The clock ticked down as Heather let out a sharp exhale of breath. As the numbers reached zero she began the next stage of her exercises. This time it was forty-five seconds of pulsing narrow squats and as usual they were not her favourite exercise. Coming late in her daily programme they had her leg muscles begging for rest. But wasn't that the point - no pain meant no gain. She powered on through - shutting out the discomfort and ensuring that she completed the exercise. At least that let her drop to her hands and knees but next up was thirty seconds of circles with each leg. These had initially been torture but now as all her work was bearing fruit she could do them with relative ease. She wished tomorrow's weight training was always so easy.
Her training regimen had started quite easily, three times a week. However, as time had passed her exercise program had increased and now she worked out every day. A rotation of specifically tailored exercises, her weight training and a continuation of the dance-fitness classes that she had always enjoyed so much.
Her love of dance had been a constant in her twenty-three years. Her first ambition had been to dance ballet and she had undertaken years of childhood training. The precision and control, the discipline leading to the joy of achievement. Ballet had given her much that otherwise was missing from an emotionally distant family and a world that only cared about the funds which would one day soon be hers for the spending.
She had loved ballet but time could be cruel. Ballet loved the long graceful line and as she had grown it had become very clear that her changing body and ballet were never going to get along. Curves were the problem, not least a tendency to the 'chunky' in the lower trunk. You only had to see pictures of the great ballerinas to know what the model was and to know, equally certainly, that she did not fit.
She had immediately given up ballet. Why do something if you weren't going to be the best at it? Maybe that was a bit of her grandfather's personality finding its way down to her. That had interested her and she had developed her existing passion for sociology and psychology - rather to the bemusement of her father. Still, it was a benefit of his negligence that she basically got to follow what paths she desired. He had his art galleries and yacht racing after all. You had to have interests when you knew that you would never need to work.
It wasn't as if she had become a lazy slob. She hadn't given up dance altogether. She really enjoyed her dance fitness classes but she had always had to be careful. Dancing built up the leg-muscles after all and she was naturally a little self-conscious about that. Maybe that hadn't been ballet's fault. Hadn't she been like most young girls - very aware of her changing body shape, very self-concious of her perceived failings and imperfections?
You might think that it would not matter at an all-girl school and an all-girl college. You would be wrong. Especially at the former the chance to judge someone else's appearance was a treat seldom neglected.
By the time she was in College she was at least fully-formed. Her body had developed so that her buttocks no longer seemed the only curves that she had. She could look in the mirror and not immediately wish that she looked radically different. Her first boyfriend had called her beautiful and that had felt really good. But it hadn't stopped him moving on as soon as she had given him what he wanted. Her second had said the same and he had hung around. Which was worse - because he'd been cheating on her. What Brett had really wanted had turned out to be her trust fund and that imminent inheritance.
She could see now that he had been a total shit - but she had loved him then. It meant the scars went pretty deep. She'd had some attention from young men but she'd always assumed that they knew who she was. Which meant she could see them for who they were. Men interested in dollars much more than they were in her. Once you were looking for the signs it became very easy to spot them.
She had decided not to encourage such attention. It was quite easy really. She had devoted herself to her studies and researches, had dressed for comfort and had not bothered with time-wasting foolishness like make-up. She'd still drawn some attention of course - just more proof that they were gold-diggers. She'd sent them packing real fast.
She'd got used to her life. A relatively solitary one focused around her time-consuming researches. A love-life was all very well but it was just not worth the pain. Perhaps one day she'd meet a guy who wasn't a total ass-hole. However, she hadn't been holding her breath on that one.
She knew what had been said about her. That she was more interested in women than men. That wasn't true - she knew that. When she thought or dreamed about such things she thought or dreamed about boys, well about men. Definitely not the blue-blood types though. They'd always struck her as weak and superficial and besides she'd already had quite enough of them.
It was just her luck that the men she did desire were those least likely to cross paths with her. Men with purpose, with real personalities, men who didn't have to brag or pose to catch a woman's eye. Around her she saw little men in big suits and sat behind big desks. That didn't impress her. What she did want had always seemed a little nebulous - vaguely defined by media and literature.
The trip to H-Town and the meeting with Harley had not helped. About the last thing she had needed was the discovery that her fantasies and desires were now focusing more and more on African-American men. Black guys were not unknown on her campus. George Fitch was a night-security man. There were also a couple of the maintenance crew whose names she didn't know. That was about it and none of those three were under fifty. The college was representative of the leafy suburbia that surrounded it in one way at least. Diversity was not a strong point.
Was that why she had taken up Harley's suggestion? If anyone had asked her she would most certainly have denied it vehemently. Harley was her best chance of accessing the sources she needed if she was to successfully expand her researches. Harley had required her to prove her dedication to the task. He had explained that no-one in the city would take an outsider seriously. They would lie to her just for the hell of it. She needed her credentials if she was to get anywhere. She needed to prove her seriousness, ultimately to them but first of all to Harley himself. What was it that he had said?
"I don't waste time on wannabes. Put in the time and I'll get you what you need."
Part of that had been writing the simpler parts of her thesis and forwarding it to Harley. He didn't seem the sort to read academic papers but she'd learned in a few seconds that Harley's requirements were non-negotiable. You wanted Harley's help then you played by Harley's rules. Well that was OK - up to a point.
The other part had been this exercise program combined with dietary recommendations. She had tailored the latter to her own situation somewhat - rather more Greek yoghurt and quinoa than pork and eggs - but the principle was the same. Fuelling her work-outs and allowing her body to recover and strengthen.
She sometimes wondered if that was a little of her grandfather showing through too. When she did something she wanted to do it right, to do it well and to finish the job. Was that why she hadn't dumped dancing altogether when ballet had let her down? Was that why she'd come to enjoy this gym work so much?
As challenges went, once the first couple of painful weeks were over, she had found it very easy. She liked to keep fit and she enjoyed exercise. Sitting at a desk all day researching or writing was not the way to a healthy lifestyle. But it was sometimes hard to find the time or the energy. She found that Harley's program had kept her going, had kept her motivated. She was not going to be beaten. She would prove that she wasn't just a dilettante, she would prove that she was serious.
The exercise regime had certainly had an effect. On her mind first of all - she felt good. She had come to relish that feeling of completing another work-out. The satisfaction of putting her muscles through their paces. It had also had an effect on her physique. She had felt minded to alter the program. There was an awful lot of concentration on the glutes and she hadn't ever really felt unprovided for in that department. She had thought about it but had always really known that she would stick to Harley's program. Wasn't that the whole idea? Proving that she had the discipline to follow the program?
So after more than six months the evidence was there for sure and it continued to develop as she completed the nine months. She knew girls who had personal trainers who devised exercise regimen for them - working on their strengths and weaknesses. Harley's program had very clearly worked on parts of her that she'd never really felt needed any help. She now had a pro dancer's toned muscular thighs and had undeniably built up her rear-end. Strange that she'd once felt so insecure about that. Now, instead of looking askance at it she began to relish it. It demonstrated all the hard work that she was putting into this project.
Her toned butt was the proof of all of those kettlebell squats and stiff-leg deadlifts. All of the lunges and work-out sessions, all of the sweat and dedication. Just as clear and obvious as the pile of papers on her research desk and the initial twenty thousand words ready to be sent off to Harley when he contacted her. Then, after that, she would send her work to Professor Solon, her supervisor. It seemed a little odd to be doing it that way round but Heather also knew that it just felt right and that it was the way that it was going to be.
