okay? I want you to take it slowly to begin with.’
I nodded, relieved that he didn’t want me to launch in at the deep end. Taking it slowly sounded much more my cup of Tetley.
‘Come on, then,’ he said, jumping to his feet. ‘Let’s get cracking on your new programme. And I’m with you every step of the way, Maddie, just remember that.’
He was good at his job, Mike. He was polite, attentive and seemed to know intuitively when to push me and when to back off. After the first half-hour, I stopped feeling self-conscious about the way I looked, and just did what he told me, even when it involved rolling back and forth on a giant gym ball like an overgrown baby. He rolled around on one next to me to keep me company, chatting away about how this was strengthening my core muscles and doing wonders for my balance. I was red-faced and slightly breathless by this point, having done the warm-up on the bike, a ten-minute walk on the treadmill and a series of exercises on the scary-looking machines, but if he noticed I was knackered, he was nice enough not to let on.
After the longest ten minutes of my entire life on the cross-trainer, just as my thighs were starting to scream with agony and I was sweating so much I thought I might actually drown, he said (thank God) that that was enough for a first time. ‘You’ve done brilliantly,’ he said warmly. ‘Well done, Maddie.’
My legs were shaking as I stepped off the machine, but I was filled with a ridiculous burst of pride and pleasure at his words. I gulped back the water he gave me as if it was the best drink I’d ever had in my life.
‘How do you feel?’ he asked. ‘Apart from tired, I mean. How are you feeling in your head?’
I smiled at him, endorphins surging around my aching body and giving me a rush of sudden happiness. ‘I feel great,’ I said, surprised at my own words. I laughed. ‘I feel really great!’
And at that moment I thought to myself, Maybe I can do this after all .
Chapter Six
Punch
Jess
The South Beach diet, the cabbage soup diet, the GI diet, the Atkins diet . . . I’d tried them all in the last couple of years. I’d read the books, I’d bought the food, I’d looked at myself in the mirror and promised myself that this time would be different. This time I would have the will power to become slim and fabulous, the size ten I’d been back when I’d first met Charlie.
It never worked. Give it a few days of grapefruit or foul-smelling soup or cottage bloody cheese, and I was always despairing. I felt ill and tired, rather than glowing with health and radiance, miserable that I couldn’t have a glass of wine, and envious of colleagues stuffing themselves with carbohydrates. My stomach would be rumbling, my mind would be completely obsessed with bacon butties or cakes, and the diet, which had seemed so appealing and easy at first, now seemed like utter torture.
Then the chocolate craving would begin and, try as I might to block out the desire, I simply wasn’t able to think about anything else. Purple Cadbury’s wrappers would dance about in my brain, whispering to me all the way from the newsagent. Jess . . . Jess . . . Buy me, unwrap me, eat me . . . I am so delicious, you know you want me, Jess!
The problem was, by that point, I was so worn down by the constant gnawing hunger I was no longer able to resist. I couldn’t tune out the voices, the cravings. I couldn’t say no.
And so, even though I knew I would hate myself later for it, I’d have to go out, drawn by my own pathetic greed, and buy a Crunchie or a Fruit & Nut or a Mars bar. Sometimes all three.
I’d be salivating as I handed over the money, already imagining unwrapping the shiny paper, raising the bar to my lips and letting my mouth close around its smooth, sweet chocolate coating. It was only then, when I bit into the delicious forbidden treat and the sugar orgasmed around my taste buds, that my heart slowed and I felt relaxed, flooded with relief.
I nodded, relieved that he didn’t want me to launch in at the deep end. Taking it slowly sounded much more my cup of Tetley.
‘Come on, then,’ he said, jumping to his feet. ‘Let’s get cracking on your new programme. And I’m with you every step of the way, Maddie, just remember that.’
He was good at his job, Mike. He was polite, attentive and seemed to know intuitively when to push me and when to back off. After the first half-hour, I stopped feeling self-conscious about the way I looked, and just did what he told me, even when it involved rolling back and forth on a giant gym ball like an overgrown baby. He rolled around on one next to me to keep me company, chatting away about how this was strengthening my core muscles and doing wonders for my balance. I was red-faced and slightly breathless by this point, having done the warm-up on the bike, a ten-minute walk on the treadmill and a series of exercises on the scary-looking machines, but if he noticed I was knackered, he was nice enough not to let on.
After the longest ten minutes of my entire life on the cross-trainer, just as my thighs were starting to scream with agony and I was sweating so much I thought I might actually drown, he said (thank God) that that was enough for a first time. ‘You’ve done brilliantly,’ he said warmly. ‘Well done, Maddie.’
My legs were shaking as I stepped off the machine, but I was filled with a ridiculous burst of pride and pleasure at his words. I gulped back the water he gave me as if it was the best drink I’d ever had in my life.
‘How do you feel?’ he asked. ‘Apart from tired, I mean. How are you feeling in your head?’
I smiled at him, endorphins surging around my aching body and giving me a rush of sudden happiness. ‘I feel great,’ I said, surprised at my own words. I laughed. ‘I feel really great!’
And at that moment I thought to myself, Maybe I can do this after all .
Chapter Six
Punch
Jess
The South Beach diet, the cabbage soup diet, the GI diet, the Atkins diet . . . I’d tried them all in the last couple of years. I’d read the books, I’d bought the food, I’d looked at myself in the mirror and promised myself that this time would be different. This time I would have the will power to become slim and fabulous, the size ten I’d been back when I’d first met Charlie.
It never worked. Give it a few days of grapefruit or foul-smelling soup or cottage bloody cheese, and I was always despairing. I felt ill and tired, rather than glowing with health and radiance, miserable that I couldn’t have a glass of wine, and envious of colleagues stuffing themselves with carbohydrates. My stomach would be rumbling, my mind would be completely obsessed with bacon butties or cakes, and the diet, which had seemed so appealing and easy at first, now seemed like utter torture.
Then the chocolate craving would begin and, try as I might to block out the desire, I simply wasn’t able to think about anything else. Purple Cadbury’s wrappers would dance about in my brain, whispering to me all the way from the newsagent. Jess . . . Jess . . . Buy me, unwrap me, eat me . . . I am so delicious, you know you want me, Jess!
The problem was, by that point, I was so worn down by the constant gnawing hunger I was no longer able to resist. I couldn’t tune out the voices, the cravings. I couldn’t say no.
And so, even though I knew I would hate myself later for it, I’d have to go out, drawn by my own pathetic greed, and buy a Crunchie or a Fruit & Nut or a Mars bar. Sometimes all three.
I’d be salivating as I handed over the money, already imagining unwrapping the shiny paper, raising the bar to my lips and letting my mouth close around its smooth, sweet chocolate coating. It was only then, when I bit into the delicious forbidden treat and the sugar orgasmed around my taste buds, that my heart slowed and I felt relaxed, flooded with relief.
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