by Bev Robitai
‘Oh Dennis, stop putting yourself down. That’s not drivel, it’s an honest response. It takes a bit of mental adjustment to catch up with your physical changes, that’s all. You’ll get back in balance at the end of the process and find that your normal state is slim and healthy, then it won’t feel so strange. Trust me, I’ve heard all sorts of responses from people going through exactly the same experience.” She put a warm hand on his arm. “Some need a little more encouragement than others, especially if they’ve been through a bad break-up and had their confidence knocked.”
“You’re a bit of a counsellor as well as a personal trainer, aren’t you?” he smiled. “You build spirit as well as muscles.”
“The two go hand in hand. If you’re confident and motivated, you work harder and get better results. If I can improve your mental self-image, you’re going to realise you’re worth working on, and you’ll be less likely to slip up and eat junk food thinking that it’s all you deserve.”
His eyes widened. “My God, you can see into my head! That’s worrying!”
“I’m just quoting what other people have told me,” she said. “It’s a common feeling. I think a lot of people judge themselves too harshly and feel inadequate, as if they’re not worthy of having a good body.” She grinned. “Of course, others are just plain greedy! I see plenty of overweight shoppers in the supermarket with trollies full of ice-cream and soft drinks and cakes, and I bet you anything you like they’ll tell you they’ve tried everything to lose weight. Ha! Everything except self-discipline!”
“This is rather a hobby-horse of yours, isn’t it?” he said drily.
“Oh, does it show that much? Well tough. I stand by my words. Body weight is a function of food in and work performed. If you eat too much and don’t exercise enough, you get fat. Period. It ain’t rocket science.”
“You don’t have to convince me,” he said gently. “I’m a willing convert now.”
“Excellent! You can be my poster boy. Once we have you looking trim, taut and terrific, we’ll get some professional photos done and put you on display. How does that sound? Your before and after photos will inspire others to make the same transformation – wouldn’t that be great?”
“I tell you what – why don’t you ask me again when I’m a bit further down the track. I’m not feeling like a poster boy just yet.” Cathy in full flow was a force to be reckoned with but he wasn’t quite convinced he would measure up to her expectations. “Once I’ve lost few more kilos and built up some respectable muscles your idea won’t seem quite so intimidating. I hope.”
“Oh you’ll be fine. In another eight weeks you won’t recognise yourself. Trust me! If you keep up with eating right and setting your exercise targets you’ll be transformed by the end of twelve weeks. I’m really looking forward to seeing the new you!”
Dennis felt a quiet thrill inside, a feeling he’d almost forgotten. He hoped he wasn’t reading too much into it, but it was hard to ignore how good it felt that a pretty woman was saying nice things to him. That alone would motivate him to complete the twelve week challenge she’d set him.
He left the gym that night walking on air, noticing as he went out that Vincenzo was helping Mark’s girlfriend with some weights over by the exercise balls. With his slim brown hands on her bare shoulders he was guiding her lifts while she laughed up at him. Mark was nowhere in sight, which was a shame as Dennis wanted to share the thrill of his results. He knew Mark would be pleased at his own part in Dennis’ progress. Never mind, he’d go home and tell Janice all about it instead. It felt good to have some positive news to report after so many sad phone calls he’d made when her support was the only thing keeping him going. He whistled cheerfully as he ran down the stairs.
Another week later and another kilo lighter, Dennis found himself standing in a menswear department faced with a dilemma. Should he buy new clothes that fitted him, or was that just a waste of money if he was going to keep on losing weight? He couldn’t face the thought of buying second-hand items, so he decided to bite the bullet and buy one new cheap pair of pants, as tight as he could squeeze into. It was an alien concept to buy close-fitting trousers after getting used to buying clothes with plenty of room, but he could see the funny side as he struggled to tug the zipper closed in the confines of the fitting room. Some of his belly still hung over the waistband but there was a lot less of it now. The saleswoman met his smile with a flirtatious look of her own as she rang up his purchase, and Dennis left the store with a spring in his step.
His buoyant mood was unaffected by a call from Mark that night saying he wouldn’t be at the gym.
“It’s Sherry, dude. She’s insisting I spend some time at home with her instead of working out. Says I’m getting obsessed with it.” Mark growled. “I just don’t get it. I thought she’d like this great new body I’m building – you’ve seen the muscle I’ve packed on in the last two weeks, it’s amazing isn’t it? But she’s whining that I’m not charming and attentive like when we were first going out. For God’s sake, who can keep up that level of pleasing a woman? I tell her I love her at least once a week, I clean the toilet without being asked, I even buy her flowers once in a while. Surely she doesn’t need all that every day?”
“You’re asking the wrong guy. I tried to be the perfect partner and ended up dumped and disposed of, completely out of the blue.” Dennis sighed. “I feel for you, Mark, but there’s no easy answer. Just do what feels right for you, I guess.”
“Eh? Now what?” he heard Mark shout to someone. “Sorry dude, got to go.” The phone went dead.
When Dennis arrived at the gym later he was surprised to see Mark there, already working vigorously on the shoulder press bench. Sweat poured off him as he lifted a heavily-weighted bar and lowered it to his chest.
“You made it here after all then,” observed Dennis. Mark just grunted, nodding his head in a cursory gesture. It was obvious that he didn’t want company so Dennis ambled over to where Warwick and Simon were preparing to do squats.
“How’s it going, guys?”
Warwick shrugged. “Yeah, not bad. Piling on the muscle ready to impress the chicks. Well, the ones that can be bothered to appreciate it, anyway. Some of them are just too blind to see what’s under their bloody noses. At least I’ve got real good development on my biceps and quads. Simon here is a bit slower to bulk up. Doesn’t work at it like I do.” He slotted a couple more weights onto his bar, banged them into place and tightened the hold collar roughly.
“I’m getting there!” Simon protested. “We can’t all be Neanderthals – some of us appeal to women with higher ideals.” He stretched elegantly. “We speak with the language of dance, not brute force.”
“Yeah, well good luck with that. I’m sure the gay boys in the audience will love it.”
Simon and Dennis exchanged surprised looks at the aggression in Warwick’s voice.
“To each his own, dear boy,” drawled Simon, refusing to take offence. “Dennis, would you care to work out with me today since both our usual partners seem to have been hit on the head by the grumpy stick?”
“That sounds like an excellent idea. Why add the burden of bad temper to the weights we’re lifting, eh? Thanks, Simon, I appreciate it.”
They retreated to a quiet corner and got themselves set up at the weights bench.
“You lift first and I’ll spot,” offered Simon, moving to stand behind the bar. Dennis laid his towel on the bench and wriggled into place, making sure his arms were positioned at the correct angle.
“Any idea why those two are so angry at life, Simon?”
“I do have a theory, actually.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I hear whispers now and then. There are rumours that steroids may be doing the rounds.”
“No! Seriously? I thought guys were too smart to fall for taking pills to get muscles these days. Surely nobody would be that dumb? We all know how dangerous they are.”
“But what if they didn’t know they were taking
them? If it was mixed up in something else, how would they know?”
Dennis snorted. “That’s pointless! Who would benefit by secretly feeding someone steroids? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“It might if you wanted to boost your reputation as a successful trainer.”
Dennis looked at him, forgetting to push, and the heavy weight bar pressed down on his chest. He gasped, struggling, until Simon helped him lift it back onto the rack.
“Oof, thanks!”
“When you lose focus gravity seems to take over!” said Simon.
Dennis sat up and wiped his face. “Do you have any reason to suspect anyone in particular?”
Simon cautiously looked around the room before answering. Without realising it, Dennis did the same.
“Has Vincenzo offered you any of his protein powder? No? Me neither, but he has been selling it to Warwick and Ricky for sure – I’ve seen him. Probably Mark too. And who has packed on more muscle than the rest of us? They have. Who’s been acting like a bear with a gorse bush up its butt? They have. It’s a classic symptom.”
Dennis looked at him, eyes wide. “Really? That does make sense, now you mention it. So do you think that’s why Vincenzo is so keen to get them into the body-building contest? So if they do well it reflects well on him as the trainer?” He shook his head. “That’s crazy. Besides, don’t they have blood tests for those things? Wouldn’t steroid use be noticed?”
“Not if he includes masking agents in the mix he gives them. He can add any crap he likes to the product and call it pure whey powder. How are they going to know?”
“But surely it can’t be cost effective to buy drugs and feed them to people just to improve his status as a trainer? They can’t come cheap. Does he get a cash prize if his guys win the contest or something? I can’t see why he’d take the risk…oh.” Dennis fell silent, wondering if perhaps Vincenzo hadn’t been spending his own money at all. The anomaly that Cathy had been struggling with in the gym accounts could well have been Vincenzo siphoning off cash. Perhaps she had unknowingly been subsidising the whole ludicrous exercise. No wonder her spreadsheets wouldn’t balance. He’d have to ask her about it later. “What do you think we should do about it?”
Simon shrugged. “They’re grown-ups. If they want to risk taking unknown substances from some guy they think they trust, that’s their problem. All this is just supposition anyway. I don’t think there’s anything much we can do.”
Dennis frowned. It didn’t seem right.
After the session he made a point of chatting with Warwick in the locker room.
“How’s it going? Hope you had an OK session? You didn’t mind me training with Simon for a change, did you?”
“Nah, that’s fine.” Warwick didn’t seem inclined to chat, but Dennis persevered.
“Your arms are looking good. Do you take anything extra to get such great muscle development? Protein supplements, for instance?”
“Whey powder, that’s all. Two scoops in 500ml of non-fat milk with an egg every morning. Seems to make the difference. And if I do a really hard workout I have another one in the evening for recovery.”
“Really? And it’s just whey powder? What brand? Maybe I should try some myself.”
“You can get it from any nutrition store, but they charge an arm and a leg for it. See Vincenzo, he gets it in bulk and sells it to us much cheaper without the retail mark-up.”
“Is that safe?” Dennis tiptoed through the minefield. “I mean, how do you know what’s in it? He could be like drug dealers, adding extra stuff to cut the pure powder.”
“Hey man, it’s doing the business, you said so yourself. If he was watering it down with cornflour or something, it wouldn’t be so effective, would it?” Warwick turned away, muttering. “Think before you open your mouth, dude.”
“But what if he was adding something to make it stronger?” Dennis blurted out. He owed it to the guys to make them aware of the possibility. “Have you noticed any odd reactions to using it? Acne, bad sleep, sudden fits of rage?” He didn’t dare mention any symptoms below the belt for fear of ending up hung on a locker room peg by his underwear. If Warwick was having sexual difficulties he certainly wouldn’t admit to it anyway. He became aware that Warwick was staring at him.
“Have you been talking to Leonie?” he demanded. “Did she tell you to ask me about this stuff?” He slammed his hand against the row of lockers with an ear-splitting bang.
“No! No, I’ve never spoken to her at all,” gabbled Dennis. “I was just asking because if there was something added to the powder then I thought you’d want to know about it, that’s all. Sorry man, forget I said anything. Really. It’s entirely your own business.”
“Damn right,” growled Warwick.
Dennis threw his clothes into his gym bag and fled. He had planned to speak to Mark as well, but couldn’t face two violent reactions like that in one night. He’d wait for a calmer moment.
After his workout the following evening he entered the locker room in time to see Mark coming out of the showers, a towel round his waist and a light sprinkling of water drops on his bulging chest muscles. Dennis braced himself and seized his opportunity.
“Your pecs are looking even bigger, Mark. You must be pleased with your development, eh?”
“Yeah, I’ve got more muscle mass than I’ve ever had in my life. Looks pretty good, doesn’t it?”
“Wish I could match it – I bet the girls love it. How does Sherry feel about it?”
“Huh.” Mark frowned. “Not as pleased as I expected. She’s been complaining I neglect her, that I don’t spend time at home, all that kind of crap. Says I used to be a better boyfriend before the training.”
“Ah.”
Mark turned sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean? Have you been talking to her?” He bristled visibly. “Have you been seeing her behind my back? I swear somebody has. She’s different all of a sudden. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?” He glared at Dennis with a look that could have melted steel but then apparently discounted the idea as ludicrous, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. He pulled dry clothes out of his gym bag and dumped them on the bench. “She’s been acting real weird lately, all emotional. I cook her favourite meal just to get some peace and she walks off and leaves it on the table, then she takes dry crackers to bed because she wakes up hungry. She’s bloody mental.”
As Mark pulled on a T-shirt Dennis noticed several angry red pimples across his back.
“I haven’t been talking to Sherry, but Simon and I were wondering if, well,” Dennis hesitated, “if there was something odd in the protein powder that you and Warwick and Ricky are using. The three of you have developed so much more muscle than the rest of us, it seems a bit suspect, that’s all. As if there might be something like, well, steroids in it.”
He braced himself for a bellow of rage or worse.
Mark laughed out loud. “What? Is that your theory? Jesus, Dennis, you’re just making excuses for your own lack of effort. If you’d been training as hard as Warwick and Ricky and I have, you’d be just as muscular. Don’t expect miracles if you don’t work hard enough to earn them. Put the hours in that we do, lift the weights we lift, then you can bleat about drug cheating if it doesn’t work.” Mark zipped up his jeans, checking himself out in the mirror. “You don’t get a butt like this by playing at training, dude. You gotta do it for real. Get Vincenzo to boost your program and maybe you can fast-track things a bit. Remember we’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have, so be patient.”
Dennis sighed. It wasn’t the response he’d hoped for, but at least he’d come out of the conversation intact and unbruised. He squashed his damp clothes into his gym bag and headed for home.
He passed Vincenzo in the stairwell, leaning towards the wall, talking on his cellphone. When he saw Dennis he raised his chin in greeting and lifted his hand for a high five. The hushed conversation resumed as Dennis carried on down the stairs, the words floatin
g on wafts of sickly sweet aftershave.
“Of course, cara mia, I’ll be there tomorrow night.” Vincenzo’s voice was low and sultry. “You can wear that special outfit, si? Bene, bene!” He growled playfully. “Until tomorrow, my little wild cat. No, I cannot be there tonight, I have to meet someone here. No! A man, you jealous tiger! Arrivederci, mi amore.”
Dennis reached the bottom of the stairs and paused to retie his shoelace, but heard no more of Vincenzo’s conversation.
When he reached his car he remembered with a groan that he’d left his wet shower towel hanging on a peg in the locker room. His shoulders slumped. It was late, he was tired, but he didn’t want Cathy to have to deal with it if she did a lost property check. He threw his bag into the car, relocked the door, and retraced his steps.
The gym door was still open even though it was now well past closing time. Vincenzo’s cloying scent hung around the stairwell and Dennis moved quietly as he didn’t want to run into him if he was still there.
The weights room was empty, but the door to the storeroom at the back was open. Dennis headed into the locker room and grabbed his soggy towel, rolling it into a neat tube for easier carrying. As he left he heard a snatch of conversation coming from the storeroom.
“Hey there, my brother! How are you doing? Wow, you’re looking great, man. Those workouts are really paying off, yes? You still got enough powder? Just let me know when you need any more, OK?”
“You stay…” the other man’s voice was high and strained. He stopped, cleared his throat, and began again. “You stay away from my girlfriend. I know you went visiting while I was here at the gym last night. I don’t want you sniffing round her when I’m not there. If you want to talk to me, we talk here, OK? Don’t go near her again.”
Vincenzo sounded concerned.
“I hear you, bro, I truly do – but I had no choice, I had to go talk to her last night. She rang me herself because she’s worried about you, man. She wanted to make sure you’re not harming yourself with all the, ah, working out that you’re doing. She really cares for you – you’re a lucky man, you know? She’s a wonderful woman.” He paused. “She really is very beautiful, you know.”