The weight of it all, p.1
The Weight Of It All, page 1
THE WEIGHT OF IT ALL
By
N.R. WALKER
Copyright:
Cover Artist: Sara York
Editor: Labyrinth Bound Edits
Proofreaders: Jay Northcote, Cristina Manole, Annabelle Jacobs, Rita Roberts
The Weight Of It All © 2016 N.R. Walker
Publisher: BlueHeart Press
All Rights Reserved:
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.
The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only.
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Warning:
Intended for an 18+ audience only. This book contains material that maybe offensive to some and is intended for a mature, adult audience. It contains graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations.
The author uses Australian English spelling and grammar.
Trademark Acknowledgements:
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Harry Potter, Horcrux, Voldemort: J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.
Google: Google, Inc.
Kelvinator: Electrolux Home Products, Inc.
Breaking Bad: AMC Network Entertainment LLC
Games of Thrones: Home Box Office, Inc
Audi: AUDI AG.
Colgate: Colgate-Palmolive Co.
Sex and the City: Home Box Office, Inc.
Beauty and the Beast: Walt Disney Pictures
KitchenAid: Whirlpool Corporation
Diesel: Diesel spA
Band-Aid: Johnson & Johnson
Advil: Wyeth LLC
Panadol: GlaxoSmithKline Group
Karate Kid: Columbia Pictures.
Myer: Myer Pty Ltd
Tumblr: Yahoo! Inc.
Twitter: Twitter Inc.
Tinder: Tinder Inc.
Grindr: Grindr LLC.
Mrs Brown’s Boys: BBC Ltd
The Price is Right: FremantleMedia Australia
Can’t Hardly Wait: Columbia Pictures.
Twister: Hasbro Inc.
Uno: Mattel Inc.
Scrabble: Hasbro Inc.
eBay: eBay Inc.
Logan’s Run: 1976, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer
StairMaster: Core Fitness, LLC.
Mordor, Gandalf, Middle Earth (Lord of the Rings): Tolkien Enterprises.
Coles: Coles Group Limited
Tin Man (Wizard of Oz): 1939, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer
Ralph Lauren: Ralph Lauren Corporation.
Oscar Award: Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences
Emmy Award: National Academy of Television Arts & Sciences
Bluetooth: Bluetooth SIG, Inc.,
YouTube: Google Inc.
Prada: Prada SpA
Bee Gees, Best of Album: 1969, Polydor Records
CrossFit: CrossFit, Inc.
Sesame Street: Sesame Workshop
Shrek: DreamWorks Animation, LLC.
Nespresso: Nestle Nespresso Group
Winnie the Pooh: Walt Disney Co.
Vegemite: Mondelēz International
City2Surf: Fairfax Media Publications Pty Ltd
Superman and Supergirl: DC Comics, Inc.
Fitbit: Fitbit Inc.
Chariots of Fire: 1981, Warner Bros.
~
Whenever you find
yourself doubting how
far you can go,
just remember how
far you have come.
Remember everything
you have faced,
all the battles
you have won,
and all the fears
you have overcome.
~
Unknown.
CHAPTER ONE
Most people can’t tell you the moment their life changed. One day they’re twenty years old with the world at their feet, then the next they’re closer to forty and wondering where the hell their life went. There’s no Logan’s Run age qualifier that deems you’re past your use-by date. There’s no ceremony with gowns and funny hats to say you’ve graduated from ticking one age-group box on a survey to ticking the next age-group box. You just turn around, and wham-bam-thank-you-very-fucking-much, you’re old.
Well, older.
I’m thirty-five. I don’t classify myself as old. Well, I didn’t.
Until Graham, my live-in boyfriend of eight years, came home and told me he was done. He didn’t want to spend his life with an overweight old man. I wasn’t fun anymore. I didn’t look after myself anymore. I wasn’t what he wanted.
And that was the moment my life changed.
Just to be clear on one thing, my now ex-boyfriend is the same age as me. And when he called me an old man, he wasn’t having a dig at my age. He was having a go at how I lived my life. I didn’t go out clubbing, I didn’t go for runs through the park, I didn’t want to go hiking on weekends.
Strolls for coffee, yes. And weekends at a log cabin reading books, doing wine tours, and cooking too much food, yes. I was more about enjoying the finer things in life, whereas he was avoiding his thirties the same way a cat avoided going to the vet. And apparently that made me old.
So the age comment I could ignore because I liked what I liked. But the overweight comment hit me hard.
After I’d gotten over the shock of his words and the shock of seeing his stuff packed in boxes and his front door key sitting on the kitchen bench, the realisation hit me that, yes, he really was leaving me. But the biggest shock came afterwards. After two bottles of wine and sobbing with my best friend, Anika, on the now-mostly-empty living room floor, I made my way to the bathroom. Drunk and an emotional mess, I stripped off intending to shower. Only I saw myself in the mirror and, for the first time, saw myself.
And I saw how Graham saw me, and I saw why he left me.
I was overweight. I did look old. I was a fucking mess.
So yes, that, the very lowest point of my life, was the day my life changed.
* * * *
Two days later I stood out the front of the local gym, which was ten minutes from my place, that I’d driven past a thousand times, gathering my resolve to walk inside. With a deep breath and newfound determination, I pushed through the doors and walked up to the reception counter. A young and fit looking woman smiled brightly at me. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. My name is Henry Beckett. And I need some help getting my boyfriend back.”
She blinked. “Pardon?”
“My life,” I amended quickly. Great work Henry, you idiot. Announce that you have no life and you’re gay as an icebreaker. Seriously, this is why you’re single. “I meant to say, I need help getting my life back.”
I heard someone chuckle beside me, and I turned to see a gorgeous, six foot fridge-sized man smiling at me. He had short blond hair, stunning blue eyes, and he wore a gym uniform so tight it looked like it was painted on. He held out his hand, and I was almost scared to shake it in fear he would crush my fingers or something, but it was warm and firm. “My name’s Reed. And you’ve come to the right place.”
CHAPTER TWO
Reed. Of course his name was Reed. He looked more like a Kelvin, as in Kelvinator―because he seriously was the size of a fridge―but I didn’t say that out loud. He was what I imagined all gym junkies looked like: not an ounce of fat and beaming health and vitality. His skin was flawless, not overly tanned but in a my-diet-is-healthier-than-yours kind of way. His eyes were bright, his smile was friendly, his teeth perfectly straight. He could’ve been the guy on the “Benefits of Being Fit and Healthy” poster at the doctor’s office I always rolled my eyes at.
“Come and take a seat,” Reed said. He collected a clipboard off the counter and led the way over to one of the sofas in the waiting room. I had to wonder, what did a gym need a waiting room for? Did they serve coffee and cake here? I hoped they did, but given it was a gym, I didn’t think so. It was cosy enough, even though the magazines on the coffee table were a mix of body building and cooking tasteless food.
I stared at the top magazine, my taste buds duly offended. “Have you ever eaten kale?” I asked. “It’s hideous.”
Reed grinned as he sat down. “It’s not so bad.”
“Sure. In the same way gastroenteritis isn’t so bad,” I said. “Or a fungal toenail infection.”
He sat down, looking at me, clearly amused. “Not a fan, I take it?”
“Why eat something that is not so bad?” I asked. “I’ve always said life’s too short for bad coffee, bad food, and bad s―” I counted these points off on my fingers but stopped short on number three, though from the way Reed smiled at the clipboard, I’m pretty sure he knew what S word I was referring to. “Shoes,” I finished lamely. Though now that I thought about it, good shoes were just as enjoyable as good sex.
God, I really am an old man.
I sat down on the sofa with a kerplunk and a sigh. Reed let the clipboard sit on his lap, and he looked at me worriedly and frowned. “Who’s Graham?”
“What?”
He put his hand up like he was stopping traffic. “You just said, ‘And that’s why Graham left me.’”
Oh shit. Did I? “Graham… Graham is the new Voldemort. We don’t speak his name out loud anymore.”
Reed’s look of worry was soon a smile. “Oh.” He nodded sagely. “And this is the Voldemort you want back?”
“No. Yes. Well, maybe. It’ll take more than gathering up a few Horcruxes, I’m afraid. Unless you can call running on a treadmill a Horcrux.”
Reed blinked slowly. “A what?”
“A Horcrux. You know, from Harry Potter?”
He looked genuinely surprised. “I’ve never actually seen the movies or read the books. Though I know who Voldemort is.”
I stared at him then leaned in like it was top secret. My voice was just a whisper. “So, you’re the one?”
“I’m the one what?”
“The one person on the planet who hasn’t seen the movies or read the books.”
Reed laughed this time. “Yes, that would be me.” Still smiling, he held up the clipboard. “Some questions for you.”
I leaned back and sighed. “Does this include a waiver in case I drop dead on the StairMaster? Because, just so you know, it probably should because I probably will.”
He chuckled just as the lady behind the counter called his name and held up the phone receiver. He looked at me apologetically. “Sorry, but I better take that call. How about you fill in the details, and I’ll come back when you’re done?”
“Sure,” I said, taking the clipboard. The first questions were the usual: name, address, occupation, private health cover details. I considered drawing a little hand with its middle finger extended next to the age bracket box but figured it probably wasn’t appropriately mature next to the 35-40 box. I mean really, would it have killed them to have the selection criteria as 30-35? Why did the 35s need to be grouped with the 40s?
Right about then, I could’ve killed Anika. When I told her, my best friend since college, that I was going to join a gym, she told me that Graham was a jerk and I didn’t need to change one thing about me. But when she realised I was adamant about losing weight, she was most encouraging. Told me it was an excellent idea! When I asked her to come and join with me, she simply patted my hand and told me not to be a fucking idiot. I considered putting the form down and bailing out. I could be home with a bottle of wine and some Greek food in twenty minutes, wallowing in my own loneliness, telling Anika over the phone about my harrowing close call with a gym.
But then what would I achieve? I didn’t want to be the overweight drunk guy crying in my bathroom ever again.
So with a deep breath, I filled out the rest of the form. There were other questions like allergies and other sports-related injuries, which made me snort because they assumed I’d actually done some kind of sport in my life.
“What’s so funny?” Reed asked. He was now standing in front of where I sat, obviously finished with his phone call.
He was so tall, I had to crane my neck to look at him, and I briefly considered writing down that as an injury. “Well, sports-related injuries would imply partaking in some kind of physical activity. The only marathons I’ve done are Game of Thrones and Breaking Bad marathons.” Then I remembered another one. “Oh, and Sex and the City, but I was sick that week, so it doesn’t count.”
This time, he sat down beside me. “You’re really funny.”
“Well, I tend to talk a lot. When I’m not at work, that is. You know that song ‘the knee bone’s connected to the whatever bone’?” He nodded and I sighed. “Well, my mouth isn’t connected to my brain.”
“No filter?”
I shook my head. “Birth defect. Suffered from it all my life.”
He tried not to laugh and took the clipboard. “Okay, you ready for a quick physical?”
I blanched. “Like now? Today? Here? With you? Ugh, do I have to be there?”
His grin was wide and perfect. “Kinda helps if you are, yeah.” He stood up and waited for me to follow. “Come on, this way.”
I reluctantly followed him into what I thought was an office, but as it turned out, it was some kind of torture chamber. There were weighing scales, and a “Healthy Eating Pyramid” chart on the wall. I’m sure if I went through the desk drawer, there’d be horrendously cruel implements like measuring tapes and fat pinchers.
“No need to look so scared,” he said, sliding the clipboard onto the table.
“Has anyone died in here?”
Reed barked out a laugh. “Not to my knowledge.”
“Or just people’s hopes and dreams?”
His shoulders shook as he laughed. “And the souls of small children.”
I nodded. “Sounds about right.”
His eyes were warm, matching his Colgate smile. “Okay, height first,” he said, nodding toward the chart on the wall. He levelled off the top of my head with his pen and wrote down his findings. Not that I expected my height to change a great deal. “Five-ten,” he confirmed. He collected a tape measure from the desk drawer and, clearly not having any personal space issues, measured my chest, waist, each thigh, and each bicep.
“Last time I got measured was for my sister’s wedding,” I said as he did his measure-and-write thing. “Couldn’t tell you what the measurements were.”
“How long ago was that?” he asked. “The wedding?”
“Three years ago.”
“Nice,” he said politely.
“Hmm, maybe. The suit lasted longer than the marriage though. Clearly I got the better deal.”
He balked. “Oh. Sorry.”
I snorted. “Don’t sweat it. She’s been engaged to someone else since then too but freaked out before the wedding. She’s latched onto some other poor guy now.” I shook my head. I loved my sister, but she treated marriage like interior decorating and changed with the seasons. Gay and lesbian people weren’t afforded the same luxury in this country, and it was a sore point for me. If Graham and I could’ve had the wedding we’d once wanted… then I remembered I didn’t have a Graham anymore.
“Hop up onto the scales for me?” Reed asked. He obviously wasn’t privy to the nosedive in my thoughts and mood. With a reluctant and somewhat petulant sigh, I did as he asked. “Then we’ll take a photo for your ‘before’ picture, and when you reach your goal weight or the fitness level you’d like to achieve, we can take an ‘after’ picture.”
I heard what he said, but I was stuck staring at the numbers on the scale. Surely they were wrong. Could digital scales even be wrong?
Reed’s voice was soft beside me. “You okay?”
I was speechless and horrified and embarrassed. “Holy shit,” I whispered.
One hundred and fourteen kilos.
Triple figures. One hundred and fourteen fucking kilos.
I stepped back off the scales, feeling light-headed and dazed. I’d never been this weight. I think the last time I weighed myself was about ten years ago, and I was eighty-five kilos. How the fuck was I one hundred and fourteen kilos? And the worst part, was that Graham was right. I was overweight. I’d let myself go. I stopped taking care of myself.
“Fuck.”
Reed put his hand on my arm. “Like I said, Henry, you’re in the right place. We’ll get some goals written up, a workout plan, a diet plan. You’ll get your life back. And your boyfriend. We’ll have you looking so damn good, he’ll be begging you to take him back.”
I nodded numbly. I was truly in shock. I had no witty comeback. I had nothing funny to say.
Reed gave me a pitying, reassuring smile. He snapped my photo for his stupid before picture, and all I could think of was one hundred and fourteen kilos.
He stood in front of me and put his huge hands on my shoulders. “Henry, look at me.”
I blinked rapidly and tried to shake off my shame. I looked him right in his pretty eyes, feeling every part of Beauty and the Obese Beast. “Is this where you sing ‘A Tale As Old As Time’ and I give you a library?”
He quirked an eyebrow and fought a smile. “What?”
“Never mind.”
“You can do everything I set out for you, and I’ll be with you every step of the way,” he said. “You’ve got this.”
He told me to be there at eight in the morning, ready to change my outlook, ready to change my life.
