by L J K Cross
“And just when has that ever stopped you,” she quipped.
Bob was nothing if not entertaining and there was nothing he didn’t know about bodybuilding. He had been in the sport a long, long time and had seen many of the best physiques around. In Bob’s heyday many of the top Americans, never mind top British champions, had graced his humble back street dive of a gym. At one time, any one who was anyone in the sport had trained at “The Pantheon” and had been put through their paces by Bob. But that was many moons ago. Both Bob and the sport had changed a lot since then. Many would argue that both had long since seen their glory days and lost their lustre.
About twenty years ago bodybuilding had been a truly international sport and “The Pantheon” had been a mecca for all hardcore trainers. Both though now appeared jaded and out of tune with the modern corporate fitness industry which thrived on spewing out the latest fitness crazes on an almost weekly basis. Each new fitness fad strived to outdo the previous one in its promise of delivering faster results with the minimal amount of effort, which brought Bob on to another of his infamous gripes. Maybe he was just showing his age but he couldn’t fathom what was wrong with people nowadays? Why was no one willing to graft and work hard? Why did everyone look for short cuts? Even in “The Pantheon”, where yoga and cross fit were considered dirty words, the heaviest dumbbell’s lay discarded and gathering dust in the corner. Whilst in the farthest corner of the gym stood several machines that had rusted into obscurity and weren’t even fit for scrap. Their corrosion though was due more to the leaking roof than lack of use. For one reason or another, Bob had never gotten round to properly fixing the roof. He was of the opinion that the tatty sheet of tarpaulin that hung from the roof gave the gym character. It certainly did that all right. In winter, carrying weights to your bench was like tackling an assault course as you bobbed and weaved your way around the buckets scattered haphazardly on the floor. Just like the word “Uffizi”, “health and safety” were also words that didn’t easily roll off Bob’s tongue.
Yet if you scraped away the dust and disregarded the rust and mould, the former glory days of the gym were still visible. On every wall hung signed photos of past champions and behind the counter, where Bob’s dozy English bull mastiff resided, were shelves of trophies that never failed to inspire and motivate up and coming trainers. Hung above the lat pull down machine was a faded signed photo of Amanda’s all time favourite female body builder, eight times Ms World Body Builder, Monica Robertson. Many a time, during countless gruelling and gut wrenching training sessions, Amanda had glanced to that photo and drawn on her reserves, never once daring to imagine that one day she would be being touted as a hot favourite to win the Ms World Body Builder title. Little old Amanda Hearst. Not that she could exactly be called little nowadays. But if she cast her mind back, way, way back, then surely there must have been a time when she was little. Maybe when she was about eight years old!
Bob followed the direction of her stare.
“Monica was a doll, a real sweetheart. Friend of mine used to date her, did you know?”
Amanda did know. Bob might have mentioned it about several hundred times. She knew how his friend had not treated her right and she knew all about how his friend had done the dirty on Monica Robertson. Bob was forever telling her how his friend had never been good enough for the beautiful and sassy Monica Robertson but you couldn’t help feeling that Bob had always harboured a crush on her himself and was a victim of the green eyed monster.
“But”, beamed Bob, “You have that same star quality. You just have to believe how good you are.”
At this, Steve took his cue. He never missed an opportunity to sing Amanda’s praises. He jumped up from the bench and piped up.
“What did I tell you?” Steve asked but was too animated to wait for an answer.
“You are going to be sensational. When you walk out on that stage you will blow their socks off. No one will be able to match your winning combination of size, conditioning and symmetry.”
“Plus you are feminine and attractive to top it all off,” interjected Bob. “As you know that is always a big vote winner for me.”
“We know what sways your vote Bob”, jibed Steve. Bob shrugged his shoulders.
“What can I say? I can’t help it if I’m a red blooded male.”
That was how it was, how it had always been, with the two of them. They were always trading friendly insults and passing banter back and forth. They had known each other for over twenty years, ever since that first day when Steve had walked in the gym as a scrawny, cocky sixteen-year-old and proudly boasted to anyone who would listen how he intended to become the next Arnie. If Bob had a pound for every time he had heard that he would have been a very rich man but to his credit he hadn’t discouraged or ridiculed Steve. Instead he had taken him under his wing and had been like a father figure to him ever since.
Never in a million years though did Bob imagine that Steve would meet a kindred spirit like he had in Amanda. They had hit it off straight away and had been inseparable ever since. As a team they were invincible and complimented each other perfectly. Bob knew that Steve was head over heels in love with Amanda. He would do anything for her. He worshipped her. On many a cold winter night down the gym, when no other trainers had been hard core enough to brave the blistering cold, Steve would open his heart to Bob about the depth of his love for Amanda. As they had climbed to the top of the sport, Steve had sacrificed just as much and worked just as hard as Amanda. Yet as she basked in the limelight and received all the praise and accolades, Steve was more than happy to take a back seat and it was this that worried Bob. He had tried being the voice of logic and reason and tried to prevent Steve tumbling too hard or too fast but in spite of his best efforts he knew it was futile. He knew his words of caution fell on deaf ears. Bob didn’t want to be a cynic but neither did he want to see Steve get hurt. He knew, from experience, how selfish and destructive the sport could be and how it had a nasty habit of destroying the most doting of couples.
It wasn’t this stomach churning thought though that was making Bob screw up his face. Amanda couldn’t work out if Bob’s expression was due to the meat and potato pie, he had wolfed down half an hour ago, repeating on him, or if Bruno, his bull mastiff, had decided to remind everyone he was still there behind the counter. He had a bad habit of stinking the place out. Then she realised that he was holding the CD case for her posing music in his hand.
“Lady Gaga? Is this what you are posing to?” he asked, twisting his face into such incredulous contortions that he could have taken first place in a gurning contest. “Bet you didn’t bloody choose that, did you Steve?”
“Nope. Can’t own up to that one I’m afraid,” Steve replied quickly, not wanting any of the lads down the gym to get the wrong end of the stick and mistake him for a Lady Gaga fan. He would never hear the end of it. He and Amanda hadn’t seen eye to eye on her choice of posing music but Amanda had been adamant. She had wanted music with tempo and words that resonated. Plus Lady Gaga was unique and a trailblazer, just like Amanda hoped to be in the world of bodybuilding.
Bob was still muttering away to himself as he put the CD on, abruptly cutting Axl Rose off mid wail. Heavy metal was the only music Bob allowed to be played in the gym. The heavier the better as far as Bob was concerned; the same went for the weights, and his women, come to think of it.
“Bloody hell. Wouldn’t fancy meeting that on a dark night. What do you say Steve?” chuckled Bob.
Fortunately Amanda didn’t hear Steve’s response as Lady Gaga’s synthesised voice reverberated through the gym.
“It doesn’t matter if you love him or capital H-I-M,” mouthed Amanda in time with the music as she slowly walked forward, deliberately rolling and flicking each exquisitely carved quad as she did so to further accentuate those incredulous cuts. Her thighs were so muscular and the muscles that ran down them were so deep and detailed they reminded you of vines wrapped around two thick tree trunks.
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Over the course of the past few months Amanda had practiced her posing routine innumerable times. Each time, in her mind’s eye, she imagined the judges sat below the stage, watching, judging, a row of unreadable, deadpan expressions that gave nothing away.
“Cause you were born this way baby”. This was Amanda’s cue to hit her signature pose – a relaxed front lat spread, hand on right hip and left leg offset to the side – showing her symmetry off to its maximum whilst still appearing effortless.
“I was born to be this way,” thought Amanda. Looking at her reflection in the mirror she felt a warm sense of satisfaction. She knew that all those years of hard training, dedication and sacrifice had been worth it. All her life she had railed against the perceived norm. She had never wanted to be normal or average. She had never wanted to be one of the crowd and fit in. She couldn’t understand why anyone would. Amanda fervently believed that the only way to succeed in life and be truly happy was to be true to yourself and your passions. Despite what anyone said and despite being this drastically dieted, Amanda could put her hand on her heart and say that at that very moment she was truly happy.
“We are all born superstars” sang Lady Gaga and Amanda hit a front double bicep, tilting her arms at an angle and twisting her torso to the side, giving her an air of regality. Upon sneaking a reassuring glance in the mirror, Amanda saw her biceps flex and bulge as if they were about to spilt out of her skin and as for her obliques, well they looked like you could grate cheese on them.
It was now time for the audience to see her best body part, just as Lady Gaga was about to sing, “Cause he made you perfect babe.” Amanda’s back was a ravine of crevices and gullies just as marvellous to wonder at as the Grand Canyon. It truly was a sight to behold, which proved even more breathtaking when she flexed and tensed every sinew and fibre in time to the music. It was hypnotising and from the looks on the faces of everyone in the gym they were helpless to do anything other than just stop what they were doing and gawp. They were all big guys but they had never seen muscle like it, let alone on a woman, which you had to admit made it even more impressive.
As Amanda turned back round to hit her final pose she was oblivious to their stares. When she was in this state of depletion it took every ounce of energy she had just to move, let alone pose as if her life depended on it. On top of that when it came to show time she would have to crank it up another notch and remember that winning smile, when all she really wanted to do was grimace at how much her muscles were screaming and aching. There it was her final and favourite pose – the front double lat spread – showing off that perfect “X” shape. Now that was the real X factor!
As the music finished Amanda flopped onto the nearest bench, drenched in sweat, gasping for air and gulping back what was her seventh litre of water today – just one more litre to drink before bedtime. For a good full minute her heavy breathing was the only sound to be heard as silence rang deafeningly through the gym. It was eventually Bob who piped up.
“Well, I think I have just changed my mind about that Lady Gaga. I didn’t realise you could move like that. You are going to knock ’em bandy.”
Emboldened by Bob taking the lead, the others joined in in unison, trying to outdo each other with compliments and hyperbole. Even Jeff, who had been training in the same gym as Amanda for over eight years, and in all that time had never even uttered so much as a “hello” to her, felt the need to pass his verdict, even if it was monosyllabic.
“Wow,” he muttered.
“Man of few words,” Amanda thought to herself.
That final posing practice had really wiped her out. After three days of carb depletion she was spent. She just wanted to get home and rest as they had a long flight ahead of them tomorrow. Steve could read her like a book. He always seemed to know just how she was feeling and was always there to step in and take charge. “Right we had better be getting you home missy. Food. Shower. Bed,” he stated, cutting them all off mid praise.
Amanda just nodded. She couldn’t even be bothered to talk. Her eyes were half closing at the mere mention of bed. Bob wasn’t going to let her go though without some departing pearls of wisdom and a big crushing bear hug.
“Now don’t be going doing anything drastic and stupid at the last minute and cock things up. You are ready to go on stage now. So if it isn’t broke, don’t try and fix it. Also try and stay relaxed. I know it is easier said than done but it will only make you hold water and finally, remember, breathe.”
Even though she was exhausted Amanda couldn’t help but giggle.
“Yes Bob. I’ll try and remember to breathe,” she said with a slight hint of sarcasm.
“You know what I mean,” replied Bob, sounding a little bit offended. “Remember your breathing and keep your waist under control at all times. Quickest way to lose marks.”
She knew he was right but it did sound ridiculous all the same. Then again there were a lot of things that were ridiculous about competing, like stopping your water twenty four hours before the show and then having to go and pose under hot stage lights for about half an hour or wearing comp tan – the colour of mud – and smothering yourself in oil. Even Amanda had to admit that when you said it like that it sounded pretty weird but then again it wouldn’t do for us all to be the same.
Amanda and Steve left the gym to a chorus of “best of luck”, “go get ’em” and “take care”.
In the ten seconds it took them to walk to the car, Amanda was shivering. It was a fairly mild autumn evening but when she was this dieted and her body fat was this low, she felt the cold seep right through to her bones despite the five layers of track suit she was wearing. By tomorrow evening though, she would be in Las Vegas. Hopefully the desert heat would warm her up and make her feel a little more like her old self.
As soon as they got in the car, Amanda turned the heaters on full blast and waited for their trusty old Ford KA to heat up. Looking back at the gym, through the condensation-streaked windows, you could just about make out the blurred figures finishing up their workouts. Even from this hazy distance there was no disguising how run down the gym had become. It certainly was a far cry from the glitz and glamour of Las Vegas thought Amanda. Not that Amanda had ever been motivated by wealth or luxury. This gym was her home, built on the foundations of honest, hard work and passion, cemented together with blood, sweat and tears. This was where she was at her happiest; doing what she loved most in the world. And yet as her hot breath steamed up the window, obscuring the gym from view, Amanda was struck by a strange premonition that it would be a long time before she saw the gym again – if ever. Amanda didn’t know where such a thought had come from and presumed it was due to exhaustion but still as the cold dampness of the windowpane against her forehead seeped through her body, working its way into her very bones, she couldn’t help but feel unsettled. A dark, foreboding cloud portending devilish disaster seemed to loom on the horizon.
The warmth of the car wrapped Amanda up in its comforting blanket, carrying her off into a slumber, far away from such troubling thoughts. As her eyes drooped under the weight of fatigue she looked over lovingly at Steve. Despite the harsh jaundiced shadows of the street lighting, Steve’s face still retained its caring, insouciant charm. He was the one who she really wanted to make proud. He was the one she felt she needed to reward with a win for his unswerving loyalty and dedication. He was the only one whose opinion mattered. The last thing she remembered thinking before tiredness finally prevailed was that she hoped she would never take him for granted. Having someone who loved her for who she was and who saw past all the muscle and power was worth so much more than riches or fame.
CHAPTER 3
“What’s this?” he lisped, dramatically holding the sealed sachet at arms length. Anyone would have thought its contents were highly contagious. The question was fairly redundant though seen as the words, protein powder, were written in big bold letters across the front of the packet.
“Protein powder,” repli
ed Amanda, trying, but not really succeeding at, hiding her contempt for this jumped up jobsworth. She looked over to where Steve was patiently waiting and saw him mouth to her to “keep calm”. It was ok for him. He always sailed straight through airport security without so much as a raised eyebrow but she got stopped every single time. You could bet your life’s savings on it. Standing in the queue at passport control, she had seen this midget clown clock her. He had puffed out his chest and kept his eyes trained on her as she progressed along the line. By the time she reached him he was so worked up he looked like he was going to wet himself, certain he was onto a sure thing.
“And what do we have here then?” he queried, feigning surprise because surely no one could be that dumb.
“What a prick,” thought Amanda to herself. Could this moron not read or what? She wanted to rip the tub out of his sweaty little hand and read the label out to him very slowly and very loudly so that even he could understand.
“Vitamin C. I use it as a diuretic,” she informed him before she could stop herself.
“Ah right. A diuretic. So correct me if I am wrong but that is a drug isn’t it?” he said smugly as he put his nose to the tub to sniff. Amanda was fighting the urge to ask whether the “fool proof, sniff test” was the preferred method of detection used in all the top drug testing labs, but instead took a deep breath. Staying calm and polite was going to get her through security much faster than caustic honesty and right now it mattered more that she took her next 1000mg tablet of vitamin C and was drinking her fifth litre of water than become embroiled in a battle of wits with someone who seriously lacked ammunition.
“You are so right. A diuretic is a drug,” fawned Amanda with such a saccharine sweet smile she almost made herself sick.
“But vitamin C is a natural diuretic so it is not a drug. So I am sorry but there is nothing illegal about it.”