Body on the Stage

by Bev Robitai

  “How often do you work out to get into that kind of shape?” he asked him when they stopped for a coffee break.

  “Oh, I do weights and some cardio for at least an hour every morning at the gym, plus I go for a run or swim laps at the pool every evening.”

  Dennis wiped sweat from his face and sighed. “It’s quite a commitment then. How are you going to fit in rehearsals among all that – and presumably you work during the day as well?”

  “Yeah, I’m a bit worried about that, but I figured the training I get from Cathy will take the place of my regular workouts. I’ve heard that her gym often gets really good results at the national body-building champs. I’m looking forward to finding out their secret!”

  “If the secret involves that much hard work, you can count me out,” said Tony. “Besides, I’d hate to part with all this flab that’s bought and paid for.” He slapped his stomach. “There’s a good number of six-packs in this here keg, I can tell you.”

  Mark grinned. “That’s not a six-pack. THIS is a six-pack!” He pulled up his shirt to show off a set of chiselled abs that left the others speechless.

  “Ooh, I like this show already!” said Jessica happily as she came into the Green Room and caught their little tableau. “Are you doing a ‘before and after’ demonstration?”

  “Yeah, right,” said Tony. “He’s the before and we’re what happens after. Nobody can keep a body like that for very long, it’s far too high maintenance.” He turned to Mark. “You’ll soon be as soft and flabby as the rest of us, mate – just give it a couple of years.”

  “Not this fella. I’ve got my heart set on competing in the bodybuilding nationals next year and Mr Universe the year after. I’ll do whatever it takes, and no amount of beer is going to distract me.”

  “That’s very sad, Mark, I’m sorry to hear that. All right, let’s help you on your way – get back downstairs and lift out some of those drops for us, will you? Those rolls of canvas weigh a ton!”

  When the session ended Dennis caught up with Mark as he left, hoping to have a quiet word with him.

  “Mark, you seem to know your way around all this fitness and exercise stuff – can you give me a few clues about how to lose a bit of weight? I know it’s something I need to do, but I just want to get started on my own with nobody watching, if you know what I mean. Is there anything I can do outside a gym that would be effective?”

  Mark looked at him in surprise. “Are you serious? Oh, sorry, that didn’t come out right. I mean yes of course, I’d be happy to – you just didn’t strike me as somebody who’d be interested in exercise. Hm, that didn’t come out right either.” He thought for a moment. “Let’s see, you could start out by walking for half an hour a day – that’ll build up your stamina and reduce the load on your joints. Once you’ve lost a bit of weight you can deal to the rest with a good eating plan and some serious strength training. But the gym’s really the best place for making genuine progress.”

  Dennis sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  “Why don’t you come to Intensity with the rest of the guys and join in when we do our training? I’m sure Cathy wouldn’t mind one more tagging along.” His smile was so genuine and his enthusiasm so infectious that Dennis actually started to give the idea serious thought. “It’s far easier to train when you’re with a buddy or two,” said Mark, “someone who’ll spot for you on the weights and cheer you along. Even more importantly they’ll notice if you’re not there and chase you up for it! It’s much easier than trying to go it alone.”

  “Yeah, everything you’re saying makes sense. I just have to get my brain to override its current inclination to laze about and eat junk food,” he said ruefully. “Thanks for the good advice.”

  “You’re welcome. Here’s my card – send me an email so I have your address and I’ll let you know when training starts.” He smiled. “No pressure, but I’ll expect to see you there!”

  Dennis tucked the card into his wallet and squeezed it back into his hip pocket, with so much difficulty it underlined the pressing need to change his habits.

  True to his word, Mark sent him an email a few days later, letting him know the guys were beginning their training on Friday night. When he read it, Dennis groaned aloud. His shoulders slumped and his head dropped forward. What had he set in motion? He really didn’t have a clue about fitness or exercise. He didn’t even know what to wear. He was going to look such an idiot.

  He pulled open his wardrobe door and stared glumly at the selection of footwear on the floor. The latest Nikes weren’t going to be there, that was for sure. He hauled a T-shirt out of his dresser drawer and found some shorts that just about fitted. In the absence of the latest high-tech lycra gear, the outfit would have to do.

  Cathy beamed as she saw him come into the gym with the five actors that were cast in the show.

  “Hello Dennis – this is a lovely surprise! Have you come to train with the guys? What a great idea!” The warmth of her welcome took him by surprise and he felt himself blushing.

  “I hope it’s OK,” he mumbled. “Mark suggested it. I don’t want to be a nuisance and take up your time. Just stick me on a machine and I’ll get on with it by myself.”

  “Oh don’t be silly. I made a deal with the theatre to train as many bodies as needed in return for the publicity we’ll get on adverts and programmes – one more makes no difference. Besides, you help round out the numbers so that nobody’s an odd man out.”

  “OK, I’m good at rounding things out, as you can see.” He gestured towards his paunch. “Just show me what to do – it’s all new to me.”

  “I’ll buddy up with you if you like,” offered Mark. “You fellas OK with that?” The other actors cheerfully agreed and Dennis realised his fate was sealed. It was the first time Dennis had met the other actors properly so Mark introduced him.

  “Guys, this is Dennis from the theatre. He’s doing construction and decided to come along and join in with our training. He needs to get fit for all those quick scene changes, isn’t that right, Dennis?”

  “Ah, yes – that’s about it. Nice to meet you all.”

  As Mark pointed out Ricky Henderson, Warwick Doone, Jayden Somerville and Simon Barrett in turn, Dennis flexed his rusty socialising skills and tried to find visual clues to remember their names by. Ricky Henderson was small and slim, wearing a singlet with a bold numeral 98 on the front, so he thought of the song ‘Ricky don’t Lose that Number’. Warwick Doone was big and wild-looking with a thatch of black dreadlocked hair, so Dennis mentally matched him with Warwick the black guy on C.S.I. By the time he’d done all that he’d forgotten the last two names, so he just nodded and smiled and hoped he’d pick them up later in conversation.

  “I’ll get you each to do a fitness assessment,” said Cathy. “Most of you will have done one before but it won’t hurt to get your current figures.” She handed out some forms. “Fill these in as far as you can and take a seat until one of us calls you in.” She indicated an area with individual cubicles where the assessments would take place.

  A lithe male instructor in a skin-tight bright orange T-shirt came towards them. “This is Vincenzo,” said Cathy. “He’s been a personal trainer here at the gym for the last few months and is getting some great results. He’s over here from Italy.”

  Vincenzo was slim, olive-skinned and dark-haired, looking lean and strong. He made Dennis feel like a deflating airship.

  “Hey, bros,” he said, flashing very white teeth in a charming smile. “Nice to have you here. We’re gonna make you mucho muscular, eh? Don’ worry about a thing – you do the work, you get the big guns.” He flexed his biceps. “When we’re done, yours will be twice the size of these babies, no problem.” A waft of his rather sweet aftershave temporarily overcame the gym’s smell of metal and damp carpet.

  The other actors moved off to fill in their forms and start their assessments. Cathy took Dennis with her into a cubicle.

  “You really don�
��t have to do all this with me,” he protested. “I’m just here to go along with the ride, to learn a bit about getting fit. Don’t treat me like a paying customer, I don’t want any fuss.”

  Cathy fixed him with a steely gaze. “Are you suggesting my establishment should do less than a good job? That we should ignore all the most basic health and safety requirements, just because you don’t want to be a nuisance? Hm? Is that what you’re saying, Dennis?” His jaw dropped.

  “No ma’am! Not at all. Do whatever you have to do – I won’t say another word. Unless you tell me to.” He sat hurriedly on a chair and folded his arms. “Shutting up now.”

  Cathy’s face lit up. “Well that’s better! I know this will be hard for you, but think of it as a big step in the right direction. You have to go through this process to establish where you are now, where you want to be, and the best way for you to get there. All right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You can cut out the ‘ma’am’ business. A little deference is fine but don’t overdo it.” She saw his mouth open and held up a warning finger. “If the word you’re about to say is ‘sorry’, then think again.” She slipped his form onto a clipboard and handed it to him. “Fill in these questions now and let’s get started.”

  He took the clipboard obediently and accepted the pen she passed him. He studied the page in front of him. Name – yes, he could answer that. Address – another easy one. Doctor’s name – he filled it in, remembering the check-up he’d had late last year when he’d been told (again) to lose some weight. Well here he was doing it, OK? Age – 32. Height – 5 foot 8 inches/172cm. Weight… he hesitated.

  “Let’s get you on those scales,” said Cathy. “Slip your shoes and socks off and we’ll pop you onto the body-fat scales to get a baseline figure. I’ll do a pinch test later.” His eyes widened and she laughed. “It’s nothing, don’t look so worried! I just check a fold of skin in a few places to see what subcutaneous fat you’re carrying. It doesn’t hurt, I promise.”

  Dennis started to feel as far out of water as he had when he’d walked into the theatre for the first time, but he shrugged it off with an effort. He was making a change, and if that involved getting out of his comfort zone then he’d just have to deal with it. For a moment he felt rather proud of himself. The glow lasted until he stood on the scales and looked down at the digital readout. Where had those extra 5 kilograms come from?

  He winced as Cathy wrote ‘98 kg’ on the form.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, seeing his distress. “It just means you’ll have some quick and easy success in losing weight, and an even better ‘before and after’ story to tell. Speaking of which,” she pulled out a small digital camera from her desk drawer, “take your shirt off and stand against the wall, please, so I can get your ‘before’ photo.”

  “Seriously? The best-looking woman who’s spoken to me in months asks me to take my shirt off and it’s just so she can see how fat and disgusting I am – and record it? You’ve got to be joking.” He tried to laugh, hoping his voice didn’t betray how appalled he really was.

  “I know it’s awful for you, I really do. I promise this is the hardest part of the whole process, but it is important otherwise I wouldn’t be putting you through it. When you’re lean and strong at the other end of the journey, you’ll want this photo to show off how much you’ve changed, believe me. Come on, it’s the first big step – be brave.”

  He wavered for a moment, not wanting to disappoint her, but fearing the revulsion he might see in her eyes as he exposed his sagging belly and man-boobs.

  “If it’s any consolation, I’ve seen guys much heavier than you and turned them around,” she said. “Honestly, there’s nothing under your T-shirt that will shock me – unless you’ve got some kind of pornographic tattoo on your chest? Is that what you’re hiding?”

  He sighed, peeled off his T-shirt to prove his innocence and stood against the wall, his expression grim.

  “Good man! I knew you could do it. Now let those muscles go, stop holding your belly in. We want this photo to look really BAD!”

  He let out the breath he was holding and his stomach slumped over his shorts.

  “Perfect!” There was an electronic click and a flash. “Well done. Now I’m not going to let you see this until you’re at least half way towards reaching your goal weight. That way you’ll see the progress you’ve made and the picture will be a spur not a punishment. It’s going to be locked away in my computer till then and nobody else will see it. OK?” She put the camera away and reached for a tape measure. “Just before you put your shirt back on, I’ll take your chest and waist measurements and do that skin fold test I was telling you about. Turn around, this won’t take long.”

  He shuddered as the cool tape slid against his skin. Cathy’s practised hands pulled it firmly around his chest then his belly, finally whisking it around his hips. He was glad he couldn’t see her expression. She noted the numbers on his form and picked up a set of white plastic callipers. He felt her warm fingers gently pinching folds of skin on his shoulder-blade, the back of his arm and his calf, then she came around and did the same thing to his biceps, belly and thigh.

  “Shouldn’t you buy me dinner before you get this close?” he joked, trying desperately to hide his discomfort. Cathy stood up and looked him in the eye.

  “Sure, why don’t I do that?” she said. “How’s tomorrow night – are you free?” She stood so close to him he could see the dusting of freckles on her cheeks and smell a hint of strawberry shampoo. It must have gone to his head because he couldn’t open his mouth for several seconds.

  “I, er, yes,” he managed to say. “But I was only joking.”

  “I know that. I just thought it was a really good idea. So what do you like to eat?” She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “And if you mention the establishment with the golden arches the invitation is off.”

  He smiled then. “Actually, how about you decide where we go? What’s your favourite restaurant?”

  “I like Ripples, that little place in the Botanic Gardens by the river. They do some wonderful organic salads. Shall we meet there at eight?”

  ‘Wonderful,” he echoed. “Organic salads. Yum. I can hardly wait.”

  “Right then.” Cathy rubbed her hands together. “Now we’ll make sure you earn your supper. Come with me, Mr Dempster, and let me introduce you to the latest in gymnasium technology as we test your heart rate, blood pressure, and cardio-respiratory endurance.”

  He whimpered quietly as he was led away.

  There was sweating. Panting. Lifting.

  When his sister called him that night it took several rings for him to answer the phone.

  “They hurt me, Janice,” he moaned in a frail voice.

  “What? Who hurt you? What happened? Were you mugged? Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m all right,” he sighed, “but I may never walk again. God, I’m sore all over.”

  “Why, Dennis? What on earth have you been doing?”

  “I went to the gym. The woman there gave me tests. She made me walk on a treadmill for hours and hours and then forced me to lift stupidly heavy weights. And the worst thing is she expects me to go back and do it again. And again. And again!”

  “You went to a gym? Who are you and what have you done with my brother! Sorry, that was mean. So you actually went to a gym? Good for you, bro. What brought this about?”

  “Well the guys from the theatre were going and I sort of got swept along in the excitement. The woman who’s shaping up the cast for Ladies Night said I could go and train with them, no charge, and get fit.”

  “Are you sure she knows what she’s doing? She shouldn’t have overworked you on your first day, surely? Didn’t she start you off at a reasonable level of exertion?”

  “Well, yes, she did. But I wanted to impress her so I went twice as hard.”

  Janice’s snort came clearly down the phone line. “You plonker! So all the pain you’re in is ac
tually self-inflicted? You’re a nut-job,” she said affectionately. “This must be a special woman if you’ll go to those lengths to impress her. What’s she like?”

  “Terrifyingly fit, for starters. Reddish-blonde hair, nice eyes, small boobs, trim little waist, but she’s strong as an ox. She hefted 15kg weights about with no effort at all.”

  “Married or single?”

  There was a silence. “I have no idea. I just assumed… oh hell, I may have got the wrong message completely. I thought she must be single but I have no evidence to support that assumption at all.”

  “Oh-oh, you’re getting all pompous like you do when you’ve done something stupid. What’s going on?”

  “Well she kind of invited me out for dinner tomorrow night, and I assumed it would be just her and me – but what if she brings a husband along? I’ll feel like a spare wheel. And besides,” he said with some asperity, “I’m damned if I’m suffering through a dinner of organic salads just for an evening of social chitchat.”

  “But you’d put up with the salad if it was just you and her? Interesting.”

  “Don’t start. I’m in a weakened state and it’s unfair to tease me.”

  “Oh you big girl’s blouse! Never mind – here’s my suggestion. Have something to eat beforehand so you’re not wilting from hunger with only a salad to look forward to, and try to be prepared for whoever turns up. If it’s a happy couple, at least you’re making new friends. If it’s just – what’s her name?”

  “Cathy. That’s all I know, and the gym is called Intensity.”

  “OK, if it’s just Cathy that turns up, you’ll have a date for the evening, plus the added bonus that she’ll think you’re a good healthy eater because you won’t be pigging out in front of her. It’s a win/win, bro.”

  He brightened. “Thanks, sis, that makes me feel a lot better. “ He shifted position and squawked in pain. “Ow! Now I just have to worry about whether I’ll be able to walk to the table without crying like a girl.”

  “Duh! Take some painkillers, you doofus!”