I’m only sixteen but I look way older so I got this job at the gym on 4th because I’m big for my age and I know how to move weight but holy fuck the pressure is actually killing me man. I stand there all day telling these grown ass men and rich ladies from the heights how to live their lives and what to put in their bodies and I’m nodding and looking at their form while my stomach is literally screaming at me. I have to be this perfect machine because that’s what they pay for and if they knew I was just a kid who can’t even afford the supplements I’m supposed to recommend they’d probably laugh me out of the building and I’d be back to nothing. I got this old beat up duffel bag stuffed under the bench in the back and inside is a box of those glazed ones from the spot near the train station—the ones that are like 90 percent sugar and grease. I bought them at like 6am and they’ve been sitting there all day just smelling like heaven through the zipper and it’s all I can think about while I’m counting reps for Mr. Miller. He’s talking about his keto bullshit and how he feels so "clean" or whatever and I’m just like yeah man for sure keep your core tight while I’m fucking dying inside because I want to rip that bag open right there on the squat rack and just bolt. Finally the last person leaves and the lights go half-dim and I lock the front door so fast my hands are shaking. I run to the locker room and it smells like old sweat and bleach and I just collapse on the floor by the showers where nobody can see me through the little gap in the stalls. I don't even use a chair I just sit on the dirty tiles with my bag between my legs and I pull out the donuts and they’re a little squashed now and the box is stained with oil but I don't give a shit. I’m shoving them into my mouth two at a time and the icing is getting on my hands and my work shirt that says LEAD TRAINER on the chest and I’m just fucking inhaling them like an animal... it’s like I’m trying to swallow the stress of the whole day. It’s quiet in there except for the hum of the vending machine and me breathing hard and it’s the only time all day I don't feel like I’m performing or lying to everyone about who I am. But then the sugar hits and the rush goes away and I just feel like absolute garbage. I look at myself in the cracked mirror over the sinks and I see this kid with crumbs on his face pretending to be some fitness god and I hate it so much. I hate that I have to hide and I hate that I’m so hungry all the time because everything in this city costs too much and my mom needs the rent money and I’m just trying to keep my head up but I feel like a total fucking fraud. I’m sitting on the L train right now writing this and my stomach feels like it’s full of hot lead and I can still smell the fried dough on my skin even though I scrubbed my face. This lady next to me is looking at my gym bag and she probably thinks I’m some dedicated athlete coming back from a late session and I just want to scream at her. I have to go home and sleep for four hours and then do it all again tomorrow and put on that fake smile and tell people how to be healthy while I’m just waiting for the moment I can be alone with my secrets again. It’s almost 3am and the train is screeching and I just want to stay on it until it reaches the end of the line and forget I ever had to be anyone at all.