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‘Leon, can I borrow you, buddy?’
He comes over. ‘Sure, man, what’s up?’
‘Can you spot for me? I’m not feeling great.’
‘You got it.’ I move aside and let Leon take my place. As I watch him assist in my session – the first time this has ever happened – the dull ache that’s been building in my head for the last few hours starts to throb incessantly.
Once my session is finished, I trudge up the stairs to my office. I’m drained, I’m irritable, and I’m in real pain with this headache. I close the door behind me and sink into my desk chair. It feels like my brain is pounding against my skull. The room shifts around me and begins to move in and out of focus.
I’m going to faint.
Bending across my thighs, I drop my head between my legs. Beads of sweat form on my temples as I take deep inhalations.
‘Brooks! What’s wrong?’
I feel Izzy’s hands on my shoulders. I want to slap them away. This is her damn fault.
‘I need some goddamn food, Izzy.’ My words are little more than a mumble toward the ground but she must hear them.
‘Are you feeling lightheaded?’ she asks.
‘Understatement of the century.’
‘Do you have a headache?’
‘I’ve never had a damn headache like it before. I’m fairly certain this is a migraine.’
She presses her thumbs into my shoulder blades as she massages me. ‘It’s withdrawal, that’s all. Your body is craving sugar and fat you’re not getting. It’s the detox working. You’re fine.’
That’s it. I dart up from my seat. ‘Fine? Look at me. I’m a mess. You’re feeding me like a petite woman. I can’t even spot for—’
Whoa, shit.
I plant my hands on my desk as my body sways. My vision starts to tunnel. I do what I tell my clients to do when they overexercise; I lie on the floor and raise my legs. I’m vaguely aware of Izzy leaving the room. Probably finding this whole scene fucking hilarious.
When I start to come around, and stop sweating like a racehorse, I pull myself up to sit against my desk. The very last person I want to see returns.
‘Izzy, not now, all right. No more of your shi—’
She bends down in front of me. ‘Here. It’s your afternoon shake. I had them add a spoonful of protein powder.’ I take the glass from her and immediately sip through the straw, feeling like a patient to her nurse. ‘You can have these too.’
She opens a packet of almonds and I dive right in, groaning as I chew.
‘Real food.’
‘You’re such a wimp. Do you know that?’
‘Don’t be pissy with me because your plan doesn’t work for anyone other than a one-hundred-pound child. This is exactly why I said your methods don’t work. When it comes to your exercise, I’ll admit I can feel muscles tightening around my waist and hips that I don’t usually work out. But your nutrition advice is way off the mark. You need to tailor your plans to suit individuals, like I did for you.’
‘I told you this morning that I feel fat. How is that tailored?’
‘You only feel fat because you normally eat like a mouse. As your muscle builds, you’ll be using that extra protein. Honestly, I’ve added about four hundred calories to your diet, and you needed them. No one can survive on the bird feed you recommend.’
She stands, and the version of Izzy I know best – pouting, hands on hips, childish attitude – is back. ‘You’re an arsehole.’
‘Oh, real mature, Izzy. Walk away because you hate the truth.’
‘Get your arse up. You’re working out in half an hour. Kerry and Madge are here to speak with us before then.’
