Skips Its Turn

Gareth was fed-up and feeling down. January had to be the toughest month of the year. Christmas had been wonderful, family and friends and lots of food and drink. But the dark, bleak days of January were just brutal. The initial optimism of the New Year celebrations had quickly dissolved, becoming enveloped in the January gloom. 

Like a lot of people, Gareth had over-indulged over the holiday period. Mind you, he had to admit, he always over-indulged. In the run up to Christmas, all Gareth had seemed to be doing was eating and drinking. At work all through December there had been an endless flow of boxes of chocolates, mince pies and Christmas cake. His colleagues were always passing round the tubs of goodies. On the rare occasions when he had summoned up the will-power to refuse, his colleagues had waved the tub of chocolates.

Come on, Gareth, it’s Christmas. 

No, I’m trying to be good.

Gaz, come on. Live a little. 

Go on then. He’d conceded, before taking a handful of sweets that he really didn’t want. He had decided this New Year would be his turning point. This year, he had vowed, would be his year, the year that he turned everything around. He had joined his local gym, with the rest of the New Year’s Resolution crowd. He had been shown round the gym, all dumb-bells, weight machines, treadmills and cross-trainers. Yes, he’d thought, he would make this place his new hang-out. 

After the first week, his energy and enthusiasm for the new healthy regime drained. The novelty of this fresh had started to wear off. 

And here we were, just weeks into the New Year, and the hopefulness of the start of the year seemed an awfully long time ago. Gareth was finding it difficult to stay motivated. He had quickly reverted back to his old habits. He hardly went to the gym these days and would find any excuse for a takeaway. He was stuck in a rut and he knew it.

Gareth had been struggling to manage his weight for as long as he could remember. He knew he should eat healthy, he knew he should get more exercise, but it was tough. Work and life in general could be such a slog. How was he expected to opt for the healthy option and go to the gym, after a tough day at the office, and the rush-hour drive home?

Food was such a key part of his life. It always had been. His relationship with food was driven by emotion. Food was how he celebrated and how he commiserated. If he was having a good day, or received good news, he would have some nice take-out food delivered as a reward and to treat himself. If he was having a bad day, he would stop for takeaway food to cheer himself up and raise his spirits.

There seemed to be temptation all around. At the office there always seemed to be unhealthy food on offer. In January, the Christmas treats had given way to cakes and cookies. If someone was leaving there were cakes, if someone had good news, they got the treats in. And birthday cakes was a big thing at work. One guy even got the cakes in because his beloved football team had sacked their failing manager.

The treats were always offered in such a pushy way. Gareth always felt pressure to take the goodies. It felt rude to turn down the cakes. It always seemed like a snub. Gareth was sure he would cause offense, that by turning down a birthday cake, you were wishing them a rubbish birthday. 

That evening his friend messaged to remind him, they were all going out for a curry the following evening. It would be a really good night, he was certain. Sure, his friends’ humour could be a bit close to the knuckle sometimes, but they were just having a laugh, weren’t they? It was just banter.

Indian food was just delicious. Too good to resist. His mouth watered at the thought. It would be a good night and the food they served at the Eastern Tandoori restaurant was out of this world. Gareth decided to go along but try and be as healthy as he could. Surely, he could be healthy and still eat out. Surely it didn’t have to be one or the other. Maybe the answer was a compromise. Yes, that was the solution. To go along but be as good as he could. 

He joined the lads at Indian restaurant, finding a seat at the long table. The Sitar music and aroma of wonderful food set the scene perfectly. When the waiter came to take their order, the group called out what they would like. They reeled off a divine selection of starters, poppadom and chutneys. One of his friends pointed.

‘Big Gaz, what starter are you having?’ 

‘No starter for me, thanks. I’m pacing myself.’ Gareth said.

‘Nonsense.’ His friend turned to the waiter. ‘He’ll have a large portion of Onion Bhaji.’

The waiter nodded and scribbled down the request. They ordered a selection of curries, sides of rice, chips and Naan bread. And another round of beer.

The food was as good as anticipated, the perfect amount of spice. Just delicious. As the main courses were served, Gareth was still determined to try and control the amount of food he was eating. The bread was being passed around the table, the group ripping off chunks of Naan. As the plate was passed his way, Gareth waved a hand.

‘I’m good, thanks. None for me.’ He said.

The lads exchanged confused glances.

‘I’m trying to be healthy. I’ve joined a gym, actually.’ Gareth said, unsure what reaction that would bring.

Would the group insist he was fine as he was, that he didn’t need to lose any weight? Would they encourage him, congratulate him on taking the decision, and wish him luck on his journey?

As one, the group burst into laughter as though a hilarious joke had just been told. Gareth felt his cheeks redden.

‘I’m not being funny, big feller, but you have joined a gym?’ One friend said.

‘I give it a week.’ Someone else added. 

The group laughed again. 

The conversation then switched to another topic, but his friends’ reaction to his weight-loss ambitions still niggled at him. Gareth didn’t join the chat, remaining quiet, stunned by his friends’ cruel remarks.

And January still lingered. The bleak winter was raging. Outside was cold and dark and raining. Gareth just couldn’t find motivation and focus. The days of Spring seemed such a long time away. It felt like the dark, cold, lonely winter would last forever and that the glory days of Spring would never arrive. How was he supposed to stay motivated at this time of year, especially when the people he thought he could rely on for support, were only ridiculing him? It was all just too much. 

Perhaps if his friends had encouraged him, rather than mocking him, he might be a bit more inclined to stick to the new regime. If he knew that his friends were behind him, were supportive, then his mindset would have been different. As it was, his friends were sneering and waiting for him to fail. That seemed to undermine everything he was trying to achieve. 

As the weeks went by his motivation was non-existent. When he would meet his friends, the ribbing would start almost immediately.

‘Did you go to the gym last night?’

Gareth shook his head.

‘Of course you didn’t. Knew it wouldn’t last.’

‘What’s your favourite machine at the gym? The vending machine?’ Another friend said.

Gareth sensed the edge, the nastiness to their laughter. This wasn’t harmless leg-pulling. There was a meanness there.

His friend Barry headed to the bar to get the drinks in. When he returned, he placed the beers down and also packets of crisps in a variety of flavours. He tossed Gareth a packet, there you go, Big Man. Gareth was unsure if he was being nice or being insulting. Then he noticed the smirks and amused glances. This was all just a big joke to them. They knew how much this meant to him. 

He looked at them as if seeing them for the first time. He suddenly saw through their so-called banter. It was mean, it was nasty. 

The following weekend, Gareth was in the pub with his friends as usual. They were chatting and drinking beer, having a laugh at someone’s expense. A few moments later the barman brought over trays of bar stacks. The round table was suddenly full of loaded fries and chicken wings.

‘Get stuck in lads.’ Keith said.

Gareth held back, sipping his beer. 

‘Come on, Big Gaz. Fill your boots.’ A tray was pushed in his direction.

Gareth nodded, saying nothing. As he chewed on a chicken wing, he noticed he was the only one eating.

‘I thought this year was going to be your year, Big Gaz?’ One of them asked.

Gareth didn’t reply. What was he supposed to say to that? 

He couldn’t get out of his head the way his friends treated people. They were just cruel, and he was the butt of the joke most of the time. Even the way they referred to him was belittling and demeaning, always refer to him as Big Gaz, or the big feller, or Big Man. His friends always had a rather cutting humour. 

Gareth looked at the group, his so-called friends, again. His view of them had shifted. He had known the guys for years, but if he actually thought about it, they didn’t seem to be very nice people.

By early February, Gareth was still feeling down. One evening on the drive home from work, the bubbly radio DJ announced that it was Chinese New Year. 

Happy Lunar New Year to those who celebrate it. Gareth turned the radio up and listened intently. The Lunar New Year marks the end of winter and the beginning of Spring. A time of renewal and hope. A time for fresh starts. 

That really struck a chord with him. Having tried and failed in the horror of January, maybe this was his second chance at that fresh start he really wanted to make. Perhaps this was the opportunity he was looking for. 

All that evening his mind raced. Chinese New Year, the Lunar New Year, that was his opportunity. The start of Spring. Yes, they were finally coming into the Spring season. That was the time for change. Spring was the time for the fresh start he was yearning for. The nights would be getting lighter, the nice weather was on the way. He would no longer be going to work and coming home in the pitch-black darkness. The flowers and trees would be coming into bloom soon enough. It was his chance to bloom. 

He recalled a saying he’d once heard. No winter lasts forever; no Spring skips its turn. 

The following evening, he joined his friends in the pub. The group greeted him, addressing him in the usual way, Big Gaz, Big Feller. He was halfway through his first drink when the comments started.

‘How’s the gym going, Big Man?’ Someone said.

The group sniggered and exchanged amused glances. Gareth didn’t reply.

‘Have you put your name down for the Manchester Marathon yet, Big Guy?’

The sniggering became full-blown laughter. 

‘That’s enough.’ Gareth said. 

Gareth slammed his half-finish beer down on the table. He got to his feet and zipped his jacket up. 

‘Sorry, Gaz. Sorry. It was only banter. We’re only messing. Seriously, you’re looking well.’

‘Are you still thinking of going on that diet?’ Another so-called friend asked with a grin.

‘I am on a diet, and I’m thinking,’ he said, ‘that I need new friends.’ 

He turned away and headed for the door without looking back.

Gareth marched down the street, reeling. He was so fed-up, upset and angry, all at the same time. Anger and determination mixed with sadness and frustration. Why did his friends have to be like that? As he walked, he thought about how mean-spirited his group of friends were. Surely real friends, true friends, wouldn’t treat him like that. 

They seemed to mock and sneer each other’s misfortune. One guy had had problems with his new job, and rather than be there and support him, the group had simply laughed that he could always get a job flipping burgers or cleaning windows. Another lad had been having marital trouble. His marriage had been on the rocks for a while. Rather than console and help, and suggesting ways to get thinks back on track, to patch things up, they tried to persuade him to drink more and stay out later than usual, buying him shots of whiskey and sniggering as he staggered drunkenly home to his wife. 

Where was the loyalty? Where was the camaraderie? He had put it down to just having a laugh, to just banter, but he now sensed there was a nastiness, a seriousness, behind the apparent jokiness. He wiped the tears away from his eyes with his coat sleeve.

He reached his local food take-out shop. The flashing lights of the neon sign beckoned him like a casino slot machine. He often stopped off at the takeaway for a late-night kebab on his way home from the pub. The staff knew him and always greeted him warmly. A large greasy kebab, with chilli sauce was his comfort food. 

He paused in the doorway. The smell of the frying food made his mouth water. Yes, a large kebab, with all the trimmings, with sides of French fries and chicken nuggets, that would make him feel better. Wouldn’t it?

A voice in his head whispered. Is this really what you want? Is this the answer? He shook his head. No. Just, No. 

Inside the kebab shop, a guy leaning on the counter, waiting for his food order, glanced around at the guy just standing in the doorway.

‘Not today.’ Gareth said to himself.

He turned away from the door and looked up the street. The streetlights illuminating the pavement stretched away up the road. Home was just over a mile. An idea occurred to him. He nodded. He took a deep breath and started running, a slow jog. He felt like he was setting off on an adventure, charting unknown territory. His run was a slow-paced shuffle, but he was moving. He wasn’t stumbling and bumbling. He was running. This was it. 

He had just crossed his own personal start-line, in a race he would finish in his own good time, and on his own terms. But he would finish it, of that he was determined. As he set off running, he nodded to himself. He yelled in a loud determined voice, a beaming smile on his face.

‘This year starts now!’

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom