Set On You

by Amy Lea

Four sets of squats and I’ll be high on endorphins for at least a day, fantasizing about the strength of my thighs crushing the souls of a thousand men.

“He checked you out earlier. Like full-on head to toe, while we were talking about dicks.” “He was probably plotting to assassinate me.” “Or he was undressing you with his eyes.”

She pulls her thick hair into a perfectly sleek high ponytail. I envy girls like her who can put their hair back so effortlessly, without a million baby hairs sticking up on end. When I attempt it, I resemble a juvenile orangutan with bedhead, unless I hairspray my flyaways down.

“I don’t do casual. If I don’t even know a dude’s middle name, I’m not about to touch their penis.”

“The dating world is terrifying. I’ve seen the specimens on the market.”

“I’d rather pluck my pubes out one by one than resort to online dating. Tinder looks ...

I ate up all his words, reassuring me that I was special. That we had some sort of unparalleled connection.

If I could talk to my 12-year-old self, I’d tell her she’s worth so much more than just the number on the scale. I’d tell her to practice eating until she’s full, not stuffed. To eat what makes her feel good, not just because she’s sad or bored. To go out for lunch with friends and just have fun instead of worrying about how many calories one Subway sandwich is. A massive part of fitness is mental health. If you’re unhappy, stressed, and constantly being hard on yourself, your body will reject progress. And you certainly won’t be as inspired to keep pushing forward when it’s tough.

“I don’t get exhausted. Ever. I appreciate the concern, though,” I add, voice sweeter than Grandma Flo’s sugar pie. “Oh, I could exhaust you.” His eyes blaze, and I nearly choke at the innuendo (whether he intended it or not). “In fact, I think you’re already at the end of your rope with me right now.” “Not even close.”

His hand dips around my bottom, hooking underneath my right thigh, lifting it around his waist. A low groan escapes his mouth, vibrating into mine as my hips roll against his, sending a blinding jolt to the forgotten corners of my body. His lips dart hungrily to the side of my mouth, down my jaw, and over my neck as he hoists me off the ground completely. He backs me up against the locker again, my legs hooked around his waist. I’ve never been picked up by a man before. To call this “exhilarating” is the understatement of the century. “Fuck,” he whispers in my ear as I rock against him, one hand linked around his neck, the other gripping his hair.

I must resist thinking about that man, no matter how many abs he has, or how deep his V line is.

It isn’t that I want my grandmother setting me up with random dudes. But out of principle, I once asked why she hasn’t tried to set me up. She waved it off, calling me one of those “independent types.” She then followed it up by admiring my face, going on about how I’m a perfect mix of my parents, and how rare it is that I’d have my mom’s hazel-gold eyes. Complimenting my “facial beauty” is typical when people try to compensate, falsely assuming I’m in need of

I squeeze my eyes shut, taking a deep breath in and out, trying to push the antisocial monster within me back under temporary lock and key. Just get through dinner, I tell myself. Then you can go home, curl up in bed, and avoid all reality.

He is so damned full of himself, he probably has his own selfies framed on his bedside table.

Truthfully, Martin’s sociable family has exhausted me, as lovely as they may be. All I want to do is go home, curl up under my duvet, and watch mind-numbing reality television.

Only in the last month did I finally get to the point where I didn’t wait with bated breath for his text.

“And then the guy had the audacity to ask what party I was going to. And I was like, no, bro, these donuts are just for me …”

Your self-worth isn’t just about your weight, or your fitness level. It’s also about the health of your mind, soul, and heart. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over my fitness journey, it’s that negative attracts negative. Get that toxicity out of your life. And yes, that includes people. If you’re toxic to yourself, you will attract toxic individuals into your life. Don’t allow people to put you into positions that make you feel less than. Take control of your own life and don’t be afraid to put people in their place when necessary.

We tend to remember the bad over the good.

“People will go to great lengths to save face so they don’t have to feel awkward.

I’ll admit, watching a six-foot-two alpha male fireman drink a children’s juice box is strangely attractive.

“Is that what you really think?” “My opinion hasn’t changed in the last three seconds.”

I have to admit, being manhandled is kind of hot.

I just think being healthy isn’t just about your size or your weight, but your mindset and your mental health too.”

“So just how introverted are you?” “I’ll put it this way: If I have plans for more than two consecutive nights, I’ll probably stress about it all week. Oh, and if someone cancels plans, it feels like I won the lottery.”

I really only require two things. Regular sex and food.”

I’ve been to his apartment once to pick up a foam roller he generously offered to lend me. His place fit the blueprint for two young, unattached men who have zero sense of style. Barren. Plain. Minimalist. I’ve been tempted to bring a plant or a few throw pillows to liven the space, but according to Mel, that’s what a girlfriend would do. And I am definitely not a girlfriend.

YOU CAN LEARN a lot about a person by going through the entirety of IKEA with them. It’s a true test of one’s patience, spatial awareness, level of maturity, and self-discipline. Particularly in the final section, where they so rudely tempt you with cinnamon rolls and Daim chocolate caramel candies. Why are you trying to break me, IKEA?

Truthfully, his chest looks cozy and inviting. All I want to do is nuzzle into his neck. But I manage to pull myself back to reality and maintain my restraint, despite how barren, cold, and lonely it is in my own personal space bubble.

“I never knew IKEA was such a good time,” he says, changing the subject. I give him a warning look. “It’s all fun and games until you hit the warehouse. Then it’s all-out anarchy.”

“The worst part is, I’m not a naive person. At least, I didn’t think I was. And yet, I believed everything he told me for so long. It really messed with me.”

It’s hard when someone turns out to be exactly who you hoped they weren’t.”

He’d be sweet to your mom and then ravish the shit out of you in the bedroom.”

“Word of advice, don’t look this guy directly in the eye. Most women don’t bounce back.”

I wonder if he’s thinking what I’m thinking, that I really wish he was here. My breath quickens at the mere thought of the warmth of his body beside mine. Aside from the fact that I’ve physically resisted the urge to climb him like a tree at every opportunity, particularly when he’s in all his muscled glory at the gym, I undoubtedly like him. A lot.

Every time I see his face, I nearly lose my resolve,

“DO YOU FEEL LIKE A FRAUD IN YOUR OWN LIFE?”

I’m talking about serious thoughts, like “I got lucky,” “I don’t deserve my success,” “Someone is going to figure me out.” These are real things I’ve thought to myself, and still think to myself occasionally. I’m only human.

I’m always seeing my clients disregard their progress. As harmless as this may seem, you’re actually disregarding all of your hard work and holding yourself to impossibly high, unattainable standards.

But there is good news. Did you know most people (ahem, mostly high-achieving women) who feel impostor syndrome do so because they’re simply driven to succeed? If you’re feeling some type of way about your success, my advice to you is stop trying to chase perfect. No one wants perfect, because it doesn’t exist.

CRYSTAL: Damn, you’re already banking on there being a next time? What if I’m super boring? Or weird? SCOTT: I’m boring too. And I already know you’re weird.

I’ve never been one for the element of surprise.

Just the way he’s looking at me, as though he’s fully with me, is all-consuming. It’s different than I’ve ever experienced before, to the point of being petrifying. I want to lose myself completely in him and no longer exist. I don’t think I could ever be the same, not after this.

A blinding shock wave rips through me, fast and unexpected. I’m shaking as I clasp his hair in my fingers, desperate to anchor myself to him as the tidal wave hits me, over and over, slamming me home. I never want this to end. I never want to forget how it feels to have Scott look at me the way he’s looking at me right now, his eye contact unbreaking as he watches me unravel in front of him.

“I think about you all the time. Every day, all day. All I ever want to do is be with you. Even if we aren’t doing anything at all.”

I feel cherished, worshipped, and cared for in a way I never have with anyone else.

“Are you sure?” All I can do is nod, distracted at the impressive sight of him. “I didn’t hear you. Tell me louder,” he commands, not breaking eye contact. “If you’re not in me within five seconds, I’m going to lose it,” I warn him,

Last night is ingrained in my memory. Etched into a sacred stone tablet.”

I nestle my head against him, trying to capture this moment. I want to remember how it feels to be in his arms. I take in his musky scent, which, even after a full night of serious cardio, is still alluring as sin. I revel in the security of his muscly arms enveloping me with just the right amount of squeeze. Not tight enough to crunch my bones and loose enough to wriggle free.

He had the best of intentions, even if he was wrong.”