I thought I’d hate him. I was sure his stupid, perfect face would make me furious. Abs shmabs, I silently tsked, hating myself the moment I pressed play.
Yet here I am, in love with my online personal trainer. It’s embarrassing, ridiculous, such a cliche. And as I want to protect my dignity, I’d rather not say who. So let’s just call him Boe Sticks.
Oh Boe, all the ways I love you. This isn’t just about your hot-boy-meets-enthusiastic-dog brand of handsomeness. You’re also unbelievably kind and thoughtful and caring. You so want me to get leaner in my front room. You so want to be the one who makes me succeed where spinning/yoga/Zumba failed. “It’s just 20 minutes,” you say, “I know it’s tough.” You even pretend to get puffed out when I do. God I love you.
But weirdly, even though you look perfect and are perfect, I don’t hate you. I thought I’d end up filing you away with Deliciously Ella under ‘people I want to be but alas can’t stand’. However, you have a saving grace: You’re a bit silly. Those videos of you cack-handedly making salsa that looks a bit like sick. Those pictures of you in nothing but a towel. You’re basically a Hollyoaks character. It’s brilliant.
Crucially though, there is depth to my love. I’m not just in it for your friendly hotness and assurances that I’ve “smashed it”. The fact is your videos work. They really work. I’ve been doing them for two weeks and my thighs have become noticeably better.
Maybe I’m confused by all the endorphins and protein. Maybe I’ve been blinded by the insane shininess of your beautiful man-bun. But I love you Boe Sticks, I love you so very much.