Page 5 of The TV Show Rival
The mischievous little terror had become her personal wake-up call ever since she’d adopted him a few years ago. No need for regular alarms because Mango right here, with his flamboyant squawks and insatiable curiosity, was the perfect way to start a day dedicated to helping others achieve their fitness goals.
With another loud squawk and a series of enthusiastic chirps, Mango perched on the edge of her nightstand.
Jess cracked open one eye, a groan escaping her lips. “Alright, alright, Mango. I hear you. Sunshine and rainbows comin’ right up.”
Mango tilted his head, regarding her with an intelligent glint in his beady black eyes. He squawked again, this time a series of clicks and whistles that Jess, through years of cohabitation, had come to interpret as a demand for a head scratch.
Smiling sleepily, she reached out a hand, offering him a gentle scratch behind his feathery crest. “You’re such a tyrant, you know that?”
Despite the grumbling, she secretly cherished Mango’s morning wake-up calls. They were a quirky reminder of the joyful chaos that came with being a pet owner.
With a sigh, she threw back the covers, and headed to the closet. There she shed off her pajamas for a well-worn tank top and a pair of capri leggings that hugged her curves in all the right places.
Getting to the kitchen, she glugged down a tall glass of cool water from the water dispenser, leaving her feeling rehydrated. Next, breakfast. Fueling her body was key, especially with a busy day of training ahead.
She whipped up a quick scramble of eggs and paired it with creamy avocado slices, and a slice of whole-grain toast completed the picture of a healthy and satisfying meal.
As she devoured her breakfast at the dining table, she glanced at Mango, who was now mimicking the sound of a kettle whistling, his head bobbing with each chirp. She laughed. Maybe a parrot alarm wasn’t the most conventional choice, but it certainly added a touch of personality to her mornings.
Hitting the play button on her high-energy playlist, and pulling out a kettlebell, Jess transformed her living room into her own personal gym. A quick dynamic warmup got her blood flowing, followed by a series of exercises that challenged her strength and endurance.
Squats that burned in her quads, lunges that tested her balance, pushups that sent her arms screaming in protest; each repetition fueled by a quiet determination to stay ahead of the curve.
After an intense but exhilarating forty-five minutes, Jess collapsed onto her couch, chest heaving and breath ragged.
A quick trip to the shower and she was feeling refreshed and invigorated. Skincare came next, a simple routine of cleanser, moisturizer, and a touch of sunscreen.
Standing before her closet, Jess surveyed her options. She needed something comfortable enough to move in but also stylish enough to project an image of confidence and expertise.
She opted for a pair of sleek black yoga pants and a bright coral tank top, the color of a summer sunrise, added a pop of color. Finally, she tossed on a light zip-up jacket, perfect for layering throughout the day.
She slicked her hair back into a neat ponytail and applied light make up.
Comfortable? Check. Stylish? Absolutely. Most importantly, did she feel confident? A wide grin split her face. You bet she did.
She snapped some pics of herself for her instagram. Being a fitness influencer didn’t come without constantly looking amazing and consistently putting herself out there.
With a final spritz of her favorite perfume, Jess grabbed her phone, and scrolled through her Instagram feed, pausing to admire a post featuring a client who had achieved incredible results. A quick comment of encouragement and a virtual high five later, Jess moved on to respond to direct messages.
Questions about workout routines, requests for meal plan advice, and heartfelt messages of gratitude—Jess took the time to answer each one, her fingers flying across the screen.
With a satisfied sigh, Jess locked her phone and headed towards the door. But on her way out, her gaze fell on a picture frame nestled on the wall. Inside, a younger Jess, beaming in a cap and gown, with a diploma clutched proudly in her hand.
On the certificate was written Kinesiology and Sports Science. This was a testament that the countless hours of studying and grueling exercises unlocked the door to a career she loved.
For a moment, she paused, the memory of that determined young woman coming to her mind…
12 years ago…
The rising morning sun beat across the patchy grass of a backyard in rural Ohio.
Fifteen-year-old Jess grunted with effort; her face contorted in a determined frown as she hoisted a weathered car tire off the ground. It wasn’t a fancy gym weight, but it was the best she could scrounge from the local junkyard.
The backyard itself was a testament to their modest circumstances. A weather-beaten clothesline strung between two rickety wooden posts strained under the weight of mismatched laundry. A lopsided swing set, its once-vibrant red paint faded to a dull rust, stood abandoned in a corner.
The back door creaked open, and Jess’ mom, Mrs. Sue Thompson, stepped into the yard. She was a woman worn thin by years of nightshifts at the local factory. She stopped short, her eyes widening at the sight of Jess straining against the tire.
“Jess, honey! What on earth are you doing?”