Lies

Numbers churned in front of her, shifting back and forth as she pushed her legs into a whir of motion.

She stared at the bars filling the stationary bike’s display, a ghostly replica of hills, focusing her eyes on everything but the unwieldy black brace encircling her right knee. 

Her doctor’s words echoed in her head: “No running until we evaluate your progress in approximately three weeks. Maybe some easy cycling.”

Numbers whirled in her head, calories ingested and calories burned. Nodding demurely in the office she had already shrugged off the directive; easy cycling would barely burn off the yogurt she had for breakfast, let alone the cupcakes she’d shoveled into her mouth in the closet after turning them down in front of the rest of the office.

Pushing harder against the plastic pedals, feet almost numb from the pressure, she forced her eyes onto the flashing red numbers, refusing to look down at the brace or up at the treadmills lined against the windows dripping with condensation.

She ignored the twinge in her knee threatening to cross into a scream, concentrating instead on the calories burned, imagining the way she must look to the other gym-goers.

Were they disgusted by the sway of her thighs pumping faster and faster on the pedals?

Were they motivated by the jiggle of her stomach against the thin, ribbed tank?

She pushed harder, struggling to force sweat to bead onto the surface of her forehead or the small of her back, affirming her movement. Accustomed to punishing ten-mile runs, her body refused to sweat; her frustration refused to melt away, expelling a scarfed pint of ice cream with it.

Giving up, tears filled her downturned eyes as she escaped past the wall of mirrors, not recognizing the skeletal reflection as her own.

the prompt:

“The cure for anything is salt water….sweat, tears or the sea.” ~ Isak Dinesen, pseudonym of Baroness Karen von Blixen-Finecke