Surrounded by people too fit to be at the gym, her squishy parts squirm.
She still comes, mostly to rant
with her friend about life. A bi-weekly entertainment (or annoyance) for the few that don’t wear headphones or yell loudly when swinging kettle bells.
“I’ll get the gym ball,” says the friend. But slipping from her hands, it bounces into the man bench pressing her weight. His mates laugh, drowning out the swearing coming from the treadmill.
Apologising, her friend retrieves the ball but then lying across it dives head first at the rowing machine.
Eating cake would’ve been safer.