Song for Chapter: Clumsy~ Fergie
(It doesn't really go with the chapter, more like Joanna's character later in the story, hahaha I've just been on a Fergie kick this last week! 💃🏽)
JOANNA
I groan, collapsing on the floor after finishing my second and final round of pushups. I've never been this drenched in sweat my entire life and it's doing very little to convince me that this is what I want to do day in and day out for the next two months.
After Coach was satisfied with our group therapy earlier, another trainer went over the dress code and then we were given a tour of the gym. We were then separated into different stations to do a fitness test; performing exercises to measure our current level of physical fitness while the trainers observed us like weird science projects, scribbling notes on their clipboards.
The tests range from pull ups, pushups, vertical jumps, toe touches, wall squats, ins and outs and finally, sprinting a fifty yard dash. Did I mention I don't exercise regularly? Other than taking Maverick and Goose on walks, anyway, but that counts as exercise, right?
I took P.E. in school, but only because it was a requirement. I never understood how running a mile in under the required twelve minutes would prepare me for the real struggles of adulthood. Spoiler, it doesn't.
Rolling over on my back, to keep from throwing up and turn my head to the side, still hyperventilating. Oli is in the station next to me getting ready to go up for her turn to do pull ups.
Women meet the minimum standard, if we are able to do at least one. When I attempted it, my upper body strength gave up as soon as my feet left the box—which was provided for women to reach the bar if necessary—I dropped like a sack of potatoes.
I crawl over to watch Oli. She cracks her neck and her knuckles, rolling her head on her shoulders. Her lips move as she mutters—no doubt hyping herself up as she focuses on the bar.
Sitting up with wide eyes, mouth hanging open, when a war cry rips out of her as she launches herself off the box, followed by a loud groan after she slams against the wall the bar is attached to; she crumples to the floor and I rush towards her.
"Oli, are you okay?" I turn her over. "Can you hear me?"
She moans and blinks her eyes open. "Did I get over the bar?"
"Not even close, girl." I chuckle, helping her sit up. Quique and Nati rush over to us and a few others in our group also ask if she's okay.
"I'm fine. I'm fine." She waves a hand at everyone, shaking her head and blows out a loud exhale.
"Espinoza." Coach looks down at her with his arms crossed. "Half credit for originality and sound effects, but I don't want to ever see you do that again. Understood?"
Oli stands shakily and salutes him. "Aye, aye captain."
"It's coach, tonta." Quique teases with his usual banter and pinches her side which results in her yelping. (dummy)
"Ay, pendejo, don't pinch my lonjas!" She smacks him. I shake my head laughing at their usual antics. (Asshole, lovehandles)
Coach watches the interaction, too, before his surprisingly amused-looking eyes find mine and then he turns away. I hope he can feel me drilling holes in the back of his head, with his stupid short man bun.
"What is his problem?" I wonder out loud.
"Who?" Nati asks next to me.
I nod my head in the direction he was walking. "Mr. I take my job too seriously."
"He's not that bad. I think he just wants to set the expectation of the program. He's clearly passionate about what he does. I mean, look at the size of his arms!" Nati mentions and I narrow my eyes at the dreamy gaze on her face.
"Chuy can take him."
She rolls her eyes and laughs. "Calmate! I can look but I ain't buyin' anything, girl. I point out pretty girls to Chuy all the time." (chill)
"You do?"
"Yeah." She shrugs. "We can appreciate good looking people without it meaning anything, JoJo."
"Hey, have you two done the measurement station yet?" Quique asks Oli and me.
We both shake our heads. "Well, hurry up! You still gotta go home and get ready for work, don't you?"
Ah, shit. "What time is it?"
"Eight." He answers. Okay, that's not as bad as I thought. I requested to come a couple of hours late to work today—since the rest of camp is supposed to be even earlier—at the abhorrent hour of five thirty a.m., to accommodate people's work schedules.
"Let's hurry, I'm starving!" Oli complains.
"You ate the last concha on the way here this morning." I point out her inability to pass up any pastries as we head toward the room where they are doing the measuring.
"I did that for you, so you wouldn't be tempted to eat it yourself. You're welcome by the way." She says, indignantly, giving me the stink eye.
Throwing my arm around her shoulders I laugh. "Yes, that was very considerate and selfless of you, prima."
"We can hit up the juice bar this place has afterward." Quique offers.
"Nah, I want food, not stuff that probably tastes like grass." Oli replies with a grimace.
We walk in and I groan internally when I see Coach Grump is in here, too. He's talking with one of the mean-girl participants. A perky brunette who can't stop smiling at him as they converse.
"Bet she ain't here for no journey of self-love," Oli comments while watching them, too.
"I'm sure he loves the attention. He seems so full of himself." Stating my internal thoughts out loud.
"¡Hijole!" Quique exclaims behind me. "Damn JoJo, you don't even know the guy."
"Lozano!" I jump at the shout of my last name from another trainer in the room. Coach Grump looks over his shoulder and I quickly look away, making my way to the table as a female trainer begins measuring my thighs, hips, and waist. She lifts my hoodie and uses a small tool to pinch some of my stomach—apparently that tells them how fat you are; so awesome.
Finally, she has me stand on a scale. "You'll want to take your hoodie off to get a more accurate read."
"I'd be violating the gym dress code, since I'm only wearing a sports bra," I tell her in a hushed whisper. "Pretty sure I'm already on someone's shit list as it is." I add leaning in, with a wink.
"Sage!" She shouts, startling me. Feeling everyone's eyes falling on us makes the blood rush to my face. I don't bother turning around, sensing his presence behind me soon after. Instead I focus my glare on the trainer who demanded his attention.
"What is it?"
"We need to get an accurate measurement of her weight, but she only has a sports bra underneath." She informs him. I ignore his gaze moving to me because I'm too busy imagining smacking her upside the head a few times.
"I don't need to be weighed. I'm not looking to lose weight anyway, more like tone up, you know?" I make a sucking in sound, bringing my hands into my body. "Just tightening up."
Coach moves to stand in front of the scale to face me. "Everyone has to do the measurements the same way. Being accurate ensures the contest is as fair as possible."
My shoulders sag. "Come on. Nothing in life is fair or has no one ever told you that?"
His jaw ticks before he looks around then takes a step closer, pulling in his lips as he scrutinizes me. "Senorita Lozano, if you are going to be difficult about the procedures during this process, this will be the longest eight weeks of your life."
Oli's nervous laughter comes from the side as she tries to intervene yet again, while I glare at the crabby infuriating man. "It's fine, Coach. JoJo just has a funny sense of humor."
"I don't see anyone laughing." He states with a dry tone, his unamused eyes not leaving mine.
"You know what, fine!" I tear my hoodie off, glasses flying from my face somewhere. "There, you happy now?"
The gasps sounding off in the room are exactly what I didn't want to experience and the only thing making this moment livable is the fact that I can't see a damn thing with my horrible eyesight. My friends rush in to keep anyone from looking at me in my bright pink lace bra.
"You said you were wearing a sports bra." Coach says, sounding like his jaw is wired shut.
"Yeah, well, I was kind of hoping you would be a gentleman and give me a pass, but I should have known better considering how this morning started." I squint angrily at the blurry image of him.
"Take her weight down and redo her measurements from the waist up. Once you're finished, have everyone gather on the mats again before we excuse them for the day." He instructs his staff, then marches away.
Tearing my eyes away from the retreating ogre, I turn towards the tapping on my shoulder, and my glasses are placed in my hand. "Here JoJo, you definitely have the Lozano temper, girl." Nati tells me, squeezing my hand with a chuckle.
When I'm finished, my friends and I meet up with the other participants and wait for our fearless, arrogant leader. There are sixteen of us doing the challenge, so I can only assume we are going to be doubled up as I scan over the rest of the trainers, three girls and four guys.
"Alright, everyone." Coach Sage calls everyone's attention. "We want to thank everyone again for joining us. We will be assessing your individual test results as well as your questionnaires with your goals and then you will be paired with a trainer who we feel will best help you reach your goals. We've been doing this for a little over nine years now and I'm proud to say there's been a lot of success stories that come out of this. A couple of trainers started out as participants like yourselves and found a love for fitness. We are all passionate about what we do and are just as excited about helping others change their lives for the better."
Excited is not the word that comes to mind for me as I observe him. Sure, Nati has a point, his physique attests to his commitment to physical fitness. His muscular arms, though covered in the two toned, thin hoodie he's wearing, are clearly toned and sculpted to perfection. It's like they're flexed without flexing—I can only assume there are ridges and hard planes of chest and abs chiseled to match. And I have no doubt his legs are just as sculpted under his gray joggers. But the permanent expression of disapproval on his face detracts from his perfect body.
In fact, he's the opposite of what I've heard about people who like to work out. They're supposed to be happy and energetic because of all the endorphins they have running through their system, but this guy could seriously use a dose of joy in his life.
"A few things to keep in mind, especially with some of the events from today..." His focus zeroes in on me and I narrow my eyes back at him. "It's important that you come prepared each day to work and that includes wearing the proper gym attire. We're not here to dress to impress. Dress comfortably, within reason—for health and safety, nothing too loose or too tight and yes that means revealing." Again his eyes land on me.
It's official: I don't like him.
"Tomorrow we'll spend the first half hour going over the importance of meal planning and prepping with Casey." He nods to one of the female trainers with red hair, who waves and smiles at our group. "She's a certified nutritionist. I encourage all of you to spend some time with her one on one in the next week. I can't stress enough the 80/20 rule. Getting healthy with results has eighty percent more to do with what you put in your body than the amount of hours you spend in the gym. However, we are not extremist, it's all about balance. We are promoting a lifestyle change not a quick fix. For some of you today's assessment may be a shock to your bodies and you'll be sore. Please drink plenty of water, stretch and get some rest. We'll see you all in the morning."
"Yes, coach!" Everyone responds in unison, while I turn away grumbling how I'm going to make Quique's life hell for talking me into this, drunk or not.
"Lozano!"
My eyes close, mentally debating if I should make a run for it. What are the chances he doesn't think I heard him? Risking it, I keep walking even though Oli is pulling on the back of my sweatshirt. It strains against my body, keeping me from leaving too quickly.
"Ms. Lozano, a word, please."
He did say please, so I decide to stop and turn around, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose. "Yes?" I let out an annoyed puff of air folding my arms, my friends give us space when he glances at them.
A couple hours with this guy and they can read his mind?
"I feel like we got off on the wrong foot here and I wanted to make sure you're comfortable doing this challenge with the group." He crosses his arms, mirroring my stance, except his clothing strains with the movement, but I refuse to ogle him, no matter how tempting it is.
"Okay."
"Okay..." He repeats, drawing out the word, leaning in. Shifting on my feet to create some space, my eyes squint in response. Does he seriously want me to call him coach? Like all the time?
"Okay, coach?" I respond with uncertainty.
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly, clearly amused. "I mean elaborate that you're fine doing the challenge."
"Oh. Of course." I nod in agreement. "I'll support and cheer on my friends if nothing else. So...it's all good." His dark eyes shift down to my hands as I give him a double thumbs up—mentally facepalming myself.
"Well, I hope you'll reap some of the benefits this boot camp has to offer for yourself as well."
I fold my arms again, not liking that he's insinuating I need this program. "What is that supposed to mean exactly?"
"Are you always this defensive?" He questions in response, biting the corner of his lip.
"No." I retort.
"Yes!" Oli, Quique and Nati answer in unison and I flip them off.
Coach pulls my attention back to him when he takes another step closer to me and I become overwhelmed with his warm, clean scent, it's oddly...comforting.
"I didn't mean it the way you took it. I appreciate your honesty when you shared your reasons for being here, Joanna. I know it's not always easy to share in a group setting." His dark eyes bore into mine for an intense moment. "I look forward to seeing you tomorrow." He walks away, leaving me blinking at his retreating form.
"Girrrl," Quique purrs next to me and I snap out of whatever that was. "That was hot."
"What? No, it wasn't." Pushing my glasses up, I lift my chin turning quickly to the doors, pretending I don't hear my friends snickering and whispering about me, and step out into the welcoming rush of cold morning Chicago air that hits my overly warm face and body.