Bad Rep

ONE

In the beginning, once I was healed and cleared by doctors to get back to normal activities, I sort of lost all motivation to go back to the gym. I think a part of me was scared I wasn't healed all the way, and another part of me became so used to the sedentary lifestyle—the comfort of it—that I didn't want to go back. I got so used to working from home and being a homebody that I didn't want to leave that little bubble of comfort and sustainability. Eli tried to get me back into the gym, but I always seemed to find an excuse. Work, pain, exhaustion. Anything, really.

I always told myself I'd get back to the gym within a month's time, but then that month turned into the next month, then the following month, and so on. Now we're up to forty-two pounds worth of months lost by not going to the gym.

Completely discouraged, I put my shoes back on and make to exit the back room, but not before seeing the BMI poster taped to the back of the door. To make matters worse, I match up my current weight to my height on the chart, finding myself in the yellow zone: overweight.

My heart sinks and my pudgy stomach tightens in knots. Thoroughly embarrassed and ashamed, I walk out of the back room like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Forty-two.

The biggest reality slap in the face.

I walk outside to find Eli still running laps, spitting whenever he can, looking like he's about to keel over. This torture continues until two hours before competition when we have to pack up and head to the gym its being held at. It's a thirty minute drive, but as soon as we're out of the car Eli is back to exercising.

An hour before competition, all competitors are signed in and their official weight is taken. Eli just makes it into the weight class he wanted to compete with Rhodes, but I still think it was a dumb move, if you ask me.

In the zone, as he likes to say, Eli completely ignores me and goes off with his trainer for a few minutes before breaking off to go chat with some old gym buddies that are competing today as well. It's as if I'm not even here and he doesn't want to introduce me—his fiancé—to them, but I guess I can't complain too much. I don't know if I necessarily want them seeing me like this anyway. I'm too self-conscious now. Maybe four hours ago I wouldn't have been so, but after seeing that number on the scale I want to crawl out of my skin.

Forty-two.

I take note of the two incredibly fit and beautiful women chatting in the small circle Eli is conversing with. I try not to analyze his lingering gaze and too friendly of a smile while chatting with them.

At this point, I'm used to girls flirting with Eli. He is super hot and muscular, after all. His strong jaw and facial features allow him to rock a buzz cut flawlessly, accentuating his handsome features further. Normally, before the accident, when girls blatantly flirted with him I would have no problem sauntering up to him and making of show of how I was his girlfriend and then fiancé, flashing my ring. But now, I'm embarrassed to even have them look at me.

Suddenly feeling crowded, this being one of the very few outings I've been to in the past year, I walk outside to take a breather. The sun is almost blinding, blasting its rays in the late afternoon sky. Too hot to be standing outside, I opt to sit in Eli's truck, blasting the AC.

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes and bracing my hands on the wheel. I count to ten before exhaling, slowly opening my eyes, and the first thing they catch on is my bare left hand.

At the hospital, right after the car accident, my hands swelled and the ring was cutting off circulation to my finger. The medical team ended up having to cut it off in order to save my finger and Eli never got me another one.