Battle of the Bulge

         Millicent wobbled and panted. She could not remember when or if she had ever felt this light-headed before. That one disastrous date in which she and the quiet boy from Chemistry class spun at warp speed in an out-of-control fair ride had almost caused her to faint. This felt like more. She could hear the blood pounding in her veins. Were the lights dimming? Had her vision blurred? Was she going deaf?

         A sharp elbow stabbed her in the ribs and an errant foot stomped on her tender toes.

         "Hey!" she screeched. "Senior citizen here."

         "Save your breath Millicent love. Just breathe, in and out, in and out. Through your nose. No need to snort. Concentrate on your breath."

         Millicent clamped her mouth shut and wheezed. How ridiculous. Was there any other way to breathe? In and out! As if! Miss Tight Body you're not surrounded by a herd of hippos who don't know their left hand from their eye sockets.

         The whirling dervish cajoling her captives to keep moving and don't stop now, bounced in the humid gym room in front of a wall of gleaming mirrors.

          Does she ever sweat? Sorry, Mama. In this place nobody simply perspires, ladies or not. How does she keep all that hair contained in a bun? Mine's so frazzled I bet I could hook up to a generator and power all the fans in this gym. Are the fans turned on? Where's the cooling breeze. Great. I think I just stepped on my own shoe lace.

         Millicent huffed and puffed. She willed her creaking knees to bend, up and down. She marched, but there was no parade. Her arms pumped , or more likely flailed and flopped. Every muscle quivered. Her poor feet stumbled .

         Even my eyelashes are screaming uncle. Why am I torturing myself? I've survived this long without aerobic exercise. Sure, I stretched my brain as much as I could with mental sit ups. I pushed a boundary, or two. I will admit to running my mouth sometimes. I even jogged my memory when needed. Maman always warned me about jumping to conclusions. I should be in great shape, a fine specimen.

         "Are you flagging, Millicent? I know you can do this. Trust me. This is all worth it. Your body will thank you. Feel that thudding? Feel the burn? It means you're alive. Living beings move. Move with me."

         Millicent glared at the fitness sprite reflected in the glass.

         Something's burning all right. I can smell the smoke. Is it any wonder? My thighs are rubbing together. Is this leotard flammable? Could I just combust, poof, whoosh? I don't believe I could muster up enough spit to douse the flames. At least I cannot be slobbering. Who is that hot mess floundering in the mirror? She has a double, no, a triple chin and who are those arms waving at ? If her tongue hung any lower she'd trip herself.

         Millicent had never shied away from her reflection in the past. Not that she fawned over her image. Of course she checked her teeth for wayward bits of spinach and the odd, black hair that insisted upon sprouting on her chin. If she was honest, she didn't like sticky-uppy hair either. Mirrors served their purpose. Why was that entire wall created of one, gigantic, unflattering mirror?

         Clapping interrupted her momentary lack of focus.

         "That's it for today, class. You did great! Don't forget to cool off with a few stretches."

         Millicent permitted her body to collapse to the floor. Her reflection jiggled and jerked as she reached for the distant ceiling.

         Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who's the flabbiest of them all?

(611 words) Mirror, Mirror Prompt #1