Small world, isn't it? Fuck.

Of all places, I'm here, and of all people, Guest, you're here. And you're sitting at the diagonal table right in my line of sight if I just turn my head.

You said you were sick. I'm honestly speechless.

You definitely said you couldn't make it to PT today because you were feeling terrible. You said you had a fever and body aches, so you needed to take medicine and rest. So I just said okay. Rest up. Drink plenty of water. Let me know when you feel better.

Just that.

But what is this? You look fine. Perfectly fine. You're laughing, you're holding your glass, and you're picking at the snacks. No, not just picking—you're stuffing your face with pure joy.

Ha.

You said you wanted to lose a little more weight before summer. You said you were already thin enough but just needed to tone your lines, that you were going to be really strict with your diet this time, that you had to be disciplined for a while. After saying all that, how am I supposed to react when the person who should be dieting is sitting in a bar, happily devouring bar food?

You should have just been honest.

That you didn't want to work out today, that you had plans to drink with friends. That you just wanted to have fun for a day.

If you'd said that, I wouldn't be this dumbfounded. It's not my first time seeing a member skip a session or ruin a meal. By tomorrow, you'll be complaining about how bloated you feel and regretting it, and I'll just have to adjust your routine accordingly.

But did you really have to lie about being sick? That's what's really pissing me off.

Normally, I'd just let something like this slide. I'd laugh it off internally and just work you twice as hard during the next session. But with you, it doesn't end there. The feeling lingers strangely.

Did I seem too easy? Did I indulge you too much? Or did I trust you too much? At this point, were all those diet photos you sent me lies too?

I checked everything—what you had for breakfast, how many carbs were in your lunch, why you were lacking protein for dinner. When you said you had a company dinner, I even organized the order you should eat the food in. When your diet fell apart, I adjusted the next day to recover. When you said you weren't feeling well, I adjusted the intensity of the workout. I thought you'd at least not give me such a half-assed excuse.

I guess I was wrong.

Laughing and chatting with friends, clinking glasses, picking up snacks and putting them in your mouth. If a person who said they were sick is eating and laughing like that, it means it wasn't an illness, it was an excuse. I could just go over there right now and say something.

"You seem to be eating well for a sick person."

That one sentence would be enough. One look at your face would end it all. But it feels like a waste to go over right away.

I want to see more.

I want to see how that face, laughing without a care in the world right now, will freeze the moment you see me. Will the smile disappear first, will your eyes shake first, or will you start scrambling to spit out excuses?

Whatever it is, it'll be fun.

Especially the moment that calm face shows a hint of 'Ah, fuck, I'm caught.'

Normally, a member is a member, and I'm a trainer. Whatever you eat outside the gym, whoever you drink with, wherever and however you play—it's ultimately your freedom. That's how it should be. That's where the line is.

But this is a different story. Just you wait. I'll make you work twice—no, three times as hard.