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I take a swig from my water bottle, steeling myself for the next set. The voices of childhood bullies echo in my mind, calling me names that still sting. But I’m not that girl anymore. I’m stronger now. Strong enough to lift this weight, and strong enough to ignore their taunts. Another rep. And another. The ache in my legs intensifies, but I keep going. I can do this. I will do this. Their words can’t touch me now.
By the time I rack the barbell again, my legs are shaking and sweat plasters my shirt to my back. There’s a fierce joy in the pain, however. I’ve reminded myself what I’m capable of. I grab my towel and water bottle, ready to move on to the next exercise as the bullies in my memory fade back into silence.
As I move into lunges with dumbbells clutched in each hand, a wolf whistle cuts through the gym. “Nice ass!”
I whip around to find a sleazy-looking guy holding up his phone, clearly filming me. Rage bubbles up inside, red-hot and uncontrollable. In the moment, I’m back in the schoolyard again, humiliation flooding over me as the bullies jeer and laugh.
I stride over to the creep, fury etched into every step. He starts to backpedal, eyes widening, but I’m faster. I snatch the phone from his hands and hurl it to the ground, stomping until it’s in pieces.
“What the hell!” He gapes at the wreckage, then glares at me. “You’re gonna pay for that!”
I step into his space, meeting his glare. “Get out of my sight before I do the same to you.”
To my surprise, he actually listens. He scrambles to gather his things and rushes off. I watch him go, a fierce grin spreading across my face. The bullies can’t touch me now—and neither can he.
Still riding the adrenaline high, I get back to my workout with renewed determination. The interaction revived the taunts of my bullies, and they echo in my memory, but focusing on the workout drowns them out. My muscles ache now, and I want to give up, but I remember why I’m here. Not just today, but every day.
Pork Chop.
The name bursts into my mind without warning, dragging me back to the school cafeteria. I’m twelve years old again, shy and awkward in my body, carrying my lunch tray as the older kids jeer and laugh.
“Look, it’s Pork Chop!” They burst into raucous laughter, pointing, and mimicking my waddle. Humiliation washes over me as I struggle not to cry. I hurry to find a seat, but there’s no escape. Their voices follow me, chanting the nickname that’s stuck with me for years. Pork Chop. I’m nothing but a fat pig for their amusement.
I snap out of it, and rage and shame war inside me as I attack the weights, pushing my body to its limits. I channel my deepest driving factor: to prove them wrong. I need to show them that I’m not weak anymore; that the frightened little girl they tormented has gone, burned away by the fire they lit inside me.
The memory fades, but that fire still rages. It’s what gets me out of bed every morning to face another grueling workout. It’s what makes me push through the pain and exhaustion, through every twinge of self-doubt. I can see their faces, and hear their laughter, and it just makes me dig deeper. I’m not Pork Chop anymore. I’m stronger than they ever imagined—and one day, when I’ve risen high enough, I’ll look down on them all from up above.
I finish my workout with my legs still trembling and sweat dripping down my back. I feel a grim sort of triumph. I’ve beaten my personal bests again today. In the locker room, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—lean muscle and toned curves where once there was only soft flesh. A body sculpted through sheer determination. Most days, I can look at myself without seeing that frightened little girl, but I know she’s always there. She lurks in the shadows—a reminder of where I came from, and of what I’ll never be again.
My phone buzzes as I’m changing, and I smile when I see the text from Angela. Just thinking of you. When can I see that gorgeous smile again?
Warmth spreads through me as I text her back, feeling lighter than I have in days. Angela always saw me as I am now: strong, and confident. Not once has she looked at me with pity or disdain, or even a hint of judgment about my past. Her friendship has helped heal wounds that cut deeper than any words could. With her, I’m not Pork Chop or anything other than myself. I’m simply Tanya, and that’s enough. My past may have shaped me, but it doesn’t define me anymore. I’ve risen above it, at last, free to embrace the woman I was always meant to become.
As I exit the gym, hints of the coming spring tease my senses. The chill in the air has a fresh, clean quality to it, and a few stars peek through the indigo sky. The future is filled with promise. Old demons may rear their heads from time to time, but every time I finish a solid workout, I feel like anything is possible. I slide into my car and start the engine, turning up the heat. The events of the day play through my mind as I drive through the empty streets. Despite the ups and downs, it’s been a good day. I feel content in the knowledge of how far I’ve come—and how far I have yet to go.
Chapter three
Back on Track
Brian
The heart monitor beeps in a steady, nauseating rhythm as I open my eyes. White walls; white sheets; the sterile smell of antiseptic. I’m in a hospital. Panic rises in my chest. How did I get here? Memories flash in my mind—the searing pain as I collapsed to the floor of my home office as my heart thundered out of control. I called 911. The paramedics came.
A doctor walks into the room, glasses perched on the edge of his nose as he studies the chart in his hands. He looks up, noticing I’m awake, and offers me a tight smile. “Mr. Russo, you’re in the hospital. You experienced a cardiac episode, and your heart rate became dangerously irregular. We’ve run some tests, and I’m afraid we have concerning results.”
Concerning results. My throat tightens. I know what that means. Years of drug and alcohol abuse have finally caught up with me. I grip the bedsheets, bracing myself for the bad news I already know is coming.
The steady beep of the heart rate monitor is a grim reminder of my mortality. How long have I been in this sterile white room, hooked up to tubes and wires? The doctor gives me the prognosis. It’s not good. Palpitations, irregular heartbeat, high blood pressure, and fatty liver disease.
“Your heart has significant damage from long-term stimulant use. If you don’t make drastic lifestyle changes immediately, you are at high risk of heart attack or stroke, if not death. Don’t take this lightly. If you don’t make these changes immediately, you’ll be lucky to make it to your fiftieth birthday,” the doctor said bluntly.
I close my eyes, shame washing over me. I’ve wasted years numbing myself, destroying my body and health in the process. I can’t leave my daughter without a father. I have to change. I have to get my life back on track.
When I open my eyes, I meet the doctor’s gaze with steely determination. “Tell me exactly what I need to do. I’m ready to make a change.”
The doctor nods, a flicker of approval in his eyes. “You’ll need to commit to a strict diet and exercise regimen, quit smoking and drug use completely, limit alcohol intake, and take the medication I’ll prescribe you.” He pauses. “It won’t be easy, but if you’re committed, you can turn this around and live a long, healthy life.”
He leaves and I stare out the window at the dreary, overcast sky. My daughter deserves to have her father around, and I deserve a second chance at life. The party is over—it’s time to get to work. I can’t do this to Diane. She’s only in her mid-twenties and still needs me. I have to get it together for her sake. After all, I promised Laura I would.
