The train clattered along, whisking Kate far from her everyday life, the rhythmic thumps of the wheels perfectly in sync with her racing heart. Out the window, familiar English countrysides zipped past: patchwork fields, stumpy hedgerows, backs of sleepy little stationsall looking a bit like scenes from those grainy VHS tapes she hadnt watched since her university days.
The nerves wouldnt let go of her. She sat in her carriage fiddling absently with her jeans, feeling not the usual soft curve of her leg, but, to her shock, the firmer outline of muscle. The dress shed chosen was a masterpiece in understated British styleclassic, well-cut, properbut it hung on her just as shed always imagined: elegantly loose, accenting her waist but not drowning her in fabric. Shed bought it months ago, in a fit of wistful optimism, and it had hung with the tags on, as if waiting for a miracle. Yet here it was, on her, and she was here, hoping to impress.
Still, nerves jangled inside. She kept flicking through old Facebook photos in her mind. Laurastill rail-thin, but now with that flawless skin, thanks to youth injections as shed joked in her posts. Oliviaon the fuller side, but her dramatic makeup and swish haircut made her look every inch the successful, confident woman about town. And Isobelall hiking boots and yoga mats, wiry as a whippet, and those chic silver streaks in her hair that somehow seemed more rebellious than tired.
And me? Kate wondered, catching her faint reflection in the glass. Still just Kate. The worlds slowest gainer. That old joke from her gym trainer used to sting, but now it felt truer than ever. Over the last year, shed actually slowed right down. The breathlessness that once dogged her up the stairs had vanished. Even those weary knees felt lighter, replaced by a quiet strength she almost felt proud of, especially the day she managed her first squat, unaided and unafraid. But, in the mirror at the station loo before boarding, all shed managed to see were the ever-deepening smile lines, the crinkles at her eyes that wouldnt budge regardless of her mood, and that faint neck crease which, she was certain, gave away her age in seconds.
Her husband had hugged her before she lefthis arms now able to meet at her newly trimmed waistand said, With a figure like yours, who needs wrinkle cream? They’ll be dying of envy, darling. His grin was genuine; she saw the spark in his eyes she hadnt noticed since the night theyd married.
You really think theyre all unchanged? shed mumbled, as he pecked her on the head.
Ive seen the internet too, you know! hed chuckled.
Shed snorted. Yes, but photos always fib!
He just laughed. Take a look at yours. Absolute goddess. Theyll be just as terrified as you.
But his confidence had stayed behind on the chilly platform with the lingering whiff of Costa. She wasnt only headed back to see old friends, but back to the very city of her youthback when she was flippant, ready for anything, and slim purely through lack of eating and little sleep. That Kate had stayed up late poring over books, then sparred cheekily with professors the next day. Could the forty-three-year-old KateKate whod conquered the lift and now loved a decent plankpossibly catch up to the twenty-year-old version of herself?
She tapped her phone, but not for Facebook this time. She opened her fitness app, scrolling through months of dull, triumphant statistics. No sun-drenched bikini selfies herejust charts: twelve to fifteen workouts a month, over three hundred miles walked, ten centimetres off her waist, seven from her hips. Dull, perhapsbut to her, they were the most glorious numbers in the world. Here, for once, was the truth. Not a clever angle, or a filter, or golden hour light. This was her, as she really was. Shed done itshed risen off the sofa, sobbed through the first at-home workout, shunned third helpings at supper, and learned to love tired muscles far more than a sick stomach.
The train slowed; she recognised the outline of the city where shed once arrived, two suitcases and ridiculous optimism in hand. Her heart skipped. The nerves came back with a vengeance. She clutched her handbagsmaller these days, trendy, clutched at the side to show off the arm rather than sling over the shoulderand stepped onto the platform. The air from the river hit her like a blast from the past: chilly, damp, and unmistakably reminiscent of youth.
Kate took a slow, deep breath, drew back her shouldersthank you posture practice!and reminded herself she wasnt here to compete. She was here for a reunion: with old pals, and maybe, just maybe, that twenty-year-old herself still wandering these lanes. Perhaps tonight they’d finally meet.
The café announced itself as The Old Quay, despite being solidly a ten-minute march from anything resembling water. Miraculously, it was still around, its red brick walls now adorned with industrial chicand probably called a loft these days. It looked just as she remembered. She paused in the doorway, scanning for familiar faces.
And there they were. By the window, three women doubling over in laughter. Laura, Olivia, Isobel. For a moment, Kate saw them as theyd been at twenty: low-slung jeans, sparkly tops, and the world at their feet. She blinked and they transformedstill alive with that old mischief, Lauras giddy head tilt mid-laugh, Olivia nervously fiddling her earring. Yet time had left its kindly mark on each face, each stance. And Kate, stepping forward, was startled to realise she didnt feel terroronly an insatiable, almost scientific curiosity.
Katie! Laura shrieked. Oh, thank goodness! Finally!
The hugs were loud and perfumed, the chatter immediate. She was ushered to a seat, bombarded with questions, handed a cappuccino before shed even taken her coat off.
Laura started off. Her life had been a West End drama: career highs, a divorce, whirlwind romance, and holidays galore. Her face was nearly flawless, though Kate spotted tiny fatigue lines the best beauty clinic couldnt fix.
Im holding it together, girls, Laura declared, summing up a lifetime in one phrase.
Olivia talked about her flower shop: wobbly trade, demanding suppliers, eccentric orders. She looked expensive and capable. Her curves were an assetpart of her whole brand, in factbut Kate, ever the observer, noticed she nudged her dessert plate further away and a shadow flickered in her eyes at the mention of health.
Doctor says my blood pressures playing uplose a bit, he saysnow where would I find the time? She waggled a hand dismissively.
Isobels turn followed. Once a militant vegan, now full-time mother of three (the last barely a year old), she absolutely radiated maternal joy, though three rounds of pregnancy had left her frame softer than before. Kate was quietly startled by the thoughthalf ashamedShe looksan ordinary woman. Heavier than I ever was, at my heaviest. Then, chiding herself, But shes just had a third baby! Fair enough
And then, inevitably, all eyes swivelled to Kate.
What about you? teased Laura. You never post online! You look incredseriously, whats your secret?
Kate blushed, nervously swirling her coffee. The tension melted, replaced by an odd sense of peace.
If you can call it an achievement she said, Ive mostly been losing weight.
A shocked silence. Then the chorus.
Weight? Yours?
Oh, dont be silly!
I dont believe you for a second, Katie!
They simply couldnt imagine her otherwiseface sharp, back straight, shoulders peeking from her dress. Her secrecy served her well; shed become an enigma.
Promise, she said, flicking through her photos. Honestly, I can hardly bear to look.
She held up one of her dreaded before shots: herself on the sofa, baggy t-shirt, puffy face, eyes half-closed. Easily fifty, if not more. The others gapedback and forth, at photo, at Kate, at photo again.
My wordKatie, is that you? Not a filter? whispered Isobel, wide-eyed.
Thats me. Nearly a year ago.
Then came the inevitable barrage:
How? What?! Diet? Surgery? Gym? Magic beans? Spill!
Kate had a sip, letting the storm blow itself out.
No secret, really, she admitted, firm and steady. Just started eating mindfully. Not starvingjust paying attention. Tried a gymhired a trainer, evenbut honestly, the commute was killing me and the weight kept creeping up. Then a mate (thank you, Nicola!) mentioned this online platform
She told them, just as Nicola once had: about FitStarshow it let her work out at home, whenever she wanted, whoever she fancied, however she felt. Longevity yoga one night, riotous dance cardio the next, or a few gentle stretches for a creaky back. No shouty trainers, no public humiliationjust her, her living room, and gradual, real progress. The first month shed hated every second. Then, shockingly, shed discovered she actually craved the sense of power it gave her.
And you know what my first gym trainer told me? Kate said, laying it on for effect. At your age, the best you can hope for is to fatten up slowly. Honestly, I could have wept.
They hung on every syllable.
So I didnt settle for slow fattening. FitStars helped me choose slowbut steadyslimming. And as you can see, well it worked!
She finished, and for the first time, let herself feel the flood of satisfaction: shed climbed the mountain. She wasnt the victim of an unfair world anymoreshed done it.
A pauseand then the table erupted.
Send the link! Immediately!
What about back pain? Please tell me theres something?
And metheres a forever price, right? Is that still going?
Life saver, Kate! I thought I was doomed to bariatric surgery!
Laughing, Kate whipped out her phone and dropped the link into a chat that Olivia, with her businesslike efficiency, had already titled Fitness ChallengeMonday is Day One!
The bill arrived. Isobel, still gazing up at Kate with awe, shook her head.
And there I was thinking youd just inherited the right genes.
Kate caught her reflection in the café windowsmiling, bright-eyed, a sharp outline against the evening. It wasnt luck. It was work. Her work. And looking at her friendsalready debating what class to try firstshe realised this wasnt the end of her story at all. Actually, this felt more like the start. For all of them.
