Page 46 of How We Began

I feel amazing and virtuous and all kinds of good. Today I am going to write at least 3,000 words of one of my essays. I am also going to research local gyms.

(2 p.m.)

Just watched an amazing programme about penguins.

(5 p.m.)

I have written 55 words.

(8 p.m.)

Antiques Roadshow Special is on. Winner winner, chicken (salad) dinner!

2nd January

The people at the gym must have seen me coming. I guess this is their bumper day of the year. All the sorry-for-themselves people who’ve gorged themselves for the 12 Days of Christmas, all queuing up and begging for forgiveness. I’ve no shame. I am on.

Somehow, they convinced me to part with the best part of a thousand pounds (which I probably shouldn’t have spent considering I’m now independent from the parentals, I should be hanging on to what I’ve got saved). “Six months with a personal trainer and you’ll be transformed,” Cheryl, the stick-thin gym attendant, assured me.

My personal trainer is James, and he is buff, to say the least. After I managed to close my mouth and stop gawping, he walked me around the machines and constructed a workout to get the results I wanted.

“What would you like to achieve, Delilah?” he asked, a smile plastered on his lips as he tried not to laugh at the overweight 26-year-old in the throes of a mid-twenties break down.

“Um, flat tummy, nice bottom, and no bingo wings,” I suggested optimistically.

He looked me up and down then increased all my machine times to twenty minutes each. I managed three on the cross-trainer before I thought I was going to die.

Now I’m home and I want to die.

Kill me.

No, seriously. It would be better than the pain in my legs. It would also be better than finding out Ben was back here in the dorm with me, by him finding me face first on the hallway floor. For once not drunk.

“What are you doing?” Ben asked as he found me crawling along to my room.

There was no way in hell I planned to share my new exercise routine with him, so I lied. “I dropped an earring.”

“Why are you bright red?”

“Why are you here?” I asked.

That was a bit rude, but I was struggling with my lungs and the basic act of breathing, so had a valid excuse.

“Finishing my essays. Want to study together later?”

“Yeah sure, give me half an hour.”

And please go away so I can die in peace.

“Do you want some help?”

“With what?”

“Looking for your earring?”

“Oh. No, it’s okay. Um, I’ll see you in a few.”

Once his door was safely closed, I crawled to my room where I just laid face first on my floor for another ten minutes.