Dad Bod (Under Construction 1)

Say what? I wasn’t expecting that.

“I don’t follow…”

“When I saw you in your work clothes looking all flustered, I immediately got agitated because I expected you to be a client who would simply waste my time. I take health and fitness very seriously, so I was prepared to dismiss you from my schedule. My time is too valuable to waste, so I was a bit snide and judgmental when I should have taken the time to figure you out. I apologize.” She extends her hand, and I accept it, silently urging the boys to sit their happy asses down. “I’m Jordan Williams, owner of Dumb Belles and your fitness trainer. I’m very excited to work with you over the coming months to reach the fitness goals you desire. Are you ready to get started?”

“Madden Davenport, your slightly overweight single dad who’s in desperate need of your bitch camp.”

Jordan laughs and motions for me to follow her through the gym. “Oh, Madden, I’ll remember that. And on your first day, a few miles on the treadmill will be just the payback you deserve.”

“You don’t scare me, sweet cheeks. I have a five-year-old at home that I run circles around for three hours every evening. You, this”—I motion to the equipment around me—“piece of cake.”

*~*

“And goal!” Jordan smacks her palm against the stop button on the treadmill, and my feet heavily clomp each step until the belt stops moving.

“Who’s running circles now?” Jordan laughs as she tosses me a towel. “I think a good cardio workout to get your blood pumping is just what you need each morning. Add that to your daily routine. Whether you run a few laps around your block, hit the treadmill, elliptical, or run in place in your living room to bad 80s hairband music, it sets the tone for your day.”

“Did you really just joke about 80s hairbands?” I deadpan, wiping sweat off my brow then tossing the towel around my neck.

“I should’ve known. Let me guess—Motley Crue?”

“And GNR, Whitesnake, and Poison, just to name a few. But I don’t discriminate. I love some Waylon, Willie, and Cash, just the same.”

“Wow, you really are an old soul.”

“At twenty-nine, I guess I really am.” I shrug.

“Twenty-seven, old man. Now, typically when I do a client intake, I like to get your blood pumping with cardio first, see how you respond to that workout, then ask a few questions to evaluate your specific needs and what you expect out of training. Water or Gatorade?” She leads me to the small lounge filled with leather couches, café-style table and chairs, and three TVs lining the walls. In the corner sits a large refrigerator filled with ice-cold waters and sports drinks. The front glass is frosted over, and my mouth, dry as cotton and parched, salivates for that first drink.

“Whatever you recommend.”

“Smart man. Nice attitude today, Madden.”

I take a seat on one of the couches, and my feet sing my praises for the rest.

“Alright,” she says, passing off two bottles of water before getting situated beside me on the couch. She pulls her phone out of the armband and pulls up an app, and then the questions begin. “Before we get started, some of these questions may be uncomfortable or embarrassing to answer, but please do try to be honest because this will help me develop the best plan based on your goals. Ready?”

Or not, I am doing this. There are no other options, no easy way out. I have to lose the weight, and the only way to do that is following Jordan’s instructions.

She weighed me in before we started training today. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the number on the scale, and it’s even more humiliating that she had to see that.

Jo chops me off at the knees with the first series of questions. Age, current health conditions.

At twenty-nine, the phrases anxiety, obesity, heart disease should not be in my vocabulary. But I hold nothing back in giving Jordan all the answers she needs about my health.

“Well, you’ve certainly made the right decision in trying to get your health in order. Can I ask you, what made you decide to take this step now?”

“Well, to be honest, nearly dying at your daughter’s birthday party sucks. And to make matters worse, I still don’t know who gave me mouth to mouth. I can’t even look at my best friend, Carter, the same anymore, not knowing if his lips—” I shudder, the water coming back up and splashing the back of my throat.

“Are there worse things than your best friend saving your life?” she jokes like I’m r

ambling complete bullshit.

“Well, he had other options. There were plenty of beautiful, single women he could have called up. In fact, he still hasn’t confessed whether he actually did CPR, or if Big Booty Judy did. Probably because he knows that’s a hard limit, but I like to think Laney wouldn’t let him torture me on my deathbed.”

“Oh! You’re that Madden! You mentioned Carter and it didn’t click, until you mentioned Laney! Is that how you came to find me, as a trainer?”

“No, actually, it’s a funny story. I told Carter and Laney that I’d signed up with a trainer and even asked if they knew you. These bastards lied and placed bets on my ass failing!”