The new year rolled around, twelve months after the last one, as it tended to. Certain things were common in January. Returning unwanted Christmas gifts to shops, calls to personal injury attorneys for slipping on icy sidewalks on someone else's property, and the absolute worst movies you've ever seen are ditched in the vacuum left between the competitive holiday season and the award shows.
But of course, the most common January event... was the New Year's resolution. That piece of self-delusion that inspires someone to decide that a completely arbitrary date was the time to improve themselves. Any other day would do, but something about buying a new calendar sets it off, one that's not yet marked up with doctor's appointments and other crap everyone was obligated to do. The purity of the new year before you like untouched snow... that needs to be shoveled so you can get to the job you hate.
Of those unfulfilled attempts at self-improvement, none were more common than the hopeful January gym membership. Surely, some people chose the coldest month to join a gym because that was when it was the least safe and least pleasant time to attempt to go for a jog through the city. But most of these memberships were like poking a hole in a barrel, leaking dollars out every month for no gain like the forgotten wine subscription box. (Those things used to be called 'such-and-such-of-the-month clubs' and they were rightly mocked for decades gone by. Everything old is new again.)
Most years, Simone resisted this urge of self-improvement. Her life was going fine, for the most part. Her career was acceptable, her apartment was sufficiently spacious, her car was gently used and she had no debt.
Then again, her apartment felt so large because she lived in a two-bedroom... alone. And as if to subconsciously fill the space... Simone had gained weight.
Simone really couldn't blame her breakup for her recent weight gain. That was almost a year ago. That's be like blaming pregnancy for weight when the kid has his learner's permit. But Simone had been steadily, if slowly, putting on the pounds for a few years now. It wasn't the reason for the breakup, but it might as well have been, because the real reason was much less rational.
Some of her newfound weight went into her breasts, bringing her up a cup size. She was alright with this, but she didn't want to have to buy a battalion of new brassieres. The battle continued below, as panties failed to reach across her buttocks, turning more and more of them into thongs. Worse, the rest of her was growing wider at an equal rate. Her belly was now distinctly a belly. No matter how big coffee shops were making muffins these days, she could not call it a 'muffin top' anymore.
Simone didn't think she looked bad at all. She had the lovely curves of a fertility goddess, perhaps ironically due to her lack of romantic attachment. But Simone had been weighing herself intermittently over the last year. Her weight had been increasing, if gradually.
It was time to get this under control before she needed to buy a whole new wardrobe.
There were lots of advice about how to lose weight available on the internet. Some of it was undoubtedly quackery. Anything that advertised it as 'one weird trick' went straight into the waste bin of her mind. All the research boiled down to the obvious: diet and exercise.
Well, Simone didn't want to diet, or at least not drastically. Without romantic entanglement, food was the only real carnal pleasure left to her. So that just left the one option.
Upon renewing her lease at the start of the year, Simone saw that her building did, indeed, allow her to own exercise equipment in her apartment. (She could have downsized to save some money on rent now that she was alone, but moving was such a pain that she'd just stay here until she found someone new... whenever that was.)
If she was allowed to get some form of home gym... maybe Simone could get one of those trendy modern exercise bikes. She used to love cycling around her neighborhood when she was younger, but that old ten-speed was one of many things she surrendered to get a life in the city. For all the time she spent yelling at thoughtless bike messengers driving through city traffic, she'd feel like a hypocrite if she started up again.
Simone used her favorite search engine to look at stationary bikes. There were some cheap ones available on classified ad websites, but she didn't fancy getting an intact bike into an elevator and into her apartment. This brought her to the slightly ritzier ones with the tablet affixed to the front, the exercise plans that included live instructors to encourage you on your imaginary journey.
One particular company advertised free delivery and home assembly for their unit. It even came with a heart monitor. There was also an interesting guarantee: if the user used it for three full sessions a week for the first year, the entire cost of the machine would be returned. That sounded like a bad idea, since Simone had failed most of her New Year's resolutions. But she could afford this even if she failed. She could show house guests her three thousand dollar sweatshirt rack.
Simone didn't spring for the 'next-day shipping' that was offered on the vendor's website. Nevertheless, it did show up the next day, right around ten o'clock. The crate was delivered by two women, one a few inches shorter than the other, both in green jumpsuits with white accents. They looked almost like members of a pit crew, though that could also be attributed to the masterful way the pair assembled the bike from its component parts. Simone watched them work while sipping her coffee in her bathrobe. She did offer them some, but they said they'd accept it after the work was done.
She got out two more mugs and got them ready just as they finished the device. It looked a little different than she expected. Most of these stationary bikes had a large front 'wheel' that simulated the front wheel on a real bike. Here, the front of the bike had a large plastic bullet-like facade, rounded like the front of a monorail train. She didn't know what the purpose of this thing was except to make this thing larger and harder to move about. She was glad to have it in a corner of her apartment that didn't see much use.
In every other way, it seemed like the fashionable high-tech exercise machine that it was. Sculpted adjustable handlebars and seat, heavy-duty pedals with detachable foot straps, a power cord that ran discreetly under the device to reach a nearby wall outlet, the huge touchscreen television that served as the window to the world and the brand name emblazoned on the body of the device: Effürta.
Simone offered the coffee to the two workers. They sipped their mugs as they handed her the operations manual, a paperback tome the size of a self-indulgent first novel.
"You don't really need to read it all, but it's good to have on hand in case there's a problem with the unit." The taller tech said. "Scheduled maintenance is free, but unscheduled maintenance calls will cost extra."
"Don't be scared, though." Said the shorter tech. "Just like your computer, nine times out of ten, just power-cycle the device. It'll clear up most problems."
"Speaking of scheduled maintenance..." The taller tech produced a tablet with a form on it. "Would you please sign this contract for the free scheduled maintenance to the device?"
Simone held her finger out to sign, as was the style in the modern era. The word 'contract' brought her to being stuck with an old iPhone for two years longer than she wanted it. (At least she never cracked the screen!)
