Chapter Four -- Samantha

Invigoration Clubs, by the looks of my internet research, are the complete opposite of my fitness approach. I frown, scrolling through picture after picture of high-tech equipment and intense-looking weight training sessions. The whole thing looks like a commercial for a sports drink: flashy and vapid and lacking in any sort of community feel. The quotes from the owner, some hotshot entrepreneur about my age, are even worse. He sounds so self-satisfied and full of himself. Like a complete jerk, I think to myself.

The quotes are all about helping people find their “best selves” and get in the “shape they deserve to be in.” I feel certain that by “best” and “in shape,” he means “hot.” It all seems so shallow – like it would be a stressful and unfriendly place to work out. The personal trainers are probably the sort that judge your moral character by how many sit-ups you can do in a row. I imagine they probably think it’s been a good session if someone throws up or cries.

It’s the sort of gym culture I hate – that I try so hard not to promote here at the fitness center. So many people that come through my doors are scared to start getting healthy. So many people are worried that because they’ve never done it before, or because it’s been years, that they shouldn’t even bother. They worry they’ll just make a fool of themselves, hurt themselves, or that it will be too hard. Gyms like Invigorate make those fears worse.

And one is going in right across the street.

Everything about the waterfront redevelopment has been a struggle for the center, but this feels like the biggest blow yet. We’re already losing money. It’s nothing dramatic, and if it weren’t for the changes to the neighborhood, I’d write it off as nothing more than a slow quarter. But I know there’s more to it than that. My landlord is probably going to want to raise the rent, and I’m just not sure how I’m going to make that work.

Out of curiosity, I look up how much profit Invigoration makes. I gasp when I see the numbers. It’s several more zeros than the fitness center has made in all the years I’ve run it.

My phone rings. It’s an internal call and I pick up. My front desk manager, Cheryl, says there’s a package I need to sign for in the lobby. I shake my head. I need a break from staring at all this information on the internet, anyway. I could also probably use some water and a snack before I teach the next class.

I sign for the package, and I’m about to head to the fridge to grab some carrots when I notice a man in the lobby. He’s tall and very, very attractive. He’s got broad shoulders and a handsome, serious sort of face. He’s also wearing a blazer and khaki pants. He looks incredibly out of place dressed like that in a fitness center. I frown a little, but the reason is probably that he’s just new to the neighborhood. With all the new construction going on around here, a lot of business types are migrating south a few blocks from downtown and into the neighborhood.

“Hi there. Can I help you?” I ask, walking up to the man. He’s reading the community board, and when he turns to face me, I can see he’s holding a coffee from my favorite coffee shop in his hand.

“Hi, do you work here?” he asks. He’s got an expensive-looking watch on his wrist, I notice.

“Own the place, actually,” I say, sticking out a hand to shake his. “I’m Samantha.”

“Great. I think you can help me, then,” he says. “I’m Lucas.”

“What can I do for you, Lucas?” I ask.

“I had some questions about this place,” he says, gesturing with his hands. “If you have a minute.”

“I have exactly 12 minutes,” I say, checking my watch. “Ask away.”

“How many classes do you offer a day here, on average?” he asks.

“Between 10 and 15, depending on the time of year. We’re busier when school’s out,” I say. The question seems oddly formulated, like the sort that someone who works with numbers instead of people all day would ask. My earlier idea of him must be correct – he must be a business type who just moved into the neighborhood. Maybe he’s an accountant or a broker – something like that.

“Do you mostly do kids’ classes?” Lucas asks.

“Not really. I’d say they’re about a third of the offerings. Although we do offer a few classes for mixed ages,” I say.

Lucas frowns. “What classes are those?” he asks. I can’t help but notice the muscles of his arms, his torso, where his shirt clings to him. I’m not interested in dating anyone at the moment, least of all a random new customer at the center, but I secretly hope to myself that he’s not asking about mixed-ages classes for himself and his daughter.

“Basic Yoga and Fitness Free Dance,” I say. “We have them both three days a week if you’re interested.”

“How does that work?” Lucas asks, looking confused.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“The mixed ages – isn’t it hard to lead that?” Lucas asks. I wonder if he’s had a bad experience with some of those yoga studios that insist you need to be able to put your knee behind your head before you step in the door.

“Not at all,” I tell him. “We’re not worried about technical level. We just want to provide an environment where people can move and feel good. We want people to work up a sweat and get toned, but we welcome all ability levels.” Lucas still looks confused, so I add, “We do have some advanced sessions, but if you’d like to sign up for one of those, we recommend a one-on-one session with one of our teachers first so that we can assess the best classes for you.”

“How many people are usually in a class at a time?” he asks, pressing on with the strange questions.

I frown, not sure what to make of him. I only have a few more minutes to dedicate to this conversation, though, so I decide to stick it out. I tell myself that I’m just trying to be friendly and presentable for business’ sake, but I can’t stop staring at his handsome features as we talk.