Don't Get Fit; Get Fitch!

Summary: When Naomi Campbell decides to join a gym she finds herself signing up with Fitch Fitness; and catching the attention of a certain redheaded personal trainer.

Oh sweet Jesus, I can't do this! I'm way over my head. I don't belong here! People like me do not belong in places like this! Maybe I could still turn around and make a run for it before it's too late-

"Hi there, welcome to Fitch Fitness!" A perky bottle blonde greets me from behind a gleaming white reception desk. She's managed to squeeze herself in to a tiny crop top that barely contains her overpriced boob job. Despite it barely being 9am she's wearing a grin from ear to ear and more makeup than I would wear on a night out. She flashes pearly white teeth at me that are as fake as everything else about her. She's like some sort of robot and for my caffeine deprived mind it's scary as hell. I need to get out of here. Fast.

"Are you interested in signing up? I can have one of our reps give you the guided tour-"
"No… No, I think I got lost." As I stumble over my words she suddenly loses her smile. I'm no longer a potential source of income for her; I'm just a waste of her time. She actually sneers as she looks me up and down, taking in my baggy Nike jogging pants, shabby trainers and the oversized Goldsmiths hoodie I'm currently drowning in. I don't belong in a place like Fitch Fitness and she knows it.
"Yeah. I think you did." She replies curtly and I have to really work hard to resist the urge to slap that smug smirk off of her face. I fucking hate gyms and all the plastic people that go to them; especially the ones who work in them.

I barely got any sleep last night and I feel like hell, the last thing I need is some life-sized Barbie bimbo staring down her nose at me just because I didn't turn up to the gym in the latest designer gear. Well excuse me, but I'm pretty sure a designer label on my trainers won't help me run any damn faster on a treadmill. "Yeah, I was actually looking for MacDonald's." I shoot back at her with a glare of my own. The bitch probably hasn't eaten anything other than Slimfast shakes in years. I turn around, intending to make a hasty retreat before I'm thrown out on my arse, but I end up walking straight in to someone. I'm stopped from falling by a firm grip on my forearm and a pair of gorgeous brown eyes keeps me rooted to the spot. They're like melted pools of chocolate and along with a button nose and a genuine smile they make up the gorgeous face of the girl I've just managed to barge in to. Nice one Campbell, real smooth.

I stare down at her slender fingers still wrapped around my wrist and as she realises she's still holding on to me she hastily withdraws her hand. "Where's the fire?" She grins at me with that smile and I feel like I'm about to melt in to a puddle on the floor. This girl is drop dead gorgeous and I've suddenly lost the ability to speak. So I'm just staring at her like an idiot. "Good work out?" She asks, and her smile is a little more hesitant. She's obviously trying to make small talk to break up the tense silence as I carry on staring like a comatose goldfish. Shit like this is why I'm single. As soon as a pretty girl looks my way I lose the ability to string a sentence together.

"Uh, I don't actually go here." By some small miracle I manage to find my voice again, though it comes out as something of a dry croak. I really can't help it, beautiful girls intimidate me; and the tiny redhead in front of me couldn't be any more intimidating. "I was just…uh…thinking about joining, but I don't think this is my kind of place."

"Don't let the ice bitch on the desk fool you; it's actually a pretty friendly place. Why don't you sign in as my guest and I can give you the guided tour? Trust me; this is the best gym in the city!" She gives me the sales pitch, but she honestly doesn't need it. One flash of those big brown eyes and I'm following her back over to the reception desk to sign in. Honestly, she could tell me to follow her off a bridge and I probably would. God, I've been single far too long.
"Are you on commission or something?" I tease as she scans her little plastic fob watch through the device on the counter and Ice Bitch's computer pings to acknowledge she's signed in.
"Something like that." She laughs and I have a feeling I'm missing the joke.

Speaking of jokes I need to fill in the guest register that Barbie has just shoved under my nose, and I'm halfway through writing my name when I'm faced with the age old problem of my name. It's Naomi Campbell. Yes, hilarious, I know! I couldn't be any further from the American Supermodel. I'm a pasty, blonde twenty-one year old from Bristol; though I'm not exactly unattractive. Conscious of the very attractive girl standing beside me, and the irritating receptionist looming over me, I sign my name as Naomi Jones, not exactly original I know, but it is ridiculously early for me and I've been brain dead since I gave up coffee last week. This health kick really is going to kill me.

After signing the register I follow my new tour guide through the little metal turnstile that leads from the reception area and through to the changing rooms. "I'm Emily by the way." She holds her hand out for me and I shake it somewhat awkwardly as I try to shove my bag in to one of the lockers with my other hand.
"Naomi."

"Nice to meet you, Naomi." She offers me another wide smile as she pulls her long vibrant red hair up in to a ponytail. She pulls off her jacket and my eyes almost pop out of my head. She's wearing a short black vest that shows off her flat toned stomach. She's got some serious abs, though she's not bulky. She's somehow found the right amount of muscle and toning for her small frame. I manage to tear my gaze away from her before she realises I'm blatantly perving over her. I pull my own hoodie off, though I'm not wearing anything quite as revealing, just a T-shirt.

"So, what brings you to the gym then? Bikini body for summer, general fitness, or health?" Emily leads me in to the main gym and it's a clone of every other gym in the country. The cardio section is full of treadmills, cross trainers and rowing machines, while there's a separate area for machine and free weights and studios leading off from the main hall for classes. There's also a pool and a sauna room on the other side of the building. That's one of the reasons I chose to check this place out when I was looking for gyms online. I love swimming. I should have just bought myself an annual pass to the city swimming pool; I'd save myself a fortune. This place is as expensive as the overpriced bottles of water in their vending machines. I've just started my job writing for a local paper, it's nothing fancy but it pays the bills; I have a feeling signing up for this place is going to leave my bank balance in serious jeopardy.

"Uh, just fitness I guess." I find myself staring in awe at the people on the other treadmills as Emily leads us over two spare machines in a row on the back wall. Everyone else seems to be attempting to run the four minute mile and I feel self-conscious about the slow pace Emily's set my machine to. "Don't these things go faster?"
"They do." Emily chuckles as she reaches out to stop me from adjusting the speed. "But you need to warm up first, or you'll hurt yourself." It's my turn to laugh at a private joke over her warning. Hurt myself? I could do that getting out of bed in the morning, never mind in a gym. That's why I'm here.

I have this muscle condition, which it pretty much a pain in the…well, everything. It's called Fibromyalgia, which is a long fancy word for everything hurts. FMS for short. It's a chronic pain syndrome which covers everything from aching muscles to stiff joints, agonising migraines and constant fatigue. It's partially why I'm such a cranky bitch, and it's also why I've given up caffeine and decided to join a gym. Exercise is supposed to help with the pain, though in my experience it just causes more. I've been getting a lot more pain lately, from what we call 'flare ups', periods of time when the pain is more frequent and intense. I've been struggling with this for years and I've finally talked myself in to trying to get fit to see if it really will help; nothing the quacks have given me over the years seems to make a damn bit of difference anyway, so I might as well give the whole exercise and healthy living thing a try.

I hate admitting how much the FMS affects me, how weak it makes me. It's not a noticeable disability, it's not like I'm in a wheelchair or walking around with a stick and a guide dog; but it's there with me every day and it's something I've had to learn to live with. I don't like people knowing about it, so when Emily asks about my motivation I lie and tell her I'm just interested in getting fit. She talks me through the facilities at the gym and suggests the type of exercise I could do to raise my level of fitness. As we talk the treadmill slowly increases its speed and I start to feel uncomfortable as we break in to a light jog. A shooting pain starts in my left knee from the impact. I try to grit my teeth and ignore the pain, but it spreads to my other knee and down to my shins and I'm struggling to keep up as the speed goes up another notch. Emily notices my discomfort and leans over to adjust the settings of my machine. She sets it for a warm down and after another five minutes, which seem to stretch out to an eternity, the machine comes to a stop. I try to play down the pain in my knee as I step off the treadmill. Emily's not fooled though and she notices I'm favouring my right leg.

"Are you ok?" She quizzes, concern etched on to her face. She's known me for barely half an hour yet she fusses over me like we're old friends.
"I'm fine." I insist, though I can feel my knee stiffening up and I know it's going to be worse tomorrow. Everything started in my left knee, years ago when I was a teenager, long before I should have ever been suffering from what my doctor referred to as 'wear and tear'. The pain spread everywhere within a matter of months and as soon as the doctors labelled me with fibromyalgia it was like they just stopped trying, here's some pills, take two a day and go away.
"You're not fine, you might have pulled something. Let me take a look." Emily slips an arm around my waist and I almost forget how to breathe as she takes on my weight and helps me in to one of the side rooms off the gym.

It looks like a physiotherapy room, with a physio table in the centre of the room, a desk and some chairs tucked in to the corner with a bookcase. "God, I fucking hate physiotherapists." I grumble under my breath, too many memories of probing and useless physiotherapists during my teenager years; who in the end did fuck all to help me. I say it a little louder than I intended and Emily hears me.
"What's so bad about physios?" She looks up at me with an almost playful smile as she presses down on my knee, checking the joint and the surrounding area for signs of swelling. I have a feeling I've just put my foot in it with the tiny redhead somehow. I shrug at her as she puts a hand firmly at the back of my knee and uses her free hand to straighten my leg. It sends the pain shooting up and down my leg.

"Because they do shit like that!" I hiss, not meaning to take it out on her, but it's hard to change the habit of a lifetime. I get sore and I lash out.
"Sorry." Emily apologises, even though I'm the one that should be making the apologies.
"No, I'm sorry!" I sigh as she lets go of my leg and perches against the desk with her arms folded defensively across her chest. I really don't want to blow this, so I find myself doing something I rarely do; admitting my weakness. "My knee's fine, I just have this muscle thing."

"You should have said! High impact stuff like running can aggravate tender muscles. What is it anyway?" She quizzes, seemingly interested in my response. I'm not sure whether she's interested in me or just makes a habit out of taking on strays at the gym.
"You wouldn't have heard of it." I laugh, and I'm glad to see her get her smile back as the atmosphere lightens a little.
"Try me." She shoots back like it's a challenge. Never one to back down, I fold my own arms over my chest and stare her down.
"Ok, it's Fibromyalgia."

"Then I was right, high impact exercises could damage your soft tissue. You should start off with something low impact like aqua aerobics or yoga." Ok, wasn't expecting that. Most people can barely say the word, never mind know what it is. That sinking feeling in my stomach just gets worse as she leans back and picks up the little metal nameplate off the desk. "But what would I know?"

I groan in embarrassment as I read the name; Emily Fitch. "You're a physio? And a Fitch?" Great! At least I didn't insult her family as well as her livelihood.
"Guilty." She replies with a laugh and god help me this girl could be a mass murderer and I'd still fancy the fuck out of her. "I overheard our receptionist giving you a hard time. She's a bitch, but this really is the best gym in Bristol. I thought a personal tour would maybe convince you to join up?"
"I don't know, your staff are pretty rude and your treadmills are vicious." I grin and she laughs again.
"Well, I think if you give us a chance you might find we're pretty good for you, Naomi Jones." Oh fuck. I signed that stupid guest register as Jones.
"Actually, it's Campbell." It takes her about half a second to register my name and she barely supresses a giggle.

"Well superstar, how about I talk you through the packages we have available?" I've got to admit, the girl might be pintsized but she's feisty as hell and she's got the sales pitch down. I'm not easily led though and I'm not about to jump in to signing a yearlong gym contract just because one of their employees is the fittest girl who's ever given me the time of I'll just go for the three month option.
"I'm still not convinced Miss Fitch."
"Well, Miss Campbell, how about we finish that tour of the gym and then you can make up your mind? I might even be able to throw in a free health assessment and a discount for our impolite staff?"

"Why are you so bothered if I join or not?" I can't help the question slipping past my lips. This place is packed, it doesn't seem like it's all that desperate for new members, yet Emily's pushing the hard sell to get me to join. I'm not used to strangers taking such an interest in me. Emily's cheeks seem to colour a little as she hops down from her desk.

"To be honest, at first I was just trying to make up for Hanna being a bitch to you, but when I found out you had FMS I was impressed. Not a lot of people with your condition would even consider joining a gym, but regular exercise and a healthy diet can make a world of difference in managing it. I do some personal training and I'd like to help you, Naomi. That is what I got in to this job for." She's so sincere, with her big brown puppy dog eyes and her confident smile. Had anyone else tried to feed me a line like that I probably would have laughed in their faces, but this girl genuinely gives a damn about helping me. She's more interested in helping me than I am.

I think she might be right about her being good for me. I can guarantee that if I'm left to my own devices I'll lose interest in working out in less than a week; but if I've got someone helping me, say for example the cutest personal trainer in Bristol, then I might just be able to stick at this getting fit malarkey a little longer; or at least long enough to figure out if she's interested in more than just my level of fitness.

A/N: Today is International Fibromyalgia Awareness Day (May 12th) so I'm raising awareness the best way I know how, through writing :) Dedicated to Doodles, Lordy and everyone else fighting Fibromyalgia.