Erinn Hayes

My only possessions were my Fitbit, my slop pail, and my picture of Matt.

I drew it from memory on a scrap of Batwing.

Every night after Zumba and our vicious nude wrestling matches, I would kiss it.

Two weeks after I started the program, I looked better than I'd ever dared to dream.

I had lost five pounds, and I could actually see some definition in my arms.

I went to my room, I packed my bags, and thanked my trainer for all her help.

When I awoke from the beating she gave me...

My trainer informed me that I wasn't even 5% of the way through the program.

For starters, I needed to drop my BMI by 40%, add 11 pounds of muscle, and 6 pounds of titty fat.

And even if I did achieve those stats, I wouldn't decide when I was done.

I would be told.

I couldn't believe it.

I was gonna look so amazing on my wedding day.

Later that night, as I rubbed a numbing poultice into my wounds, a troubling thought crept into my mind.

When I was through with the program, I was gonna be really hot.

In fact, I would probably be so hot that I didn't really know if Matt and I would make sense anymore.

I mentally scrolled through the men who would be left in my league, and all I could come up with was Tom Hiddleston, 90s-era Denzel, and Shang from Mulan.

I sat for a moment.

I pondered the absurdity of my situation.

Training for a wedding that would render obsolete by my very training.