He was hemming and hawing, as if trying to put himself forward without upsetting me. I found it amusing and, frankly, a good omen. I’d worked on school projects with people before, and often they either just let me do all the work or were overly obnoxious. His attempt at communication and setting boundaries politely was a good sign for our mutual endeavor. And I was aware that I had a tendency to overwhelm others with detail. I hastened to reassure him.
“Of course. I did all this before I knew I’d have a personal trainer.” I gathered up the paperwork. “I am entirely in your hands, maestro. As long as we appear to be progressing toward our mutual goals, naturally.”
He laughed, the same laugh I’d heard on the football field, full and rich. “Maestro! You’re so funny, Hedgehog.” His eyes went wide. “Oops, sorry. I mean, Sean. Should I call you Sean? Or maybe you like Hedgehog?”
I didn’t mind being called Hedgehog, honestly. It was the first nickname I’d ever had in my life, and it was nice that I had the sorts of friends, in my frat brothers, who’d bother to give me a nickname at all. Also, it wasn’t exactly insulting. Hedgehogs were a perfectly attractive mammal. But there was something about hearing my name, Sean, spoken by Bubba that gave me a warm feeling. Maybe because it was so unusual that such a big, handsome, popular guy would know my name at all.
“You can call me Sean,” I said, feeling a little shy for the first time. I pushed up my glasses.
“Sean.” Bubba smiled at me, looking me right in the eyes, and it made the warm feeling spread. “So… how much have you weight-trained before, Sean?”
“I haven’t. That’s why I need help with form.”
He blinked at me and waved one large hand at the papers. “You’ve never done any of these exercises? Ever in your life?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
He looked perplexed. “What about team sports?”
“No. I’ve always focused on academics. I never had to take athletics of any sort at the private school I attended.”
His smiled faded. “You mean… like… no dodge ball or volleyball or anything? Not even in gym class?” He sounded shocked.
I shook my head. “No. I never took gym classes,” I clarified This seemed to be a concept he wasn’t grasping.
“What about, like, jogging?” he asked with a hint of panic in his eyes.
“Not really. Perhaps a few yards to get out of the rain.”
“Hiking? Water skiing? Canoeing?”
I chewed on my lip. “My family isn’t the active sort. We went to museums a few times a year.”
“Minigolf?” he asked faintly.
Clearly, my answers were disappointing him. I thought it was clear I was out of shape. What did he assume I needed a personal trainer for? But I wracked my brain. “I’ve played Ping-Pong,” I offered brightly. “But I wouldn’t consider myself a good Ping-Pong player.”
He lowered his gaze to my chest and arms in my black pajama top with the Bat signal on it. I crossed my arms over my chest self-consciously.
“I am quite serious about this plan,” I said defensively. “I have muscles, after all, like everyone else, and all muscle tissue responds to training. Surely, a personal trainer should be able to work with anyone.”
“Yeah, hey, no problem. I always say I like a challenge.” Bubba smiled weakly at me.
Ha. I was determined not to be a challenge but a star pupil. After all, I’d been one my entire life.
And this was only physical exercise. How hard could it be?
“Try this one.” Bubba held out a dumbbell like it was a feather.
I took it. Damn, it felt like lifting a truck. I had a hard time even holding onto it because it wanted to pull right out of my grasp. I let it hang by my side, my fingers aching.
“Okay, now keep your feet spread apart a little, that’s right, and stiffen your spine, shoulders back, feel the strength in your core.” He waved a hand from my shoulders to my groin, indicating a core which felt like it had no strength at all. “Keep your wrist turned in like that, and now bring the weight up slowly.”
I tried. I understood the desired movement. He’d demonstrated it, making it look easy. But my arm only came up about thirty degrees with the weight before my muscles started to shake and I couldn’t go any farther. I didn’t mean to, but my arm dropped, and the dumbbell slipped from my grasp to the floor where it made a loud bang.
“Sorry,” I said, rubbing my forearm. “It slipped.”
“That’s okay,” Bubba said too lightly. He picked up the weight and looked at it with a sad face. “That was only ten pounds,” he whispered.
I crossed my arms over my chest and looked away. This wasn’t working. It was my—our—first training session, and it was a catastrophe. That was the third dumbbell Bubba had handed me. The first one I hadn’t even been able to hold in my grasp. I knew I was out of shape, but now it was becoming clear to me how terminally moribund I really was. I felt humiliated—and angry too.
“Look, this isn’t productive,” I said sharply. “Let’s forget it. I’ll work on my own. Tomorrow or… something.” I turned and headed for the locker room.
I didn’t want to see Bubba anymore. Clearly, when it came to the body, he was a giant, and I was a gnat. It was like me trying to teach physics to a two-year-old. What had I been thinking volunteering for flag football? I’d been so naïve. And how was I going to tell Jax and my frat brothers that I couldn’t do it? Who was going to take my place?
And what about my goals? My New Year’s resolution? Would I never be someone another human being wanted to—
A large hand on my shoulder stopped my petulant march. “Wait! Sean….”
I wanted to pull away, but something stopped me from putting on a total temper tantrum in front of Bubba Merkofsky. I still cared what he thought of me.
“It’s all right,” I said tightly. “You don’t have to work with me. The fault is mine.”
“No,” he said, firmly enough for me to turn to look at him. He was shamefaced. “It’s my fault. God, I suck! The thing is, I’ve never trained anyone before. You’re my first. And I… I guess I’m just stupid. I’m really sorry.”
The depth of his regret surprised me. He looked genuinely miserable. And I didn’t like to hear him berate himself. “You’re not stupid,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
He looked away. “I’m used to working out with my friends. And they’re all, like, football players and stuff. But I really want to be a good personal trainer. Please give me another chance?”
I considered it. He did look sincere. And I supposed that was what you got when you took on a free personal trainer. It was like going to a hair-stylist school for a cheap haircut, perhaps. Or a cooking school for a meal.
But my shame lingered. I looked around. Fortunately, there weren’t many people in the gym at this time of the morning, and the few that were there were not close by and were focused on their own routines. I watched a guy pick up a huge barbell and raise it over his head. It looked so heavy.
I might not have been as embarrassed if I weren’t failing in front of Bubba. But I didn’t like him seeing how pathetic I was.