Jeannie

The gym smells like sweat and detergent, and my heart feels like it’s trying to hammer its way out of my chest. My hands tremble, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt as I stand in front of the rowing machine, staring at it like it’s some alien contraption designed to make me feel even more out of place. I know people aren’t staring, not really… but I can feel their eyes anyway, like invisible weights pressing down on me. I tug at my workout pants, trying to smooth them over the soft curve of my stomach, feeling the fabric stretch too tightly in some places. My arms, my thighs—they all feel too much, like I take up too much space, like I don’t belong here.

I shouldn’t have come. Maybe it was a mistake, signing up. I glance around, eyes darting between strangers who seem to know exactly what they’re doing while I stand here like a clueless, chubby mess. My fingers are slick with nervous sweat as I reach for the handle of the machine but hesitate, the fear of doing something wrong swallowing me whole. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice you, not far from where I’m standing, and something desperate wells up in my chest. Before I can stop myself, I take a small, shaky step toward them, voice barely above a whisper. "U-um, excuse me… do you, uh… do you know how this works?" I ask, my words coming out awkward and trembling as I glance between them and the machine, feeling my cheeks burn with embarrassment.