Photo: © Depositphotos.com/Elnur_
Written by RJ Buenvenida

Malcolm Treadwell had a plan, and it was all progressing quite smoothly. He had earned a sizable sum in the past decade through day-trading, developing a complex set of algorithms he had compiled himself and painstakingly iterated upon, which would inform him when to buy and sell with split-second accuracy. After riding the waves of the bull market, dabbling in gold and cryptocurrencies, and cutting his losses at just the right time—not to mention the magic of compound interest—he had amassed enough of a fortune for him to survive well past retirement age, if his actuary tables were to be believed.

But in that time his health had suffered: too many salty snacks while hunched over his laptop, too many spikes in his blood pressure whenever the then-chair of the Federal Reserve would cough during a statement on housing prices. His physician, a Yale-educated man (Malcolm had done his research), had recommended that he quit his high-stress job and find some physical activity to improve his LDL and glucose numbers.

Malcom adapted. He shifted his investment strategy to a portfolio of something lower-risk, creating a series of automated actions that would do most of his buying and selling for him, reducing the amount of time that he was at the mercy of the financial id of the internet to an hour a day. He changed up his diet and started buying vegetables when he went to the grocery store: kale, beets, watercress, which was the most nutrient-dense. He did some research and went to his local VitaStore for creatine, glutamine, branched chain amino acids.

“Whoa there, kid, that’s a lot at once,” said the VitaStore cashier, a young blond stocky man with a buzzcut. “You sure you know what you’re doing with that?”

Malcolm regarded him impassively. He wasn’t sure what this man could tell him that he hadn’t already verified with some double-blind studies. “Yes. I did a lot of research.”

“Can I ask you what your fitness plan is? You know, this all isn’t going to do you a lot of good unless you know what you’re doing at the gym.”

“That’s next on my agenda. I wanted to make sure I had everything I need before I started anything new.”

The clerk sized him up and considered him for a moment before saying, “Look, I think I know a guy who would be great for you. Name’s Erik Samuelson. Trains out of Order Gym just around the corner. He’ll be able to get you started.”

“I don’t know about that. I’d like to review wha-“

“Look, I’ll be honest with you, the best workout is one that you’ll actually do,” the clerk interrupted. “You can do as much research as you like, but if you just sign up for Cross-Fit and end up hating it, you’ll just quit and it won’t do you a lick of good. He’ll actually be able to size you up, evaluate your needs, and motivate you. I highly recommend it.”

Malcolm was hesitant. He would have liked to compare pricing plans first, review some customer testimonials, see if they were still happy one, five, ten years later. Still, he was oddly assured by how confident the clerk sounded, and how direct he was in his guidance. So Malcolm headed immediately to Order Gym. It sounded like it might be structured and organized to his liking.

But when he got there, he first thought he had gone to the wrong place. There were no windows to showcase banks of exercise equipment and machinery, or young athletes in an enclosed studio working on getting toned, only a low brick warehouse with a sliding metal garage door. Malcolm entered the only door he could find, which he entered through an unmarked alleyway. In the middle of the warehouse was a large boxing ring, where a sparring match was taking place. Scattered about the sides were about a dozen other men as well as a couple of women; some were lifting weights, and pushing or pulling sleds, but the majority were spectating the match with emotionless interest.

Malcolm asked one of the spectators, “Hi, is this Order Gym? I’m looking for Erik?”

The man replied, not turning away from the match, “You’re seeing him right now. He’s the one in the white trunks.”

Erik was a huge hulking beast in the ring, carved out of granite, and was wailing on the man in black trunks with abandon. Shaved bald and covered in sweat, he moved surprisingly fast for a man as large as he was. Though his opponent was roughly equal in size, Erik was quick in finding every opening in his opponent’s defenses and landing blows all over his face and chest. Malcolm stood there mesmerized; he thought that Erik had noticed him staring but he seemed way too focused on the match to really acknowledge him. The final bell soon sounded and they both lowered their guards. The man in black staggered away, while Erik headed to his corner to towel off and grab water. Malcolm nervously approached.

“Yes, can I help you?”

“Um, yes, a guy at VitaStore sent me here, said you might be able to help me.”

“Oh, is that so? And how might be able to help you?”

“Uh, I need help with personal training.”

“Personal training to do what?”

“Uh … ” Malcolm was bewildered. His curt responses were off-putting and he was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake. “I want to become healthier.”

“Healthier?” Erik stared at Malcolm with fiery intensity. “We don’t make people healthier at Order Gym. We make them powerful. Through discipline and hard work we teach our trainees to harness their power and the best way to showcase their power before others. Got that?”

“Um, right.” Malcolm nervously muttered. “Look, I don’t think this is the right fit for me and I don’t want to waste your time anymore so maybe I should just go.” And with that, flustered, he headed out the way he came it.

“Wait,” Erik commanded. Something about his voice, something about the way he said it, something about Erik compelled him to stop. As he turned around, he noticed that everyone else in the gym was hanging on to his every word. Erik came up to him and leaned in close.

“Stick with me, and I will mold you, shape you, and change you into who you were meant to be. We are going to break you free of who you were before and turn you into something you always wanted but didn’t know that you did. But to do so I need your full commitment. I need you to follow my command without hesitation. Can you do it?”

On one hand this sounded patently absurd. Malcolm had no idea what he was talking about. He didn’t know what fitness routines he would be doing, what sort of commitment he was talking, or if he was even talking about working out anymore. But the feel of Erik’s piercing blue eyes boring a hole into his inner being, not to mention the nervous energy of the dozen others made him so completely confused and bewildered that he heard himself say, “Yes.”

“Come again?”

“Yes.”

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU.”

“YES. I’M READY. I AM SO READY.”

The room erupted in cheers and Malcolm felt a rush of warmth hit his face as he felt resolute for the first time in his life. Erik let the moment sink in a minute before continuing.

“Glad to hear it. Now let’s get down to business.” Erik suddenly punched out his right hand, just centimeters away from his face.

“Take off my glove.”

Malcolm was startled, not really sure what he just heard.

“TAKE OFF MY GLOVE.”

Still uncertain, he lowered Erik’s hand and undid the Velcro straps of the glove and removed it from his hand.

“KISS THE GLOVE”

Holding the glove like a glass of water, he slowly gave the glove a peck on its tip. He looked at Erik quizzically and expectantly, and Erik just nodded and smiled. The room cheered again. And with that, Malcolm relaxed.

“WEAR THE GLOVE LIKE A HAT”

This seemed like a totally straightforward request, so Malcolm placed the glove gingerly on his head so it wouldn’t fall off. He then (carefully!) looked back to for his approval and next instruction. The rest of the room had already resumed their routines.

“Excellent,” said Erik. “Now the training can begin.”

***

RJ Buenvenida plays gay rugby and DMs gay D&D in and around Boston.