Chapter 3: Treadmill Hypnosis
The treadmill hummed beneath her feet, a steady drone that should have been mind-numbing. But Lena’s mind was anything but numb. Each step sent a slight jolt through her body, a reminder of how the black tights gripped her legs, how the high waistband pressed into her skin like a constant, intimate hand. She’d set the pace to a brisk walk, something she could handle, but her body felt different inside the clothes. Lighter, somehow, but also more present. More noticeable.
Her eyes, which should have been fixed on the bland news channel playing on the screen embedded in the machine, kept sliding away. They drifted past the rows of elliptical trainers and stationary bikes, past the guys grunting under barbells, to the far corner of the gym. The pilates area was a world apart. Lit by softer, warmer lights, with mats arranged in a neat semi-circle. A group of girls moved in unison, their bodies curved into elegant arcs and stretches. They wore tiny, bright sports bras and leggings even tighter than Lena’s, their skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat.
Lena’s walking pace faltered. Without thinking, she found herself slowing the machine, her own stride becoming less of a march and more of a… sway. A subtle shift of her hips with each step, a motion she’d never consciously made before. It felt strange, unnatural, like wearing someone else’s skin. But as she watched a girl in a neon pink bra flow seamlessly from a downward dog into a high plank, Lena’s breathing hitched. She took a deeper breath, then another, trying to match the slow, controlled rhythm of the pilates group. In, out. Her chest rose and fell, and the tight shirt she’d worn over her sports top—a last-minute compromise for modesty—suddenly felt suffocating.
A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, another between her shoulder blades. The air in the gym was thick, heavy with the smell of chlorine from the pool nearby and the sharp, sugary tang of pre-workout drinks. As she moved, the fabric of her tights grew damp, turning darker in patches. She glanced down, and in the reflective surface of the treadmill console, she saw how the material was now clinging even more intimately, turning slightly sheer where it stretched across her thighs. A hot flush spread up her neck. It was just physiology, she told herself. Sweat is a natural coolant. The fabric’s moisture-wicking properties are functioning as intended.
“Hey, watch it!”
The sharp voice jolted her out of her thoughts. A guy on the treadmill next to her had dropped his water bottle, and it rolled under her machine. He glared at her, as if her inadvertent hip-swaying had somehow caused it.
“Sorry,” Lena mumbled, fumbling for the stop button. The belt ground to a halt. She stepped off, her legs feeling wobbly, and bent to pick up the bottle. As she straightened, she caught the guy’s gaze. It wasn't on her face. It was a quick, appraising flicker down her body, from her waist to her hips, then back up. It lasted less than a second, but it sent a seismic jolt through her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, embarrassing drumbeat.
He took the bottle with a grunt, not thanking her, and turned back to his run.
Lena stood there, frozen for a moment. The rational part of her brain, the part that wrote elegant code and deconstructed logical fallacies, screamed at her. See? That’s what you get. That’s the vapid, objectifying garbage you hate. But another, quieter part registered the jolt not entirely as disgust. It was a spike of adrenaline, a blinding flash of… visibility. For a split second, she hadn’t been Lena Hanson, CS major. She’d been a shape. A body. And someone had seen it.
She needed water. An excuse to move. She walked towards the fountain, hyper-aware of every step. Was she still swaying? She tried to walk normally, but her body felt like it had a new default setting. Near the water fountain, the pilates class was winding down. The instructor, a woman with a calm, melodic voice, was demonstrating a final stretch. “And just breathe into that space you’ve created. Honor your body’s strength.”
Honor your body’s strength. The phrase echoed in Lena’s head. It sounded empowering. Noble, even. This wasn’t about Jax or his stupid bet. This was about… honoring something. Her body was a machine, after all. A complex system. Why shouldn’t she optimize its presentation, same as she optimized her code? Efficiency. That’s all this was.
She caught her reflection in the dark window overlooking the gym. A slender figure in dark, damp clothing, standing apart from the group. The girl in the neon pink bra laughed at something a friend said, a bright, careless sound. Lena looked at her own worn-out t-shirt, the sleeves rolled up haphazardly. It suddenly seemed like a costume from a previous life, a life where she pretended not to care about the vessel her mind inhabited.
Without allowing herself to think, she turned away from the water fountain. She walked directly toward the rack where the pilates mats were stored. Her fingers brushed against the smooth, rubbery surface of one. It was just another form of exercise. A different algorithm for physical maintenance. Better range of motion. Improved core stability. She pulled a mat from the stack, the action feeling both terrifying and inevitable. She unrolled it onto a patch of empty floor, just outside the official class area. She didn’t look at anyone. She just knelt down, placed her hands on the mat, and tried to remember the shape of a downward dog. Her hips lifted into the air, the tights pulling taut. The fabric felt like a second skin now, damp and revealing. She took a deep, shaking breath, and held the pose.