She looked around trying to decide which would be the least painful of these instruments of torture. She opted for the bike and began to pedal furiously. Within seconds she was sweating and finding it very hard to breathe. She knew that her face was bright red and she could feel her heart pounding and her calf muscles had an unpleasant burning feeling. Clive would be convinced that he had made the correct decision if he could see her now!
 Had anyone noticed, but no they were all too concerned with themselves and their search for the body beautiful. When she was breathing normally she decided to try again but much more gently this time.

Vanessa had filled her time till now caring for family, friends and home and had become expert in watching and observing, trying to anticipate what others needed. She began to watch and observe those around her, to listen to conversations.

She turned her attention to the treadmills. What an odd name to give to them. She smiled to herself when she remembered her son had told her that the treadmill was used as a form of punishment in Victorian England and they certainly did look very punishing.

Each treadmill held a captive in its thrall. Some of these ‘prisoners’ ran, some sprinted and some even seemed to gallop, and some, we won’t pay much attention to those at the moment because they really were letting the side down, walked! The men sporting biceps and triceps and other ‘ceps’ the names of which Vanessa didn’t know. They were wearing, of course, designer vests, shorts and trainers. Vanessa did wonder whether the sweat patches on chest and back were also part of the designer look as they seemed to have an identical pattern regardless of the body they adorned. The women also had their supply of ‘ceps’ but obviously in more ladylike proportions and places. They wore cropped tops with exposed midriffs and extremely short shorts. Bared limbs showed an even tan and you could tell that not one part of the body beautiful would have missed that tanning treatment. Hair and make up were perfect. Of course there was sweat, but just enough to show that some effort had been put into the punishment.
 
Vanessa let her eyes travel along the row of joggers.
Now here were the ones who let the side down. The dumpy middle aged ladies, what were they doing in this place? They certainly were not members of the beautiful brigade. She looked down at her own body and smiled. She knew to which group she should belong but she did have a fleeting thought that if she tried hard she could become like one of those others. She shook herself and faced reality.
 
Back to the dumpy group, they were dressed in baggy T-shirts and joggers, sporting undesigner-like logos. Apart from being out of condition, another big difference between them and the others was that they seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves. Each of them bathed in sweat and with cheeks as red as the dress that Clive’s girlfriend had been wearing the last time she had seen them together.
 
That was when they had told her that Sophia was pregnant.

Vanessa looked at the dial on the bike and was surprised to see that she had cycled two miles and used up thirty calories. Well that wasn’t too bad was it, now what should she try next? Maybe the rowing machine. She got herself strapped in and began to row. From this vantage point she had a very good view of the weights area, now this was where the true fanatics seemed to be. She watched as dumbbells were lifted in controlled movements, the body being sculpted to perfection. Michaelangelo would have found it difficult to choose a model from amongst these.
 It was almost hypnotic as she watched the weights being raised to a count of ten and lowered to a count of ten with grunts accompanying the effort expended. Positions were held in front of the mirrors with muscles shown to their best advantage and Narcissus-like they admired their own reflections.
 
Clive was no Adonis, what had she seen in him, Sophia that is. His girlfriend, his ‘bit on the side’, his mistress, his tart, his new partner, his lover, with whom he seemed to be besotted.
They’d met at his office. She was a temporary secretary. She was young, slim, fit and very pretty. Just like those on the treadmills. In contrast Vanessa felt herself to be one of the dumpy group. She was middle aged, overweight, out of condition and plain. Clive said when he’d met Sophia it had been love at first sight.

There was a sudden crash and a string of expletives as one of the weightlifters dropped his weight and narrowly missed his toe.
 
It had been a bit like that when Clive had told her he was leaving. Her world had crashed around her and all the expletives in the world wouldn’t change it.

She caught the eye of the weightlifter who had the grace to smile an apology.

She couldn’t give up now so what should she try next? How about the cross-country skiing machine. It didn’t look too difficult. She got herself sorted and began to exercise.

That holiday had been fun. Their last one together and their first without the children. Maybe that was it. Clive had had the chance to get to know her again. They’d gone skiing in Switzerland. A second honeymoon Clive had said. There was sun, snow and sex and she had thoroughly enjoyed herself. Clive had seemed a little quiet on occasions but she put that down to all the exercise. She pushed those thoughts away and concentrated on what was happening in the gym.

Angela had brought in yet another prospective client but he was getting the four star treatment. He was tall and dark with curly hair and was extremely good looking. Angela, looking a little like those magician’s assistants they used to have on the television, showing him each piece of equipment and how it worked. She stood very close and looked up into his eyes. Smiling her designer smile and showing a perfect set of teeth.
 
Vanessa thought that maybe that was where she had gone wrong. She’d not taken enough care of herself, not given Clive enough of her time, not made him proud to be seen with an attractive wife.