The young man had joined he gym at the behest of his coach with the intention of improving his conditioning and stamina for, as he boasted on regular intervals since entering the door, he was an up and coming boxer of some worth. The moment Terri clapped her little eyes on him, she was reminded of a rooster; full of strut and crow.


“Alexander Slater?” Terri politely enquires to the young man as he exited the changing rooms. He was fumbling with the draw cord on his shorts, tieing them into a neat bow before tucking them away. Looking up, he replies in a manner that instantly gets Terri's fur up.


“Yeah, I'm lookin' to see Terry?”


“That would be me,” she responds. Jesus, how old is he, 16, 17?


“Nah, nah, that ain't right. Terry's some guy, while you're a chick. There ain't no way a chick can teach me shit.”


“Well, that's a shame, and I'll tell you why,” Terri replies, just the hint of annoyance creeping through as she squares up to him, not barely reaching his neck but looking dead into his eyes. “Your camp called this place specifically for someone to work your lazy ass into shape and that person would be me.” Alex, about to argue and open his mouth was cut off when she raised a hand, an indication of I'm not done yet. “Now, if you don't like that, too bad. Quit, and save me the time and energy of whipping your body into the fighting machine it needs to be. If you're not too scared, then we'll start with a 3 mile run on the treadmill.”


Turning gracefully, Terri fumes towards the row of machines and begins to set one up, slightly away from the rest. It already has a towel hanging from its bar. It only takes 10 seconds for Alex to join her and get on. Hitting the start button, Terri brings the treadmill's speed up so as to bring the young boxer to a meandering pace before stepping back and observing his technique.


“Ya know,” he says smugly, “I can eat 3 miles for breakfast.”


Terri sighs, finding any positive remark quite difficult. “That's fine. You have an hour under my instruction, so I'd save your breath if I were you.


56 minutes later.....


Alex is crawling on all fours in the treadmill and seeing spots. A plastic bin rests next to the machine with the remains of Alex's breakfast lining it rather nicely, bright orange and yellow. His t-shirt has changed colour due to the sweat staining it and the towel was around his neck, sodden and covered in splatters of sick.


“Keep going Alex, you still have 4 minutes. Don't you go quitting on me now.”


9 minutes later.....


Alex is being carried out by his laughing boxing coach to a waiting car, one of those big ol' gas guzzlers. Dropping the exhausted young man into the passenger seat, he turns to Terri and smiles, wiping tears from his eyes.


“Do you do private lessons?” he calls out.


Terri smirks and nods.


“Good. Consider yourself hired then.” Getting into the vehicle, Terri can still hear him laughing and Alex heart thumping against his chest as his lungs run ragged.


Another satisfied client.