, before the heat rose off the pavement. There were lunges along the sea wall at sunset and kettlebells in the empty studio on Tuesdays. Sean counted every rep out loud, in a voice that somehow made her feel both humiliated and cared for.

"Eight more," he said, one morning in week four.

"I can't."

"You can. You did ten last week. Your body remembers."

"My body is a liar."

"Then I'll be the honest one," said Sean. "Seven. Keep your back straight. Good. Six."

By week six she had stopped counting the days until the wedding. She was counting the mornings instead, the ones where Sean brought two cups of cold coconut water and asked her how she'd slept, and actually listened to the answer.

On a Thursday evening, the studio was almost empty. Gabriela sat on the edge of a padded bench, towel around her neck, breathing hard. Sean sat down beside her and handed her the water.

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

"You always ask first."

"I'm trying to be good at it. Are you doing this for him? For the wedding?"

She took a long drink, then looked down at the bottle. "I was. At the start."

"And now?"

She thought about it, honestly. The mirror across the room showed two tired people on a bench, not especially glamorous, not especially sure of anything.

"Now I think I'm doing it for me," said Gabriela. "And I'm not sure how I feel about that."

"That's a good place to start," said Sean.

She turned to look at him. His grin had gone soft at the edges.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked quietly. "Not in the gym. Somewhere else. But I wanted to say it here first, so it's out of my head."

Gabriela laughed, a little breathless. "Yes. Somewhere else. And if I say stop, you'll still count my reps tomorrow."

"Obviously," said Sean, and leaned in.