Fat Chance (13 page)

Greg doesn’t come off much better. He’s sporting a cheesy grin that makes him look ever so slightly retarded. Also, his hair is sticking up on one side, indicating that presenting himself for public consumption is beyond his skills as a human being.

The rest of our motley gang look as bad as we do, but I’m not concerned with their appearance given that I hardly know any of them and therefore couldn’t give a shit.

The only two bastards who look clean, happy, and attractive are Will and Elise, who have been badly Photoshopped over the lineup of fatties behind them. Will’s teeth shine with the light of a supernova and Elise has hair bouncier and more alive than a kangaroo on performance-enhancing drugs.

‘Oh dear, I don’t look at all well,’ I hear a voice from behind me. I turn to see Valerie and George, the winners of the first weigh-in, inspecting the standing display with the same horror Greg and I are.

‘Morning,’ I say to both of them, as does Greg.

‘Good morning, love,’ Valerie replies. ‘I don’t normally look like that,’ she adds, pointing a finger at the cardboard version of herself.

I look back and see that for some reason Valerie is a rather sickly shade of yellow, like she’s had an attack of jaundice. The rest of us look fairly pink and more or less healthy, so I can only imagine it’s another failing of the Photoshopped nature of the display.

‘You look a bit Oriental, dear,’ George says, betraying a slight element of racism in his character.

‘They’re all awful, don’t worry,’ I tell Valerie. ‘I look like Shergar and Greg appears to have had a lobotomy.’

‘They certainly could have consulted us before using such horrible photos,’ Valerie says.

‘From the way things have been going so far, I don’t think our opinions hold much water,’ Greg observes accurately.

‘Good morning, guys!’

We all swing around to see two tanned and spandex-clad staff members walking towards us in a sprightly manner. One is male, the other female. Both are blonde and don’t appear to have an ounce of fat on their bones. I don’t need to look at Greg to know he’s
trying
very hard not to stare at the girl’s breasts, which have been neatly put on display thanks to the tight spandex t-shirt she’s wearing. I take a swift look to see if I can catch the outline of the guy’s willy, but he’s either hung like a shrew or the spandex shorts he’s wearing offer more comfort and support than they appear to.

‘You guys are here for the challenge, right?’ the girl says in a chipper fashion.

‘Indeed we are, my dear young thing,’ George replies. By the smooth tone of his voice he’s obviously clocked a good look at her boobs as well and doesn’t want to miss the opportunity to charm their owner.

‘That’s fantastic!’ the guy replies.

I’m sure as far as he is concerned everything in the world is fantastic. Spandex is fantastic. His calorie count is fantastic. His body fat index is fantastic. His blood pressure is fantastic. In fact about the only thing that might not be fantastic is the size of his genitals, but he’s probably too concerned with his fibre intake to worry about it. ‘I’m Tristan and this is Hayley,’ he continues.

‘Nice to meet you,’ Greg says, looking directly at Hayley and completely ignoring Mr Fantastic.

‘If you ladies would like to follow me to our changing rooms,’ Hayley says. ‘Tristan will take the gents to yours.’

‘Lead on, MacDuff!’ George says, in a phrase I’ve never really known the origin of.

‘I’ll see you in a bit baby,’ Greg tells me and gives me a kiss on the cheek. Now, my husband is not one for the public display of affection, so I can tell he’s feeling nervous about this challenge and needs a bit of TLC. I give him a hug before taking my leave with Valerie and the spandex queen.

Hayley takes us up the stairs to the left while Tristan takes the boys up a set to the right. She leads us through what can only be described as a labyrinth of weights rooms, saunas, plunge pools, and massage parlours until we arrive at our destination, the main ladies’ changing rooms.

‘If you’d just like to get into your kits,’ she tells us, ‘you can then walk through into the main gym where they have the challenge set up for you guys.’

‘I can hear the crowd. They don’t sound very big,’ Valerie says—a little note of relief in her voice.

‘Oh don’t worry, there are loads of them!’ Hayley says excitedly. ‘They’re just waiting for the show to start.’ She looks at her watch. ‘Which will be in twenty minutes.’

‘Great,’ I say. ‘Can’t wait to parade my big fat arse in front of them.’

Hayley squeezes my arm. ‘That’s the spirit. Good for you.’ The tone is as patronising as it possibly can be.

I bite back a response and head into the changing room with Valerie in tow.

‘I’m starting to feel like the main attraction at a zoo,’ Valerie points out as we both zip up our hideous red hooded tops. Valerie’s slogan is ‘LOSING IS WINNING.’ The fact that I’m quite jealous is testament to just how dreadful my catchphrase truly is.

‘I know what you mean,’ I say. ‘If there’s a guy standing out there with a big stick and whistle I wouldn’t be surprised.’

Valerie smiles. ‘You think they’ll make us jump through hoops?’

I pat her on the shoulder. ‘Valerie, love, we’ve been doing that for two months already.’

Large brightly coloured signs indicate the exit to the main gym at the other end of the changing room, so I take a deep breath, mentally cross myself, and head out to face the crowd.

Who, it turns out, don’t really care much about us fatties at all, judging by their rather lacklustre response to our arrival.

We walk out to find a row of six exercise bikes in the centre of the gym. The crowd sits in a semicircle around them, giving the impression of an amphitheatre. The scoreboard from the weigh-in has made its way here, hanging above our heads and ready to record our time and speed on the bikes once we get on them.

Off to the left-hand side is the temporary radio desk set up for Elise and Will, along with the production assistants who go everywhere with them. Hundreds of wires snake away to God knows where from the array of important- and complicated-looking black and grey boxes.

I sidle over to where Greg is already sitting down. As I join him, I look up at the crowd, which is about two hundred strong. Most are chatting amongst themselves or playing on their smartphones, but some are staring at us like we’ve just been created in a Petri dish. The low murmur of conversation can be heard above the hum of the air conditioning.

‘Well, that’s disconcerting,’ I say to Greg.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I thought they’d be a bit more excited.’

‘Yeah, me too. Just spoke to Dominica. You know, one of the lesbians? She got here pretty early and said they’ve all been sitting here for over an hour. I guess they’ve got a bit bored.’

‘I don’t like it. It feels like they’re discussing what to do with us.’

‘I know what you mean.’

‘Any second now they’re going to decide between burning us at the stake or having themselves a good old-fashioned lynching. We won’t stand a chance.’

Luckily our saviours arrive in the shape of my friend the bouncy female DJ and her camp on-air partner.

‘Hi all!’ Elise smiles and waves as she makes her way across to the desk. Will minces along behind her, smiling broadly and also waving.

The crowd erupts into cheering and clapping. It’s evident that a dozen anonymous fat people are nowhere near as exciting as two thin local celebrities . . . as is right and proper, I suppose.

Elise sees me and gives a little nod, which I return like we’re two spies in a downtown Karachi liquor joint.

We’re trying to keep our friendship secret while the competition is running, so she can’t get accused of favouritism. This is fair enough, but it still feels very strange to be treated like a stranger by someone whose hair you’ve held back while she throws up into your toilet.

We’ve just about made up after her on-air outing of my inability to get pregnant. It took a lot of swift talking on her part—and many, many skinny lattes—but I’ve forgiven her for her trespasses, on the proviso that the next time she even thinks about exploiting our friendship, I will divulge all her secrets to as many people as possible. I’ve known Elise long enough to know that she’s a good person—but she does tend to suffer from a distinct lack of good judgement when placed under pressure.

Picking up their microphones, Elise and Will say hello to the crowd and us contestants. They spend a few minutes providing some relatively bland off air warm-up material, before the clock hits eleven and we go live to the listening public.

As the show gets underway I start to feel butterflies taking flight in my chest. As the two DJs whip the crowd into a frenzy of excitement I feel Greg’s hand close over mine and give it a squeeze.

Elise and Will then let everyone know what will be happening at the challenge today. I mean
everyone
as well, because even
we
don’t really know what’s going on yet.

We’ve been told that the challenge would involve some kind of race on exercise bikes, but that was about it.

With mounting horror I listen as Elise and Will fill in the blanks.

We’ll be racing as couples—one per bike. The object will be quite simple. The first couple to reach fifteen kilometres wins.

I’ll just say that again.

The first couple to reach fifteen KILOMETRES wins.

Fifteen fucking kilometres
.

I’m flabbergasted. Do these people not see how big we all are? How out of shape we must be?

That distance is a big ask for someone thin and relatively healthy, but for a crew of people who are no strangers to an all-you-can-eat buffet, fifteen kilometres on a bicycle is
absurd
.

I look to my left at poor old Shane. He looks like he’s about to have a heart attack.

Okay, Shane
always
looks like he’s about to have a heart attack, but for once he has good reason.

The only saving grace here is that it’ll be one bike per couple, and we’ll be able to take turns whenever we like. That still means doing seven and a half kilometres each, though, more or less.

I have never hated Elise more than I do now. I wish I’d shoved her head down the toilet.

And the prize for this torture? Free membership to Fitness4All for two years after Fat Chance has finished.

That’s rather like giving a man suffering from third-degree burns a holiday in the Sahara to cheer him up.

‘Before we get started, we’d like to welcome a special guest,’ Will says over the noise of the crowd.

‘Yes, it gives us great pleasure to introduce the man who’s made all of this possible,’ Elise adds. ‘Would you please welcome the owner of Fitness4All, Adam Edgemont!’

To the rather perfunctory applause of the audience—it seems that successful businessmen are about as exciting as a row of fat people to this lot—a young, handsome, and gleaming man steps out onto the gym floor in a suit that probably cost more than my car.

He makes his way past us, without so much as a glance, I might add, and joins Elise. He shakes Will’s hand and gives Elise a warm, lingering hug. I can see her face flush red as he does this.

With a clear and certain knowledge born of thirty-seven years on this planet, I know that these two will be having all kinds of energetic sex with each other before the month is out.

Elise manages to control her hormones long enough to engage Edgemont in the single most corporate conversation I think I’ve ever heard. The shiny young entrepreneur manages to advertise his business, promote their summer sign-up campaign, compliment Stream FM for working with him, flirt with Elise, and wish all of us luck with the challenge in under a minute. I’m surprised I can actually pick up what he’s saying. Such is the smoothness of every word coming out of his mouth, it’s a wonder the sound waves don’t just slide off my eardrums without making an impression.

I glance over to look at Will’s face while Elise converses with their benefactor. The heightened look of jealousy on his face is something to behold.

Edgemont finishes his carefully rehearsed monologue, hugs Elise again, and makes his way over to a seat near the DJ desk. I have no doubt that he’ll disappear from view in very short order. I’m sure a man so concerned with running a successful fitness empire has no interest in watching a bunch of fat people use his equipment.

With the pleasantries done, Will bids us come forward to get the challenge under way.

‘I’ll go first,’ Greg tells me. I don’t argue.

‘You be careful,’ I warn him as I unzip my hoodie and park it on my chair. ‘Don’t go out too hard—you’ll kill yourself.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, sweetheart.’

‘Just be careful.’

Greg mounts up alongside Valerie. Next to her is Benny, then Shane’s wife Theresa, then Dominica. Finally Pete the chav mounts the bike at the other end of the row. I see him look over at the doors to the gym. There’s every chance he’s sizing up his chances of nicking the exercise bike.

‘The challenge begins at the sound of the klaxon,’ Elise tells everyone.