2. Jess

2

JESS

" R ise and shine, sleepyhead!" Mango, Jess Thompson's resident scarlet macaw, flew out of his stand in the living room into the bedroom, squawking and ruffling his crimson feathers.

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?"

Jess lowered the tire with a huff, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. "Hey, Mom! You're early." She tried for a casual tone, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her exhaustion.

She hurried towards her daughter, her gaze sweeping over Jess' reddened face and damp clothes. "It's almost seven, honey. You shouldn't be working yourself this hard."

"But Mom, I have to win the upcoming decathlon at school. The scholarship prize is the only way I can afford college for sports science."

Different emotions spread over her mom's face—pride, worry, and a deep ache of regret. She wasn't able to give Jess the opportunities she craved, the fancy equipment or the sleek gym memberships. All she had was the scrapyard tire and her unwavering love.

"Honey, I know how much this means to you. But you're pushing yourself too hard. What if you get hurt?"

Jess met her mother's gaze with a fierceness that mirrored Sue's own quiet strength. "I won't, Mom. I have to try hard. This is my chance, my only chance."

She reached out, her calloused hand gently cupping Jess' cheek. "I know, sweetie. And I'm so proud of you for chasing your dreams. Believe me, I am. I just wish I could do more to help." Her voice cracked slightly.

Jess squeezed her mother's hand. "You do more than you know, Mom. You work so hard to give me everything you can. It's enough. I promise."

A watery smile touched her lips. Wiping away a stray tear, she said, "Alright then, little athlete. Let's get you inside and make some breakfast."

Present Day…

Jess stood there for a moment, a nostalgic smile gracing her lips as she gazed at the picture on the wall. Those grueling dawn workouts, fueled by the desperate hope of a scholarship, had paid off in ways she could never have imagined, making her not just a fitness trainer but a sought-after fitness influencer.

With a renewed sense of purpose tucked away in her heart, she grabbed her car keys, ready to head out.

Mango, ever the observer, cocked his head, his black eyes gleaming with what could have been amusement. "Looking fierce, huh, little guy?"

She chuckled, ruffling his feathers playfully. "See you later, buddy. Let's go show those clients what real fitness is all about."

The crisp autumn air whipped through Jess' hair as she pulled into the parking lot of the outdoor fitness station. Her signature morning class, the aptly named "Morning Gruel," was notorious for separating the wheat from the chaff.

It was a high-intensity interval training session designed to burn calories and leave participants begging for mercy (in the best way possible, of course).

Today's crew stood huddled in various states of anticipation—some with water bottles clutched tightly, others bouncing on the balls of their feet, ready for action.

Jess walked towards them, her smile radiating a confidence that bordered on intensity. Scanning the faces before her, she saw a mix of regulars—battle-hardened veterans sporting determined expressions—and some newbies.

"Alright, Gruelers! Ready to earn your breakfast? Don't come in here expecting a leisurely stroll. This is high-octane fitness, designed to drill you!"

A feel of nervous energy ran through the group, but Jess didn't flinch. Soft wasn't on the menu. Her clients weren't here for pats on the back; they were here for results, and she was the drill sergeant ready to deliver.

"...Let's loosen those rusty joints. High knees, people, higher! Feel the blood pumping, feel your body waking up!"

Each command was a rallying cry, coated with a tough love that brooked no excuses. Jumping jacks turned into burpees, high knees transitioned into lunges, each repetition executed with a focus on form and explosiveness.

"Harder! Show your body who's boss. Pain is temporary, quitting is forever!"

No time for self-pity, no room for excuses. She demanded effort, sweat, and the unwavering belief that they could conquer anything she threw their way.

By the end of the session, the group was a collective mess of sweat and exhilaration. Collapsed on the cool grass, some panted for breath, others wore triumphant grins that spoke volumes.

"Alright, warriors! You did good today. Remember, every drop of sweat, every burning muscle, is a step closer to the version of yourself you crave to be. Now, get some protein in those bellies, and come back for more tomorrow!"