BHM On Thin Ice - by Ashblonde (~BHM, ~FFA, Romance)

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Busy writing
May 8, 2006
~BHM, ~FFA, Romance: She wanted nothing to do with a hockey jock; he couldn’t stand a self-centered ice princess. Could this frosty arrangement ever melt into something a little bit warmer?

[Author's note: This is not a gaining tale in the strict sense... at least it’s not a narrative that follows the lovely trajectory of thinner to fatter. But matters of fat and related lustiness meander throughout, so all is not lost]

On Thin Ice
By Ashblonde

Part One: Logan

“I’m sorry Logan, I can’t start a 300-pound defenseman this year; I won’t do it.”

“I know, Coach, I just need a few weeks in camp to drop some weight,” Logan reassured the man who had personally recruited him from his AAA league team in suburban Minneapolis to the University of Minnesota’s men’s hockey team. “I can still compete out there. My hip is feeling great and my legs are stronger than ever. I was unstoppable at pickup games this summer.”

“Pickup games against amateurs?” Coach raised both of his eyebrows.

“Hey, I’m an amateur too,” Logan smiled meekly, tried to lighten things up.

“You have always skated well for a big man, but you’ve lost the agility and edge you used to have,” Coach Mike was unfazed, ignoring Logan’s attempt at humor, “and we can’t afford more penalties when opponents bounce off you and land hard on the ice.”

Logan sat silently now, with a lump forming in his throat.

"We knew when we recruited you that you had this tendency to be heavy, but I fought for you because you have so much potential. You’re one of the smartest players I’ve ever coached. And we proved them wrong, didn’t we? You showed them a heavier player can compete at this level. But I can't defend this now," he pointed at the number recorded on his physical report: 291.

Logan just shook his head. Another conversation about his weight. He had always hated the start of every camp, stripping down to his boxer briefs, stepping on a scale in front of the whole team, and having his body fat grabbed, pinched, measured and tracked. But at this latest weigh-in, Logan actually gasped louder than the trainer when the number showed up on the scale. He knew he’d been in denial... massively fat denial.

Why did I eat that huge meal the night before first weigh-in? He kicked himself inside. He could have easily come in under 290 if he had just gone paleo for a couple of days and drank a bunch of diuretic tea the night before.

“Maybe a year red-shirted will do you some good, and give you a chance to reset your priorities,” Coach continued. “We really shouldn’t have let you spend the summer away in Colorado; that was a bad idea.”

The lump in his throat felt like it grew to the size of a grapefruit. He looked down into his lap. What lap? All he could see was his damn fat belly laying on it. Lord, how did I get here?

Coach Mike was right though. Those three months with his cousin in Denver really didn’t do him any favors. His intentions were good going into the plan. He was going to work out with some NCAA players in the Denver area that one of his teammates connected him with. He found a gym and went every day at first, and also got extra time on the ice playing pickup games with guys from local hockey clubs. But when he felt his hip flexor acting up again in July, there was a lot more resting time than active time. And throughout, there was probably too much beer drinking and definitely way too much eating.

“The scholarship situation is iffy; at best you may only get part of it this year. You have the highest GPA on the team so we’ll see what we can do about keeping it going. If you show us some commitment off the ice and improve your practice performance, we’ll try to turn this around for next year,” Coach stood up, signaling that the conversation was over.

So that was it. All of those years of training, dedication... literal blood, sweat and tears. Not to mention permanent scars, injured ligaments and broken bones... all out the window? Seriously? Am I really done competing?

Logan had always fought his tendency to be overweight, but his parents and coaches reassured him that he would thin out with height and more time on the ice, and at times that had been true. When he reached his final height at 6’1” though, there was no more hope of thinning out vertically. His voracious appetite never thinned out anyway, and over the last year, it seemed to have taken on a life of its own. He sometimes felt possessed by a hungry demon that wouldn’t relent until his belly was swollen full. All the calorie-burning time at practice and miles on the cardio bike couldn’t cover every enormous meal, along with the snacking and beer drinking that he sometimes enjoyed too.

He headed back to his apartment, feeling dejected and hungry. Hungry again? Damn. How was he going to explain his shameful demotion to his teammates, his friends, and worst of all, his father? That he had gotten too fat for hockey? The game his parents had sacrificed so much time and money for? His dad had warned him about going to Denver. Logan winced remembering the shocked look on his father’s face when he picked up his son at the airport.

Oh, and the media...great... NCAA bloggers could be vicious. He already figured he’d bear the humiliating brunt of the failed athlete trope in the season opening news cycle. They’d go after him especially hard because of his looks. He had been chirped at a lot for being a ‘pretty boy’ his first couple of years as a Gopher, now probably making him an even bigger target for ridicule. Sickened by these thoughts, for once he actually lost his appetite and collapsed on his bed.

Glancing at the mounting texts on his phone, there were too many depressing commiserations coming in to even respond to, and he still had to call his Dad to break the news. But right now he just needed a nap to forget the day’s misery.

As he was about to nod off, he got a text from his Dad:

Talked to Coach, we have a plan.
Logan sighed. At least his dad already heard the mortifying news directly from Coach, and he wouldn’t suffer the further humiliation of having to report the gory details himself.

You need to stay committed on the ice

Practice every day with the team

But we’re going to get you a trainer too
Some cut, crazy, meathead who will make me feel like crap about myself, I’m sure, he thought. He leaned back and fell asleep.

Logan awoke famished again, just like every time he tried to cut back on meals. Food was like a drug. He could skip eating at times, but only for so long. As soon as he took the first bite, he wouldn’t be satisfied until he was stuffed. At least drug addicts could leave drugs behind, but rabid hunger pushed him farther into an overweight hole with each big meal.

He had kept it at bay at various times in his life, but how would he beat it back now? It was his childhood chubbiness, along with cruel taunts from his older sister that prompted his parents to put him in every sport possible. He remembered feeling like a lumbering fool in soccer and basketball, but on the ice his heft didn’t matter so much. He could use his strong legs to give him speed and defy the gravity that pulled him down in other sports. He also loved the way his hockey uniform and pads hid his extra weight, unlike the tight jerseys that clung to his fat in other sports.

One of his youth coaches, witnessing his exceptional skating ability, fast reflexes and intellect, took an interest in his potential as an elite player. He also gave him a lot of tips on controlling his diet and putting in extra time at the gym. Logan’s weight finally began to relent when he entered high school. His body got to a place that he was almost proud of, save the pesky love handle fat that never seemed to quite disappear. At least his mushy gut was mostly gone, and he felt more comfortable in his skin. During his sophomore year, he finally achieved the ultimate teenage trifecta: athletic success, honor roll grades, and a cute girlfriend.

Abbey liked Logan’s slimmer look and would not allow him to gain an ounce while she had influence over him. The night they first kissed at a friend’s party, she pulled his hand from the carton of pizza he was about to dig into, “You don’t want to get fat again, do you?” Her words still stung in his head, still even to this day.

Logan had crushed on Abbey from the first time he saw her in sixth grade. He wasn’t shy in general, but he knew her enough to know that she wouldn’t set her eyes on the chunky kid, no matter how dominating he was on the ice, or how high his grades were. But as he moved through puberty, the scales trended downward in his favor. He managed to finally drop that frustrating belly flab that had dogged him throughout middle school.

Abbey’s constant and shameful reminders of his weight issues continued to pressure him though. He always felt like he was being shadowed by his chubby past, and that he could easily lose her the instant he couldn’t control himself around food. He even avoided going out to eat with her so that every morsel he consumed wasn’t scrutinized. But he fell in love with Abbey, and for a while, the hunger for food was replaced by the desire for her affection and approval.

His coaches had high praise for his weight loss as well. He got a bit faster on the ice too, even if he lost some of the physical dominance his size had given him. From there he won starting positions on his high school and AAA teams, along with growing notice from NCAA, USHL and WHL scouts.

Laying in his bed now, thinking back to those days, Logan grabbed his phone and scrolled through old photos he had kept of Abbey with him at Prom, looking so happy. He was at least 80 pounds lighter in those photos than he was today. We were a great looking couple, he sighed. They seemed happy anyway, until she announced that she was sick of Minnesota and its brutally cold winters. After being accepted to the University of Texas, she informed him she wasn’t interested in a long distance relationship and ended things that summer before college, which pretty much broke his heart.

He hadn’t expected it to hurt him that much. He was supposed to be on top of the world, with our without her... having signed a letter of intent with a full athletic scholarship to play for his beloved Gophers. Everyone was in his ear about what he could achieve professionally if he set his mind to it. But it wasn’t a coincidence that his weight began a long, slow ascent after Abbey stopped taking his calls.

Despite putting on a few pounds, he had an excellent first season as an impact defenseman, with solid stats in assists and blocked shots. He was always in the weight room, trying to fight any accumulating fat by building more muscle. The trainers made comments, but the coaches didn’t seem overly concerned at first, as freshmen athletes generally got bigger as their bodies matured and strengthened. Entering his sophomore season though, everyone definitely noticed his added summer gain, and pushed him into a low carb diet regimen. By mid-season, he had gotten back down under 230, and enjoyed more on-ice success.

Off-ice success was more complicated. There were always girls hanging around the team, and it was kind of alarming to suddenly get so much aggressive attention. He had been so devoted to his high school girlfriend, that he had rarely noticed other girls. It was always all about Abbey. And before Abbey had come along, he had spent enough sensitive years bearing the brunt of fat jokes from opposing teams and their fans that he had learned early how to cut himself off mentally from what was happening in the crowd.

But the crowds were so much bigger now, and there were so many more fans... once he started paying attention again, he realized he was getting noticed as an object of hockey groupie desire. He smirked to himself, thinking of the fun he had with it for a while, but womanizing was not a comfortable way of life for him. He wouldn’t admit it to any of his teammates, but deep down he preferred a stable relationship over serial hookups.

Logan’s player days ended during his sophomore season, when he met Emily, a friend of one of his teammate’s girlfriends. She kind of reminded him of Abbey, with girl-next-door looks, and a curvy little body that he loved lying alongside. She was more interested in academic achievement than parties, which fit well with his student athlete regimen. Staying out of trouble and getting good grades was a necessity for NCAA eligibility, so he was relieved to be with someone who would keep him on the right path, unlike the barrage of puck bunnies that his coaches repeatedly warned him about.

There was a downside to settling down, though. He got comfortable with her and began to slide on his diet discipline in a way that Abbey would never have let happen. After a spring of rehabbing his hip and a summer of relaxing a little too much, he started his junior season hovering at 245, and then no one was happy. The constant lectures about dropping weight and cutting fat were unrelenting, and usually resulted in daily penalty time on the stationary bike and treadmill. It got worse when one of his teammates made a joke to Emily that she was making Logan fat. Then she started to pick at his weight too, nagging him when he’d eat a big meal and scold him over his penchant for late-night study snacks.

Around the same time, she also began to pick at his values too. Logan had never really been interested in politics, and wasn’t overly concerned with religious dogma either. He had a ‘live and let live’ independent philosophy of the world. His parents were both school teachers and moderate Lutherans who valued tolerance and fairness as much as personal responsibility and individual freedom.

Emily’s ultra conservative beliefs were too extreme for him though, and it began to cause a lot of friction between them. He could have handled polite disagreement, but her rigid intolerance made nearly every conversation about something in the news turn into in an argument. Finally fed up with her condescension of his views and nitpicking his weight, he broke up with her the night before The Mariucci Classic. In a zone of totally focused anger and resentment, he played one of the most physical games of his college career.

In spite of his talents, more than ever, Logan was relying on his hockey uniform to hide his bulging details and flabbier bits. Just like when he was a kid, the gear was once again his protective armor against the microscopic lens of spectator sports. Pushing 250, he wasn’t overly confident about his body, and got plenty of flak from his coaches and teammates about it.

It’s not like he was hugely overweight, he had a broad frame with a lot of muscle. But in their world, standards were different. Body fat numbers above 15% raised all eyebrows, and a few extra pounds over that might as well have been morbid obesity. Worst of all, some of the younger guys started embarrassing him with fat jokes in front of girls, which bothered him more than anything else. As a kid he had suffered the mercilessness of his sister fat-shaming him in front of her friends. That humiliation was buried deeply inside him, and continued to haunt the way he felt about himself around girls.

That roller coaster of a season ended in a critical game against rival North Dakota. He suffered a pretty severe hip flexor tear and was sidelined for the remaining games, missing a chance to play in the tournament. Disappointment, frustration and lack of exercise didn’t help the trend on the scale, as he slid into the offseason edging closer to 260.

So here he was now, much heavier than that, and paying dearly for letting his weight get completely out of control. Coach Mike had exaggerated, Logan wasn’t quite 300. But to be fair, it wouldn’t have taken too many more pizzas, burgers and beers to get him over that threshold. Now he was going to get a trainer, who was going to put him on a degrading leash. He could only imagine the hyper-fanatical fitness bro he’d get stuck with. Those guys knew everything about getting lean and cut, but they didn’t know a thing about what it takes to win in a high-pressure team sport. But Coach and Dad had it all worked out: work with a trainer every morning, go to class, join the team in the weight room, then night practices, studying and nothing else. No games, no fast food, no beer, no fun and no life.

(more to come soon...)


Library Girl
Staff member
Library Mod
Jun 21, 2008
Hooray - a new Ashblonde story!

Having grown up on an NCAA crazy campus (although basketball, not ice hockey) - this story starts out under wonderfully nostalgic premises for me! Can't wait for more.


Busy writing
May 8, 2006
Part 2: Meadow

“Come on Meadow, move, Move, MOVE!”

Her thighs were burning. She tried to pull her brain away from the fatigue, but her adrenaline was sapped and her legs wouldn’t give her what her coach wanted.

“2:32,” Renate said disappointedly, shaking her head. “Where are you today?”

“Not enough sleep last night,” Meadow admitted, slowing down to an exhausted coast.

“You won’t qualify at time trials if you keep this up. The time to do this is now,” Renate scolded her protégé.

“I know Renate, I’ll go to bed early tonight,” Meadow half-smiled.

Renate just sighed. It had already been a couple of hours, and that was enough. She knew she wasn’t going to get any more out of Meadow. “Nutrition?” she queried.

“I’m eating clean,” Meadow exhaled. She missed fries and ice cream so much it hurt, but she was following the direction Renate had given her. Egg whites, muesli, fruits, veggies, salmon, peanut butter, quinoa, on and on. With the right spices, healthy food had its moments, but it was getting old.

“Make sure you eat enough,” Renate scolded Meadow lapsing harder into her Dutch accent.

“I am,” Meadow nodded. She really was, she thought. It wasn’t easy with that boring lack of variety, but she had broken her sugar habit, at least. Simple carb withdrawal took several torturous weeks to get through.

“You’re skating like you’re not getting enough fuel.”

“I’ll carry a bag of your granola around with me, and eat it wherever I go,” Meadow teased her trainer. Renate was notorious for handing out bags of her homemade muesli that had everything: oats, barley, flax, wheat germ, chia seeds, almonds, orange zest and raisins. “Mix it with yogurt and a little agave nectar,” Renate would tell her athletes, “you will skate like wind.”

Renate smirked; her muesli was no granola. “You’re lucky I love your Tante so much or I’d toss you out on your arse.”

“Goede nacht,” Meadow said goodnight in her coach’s native tongue. She usually slipped some Dutch into the conversation when she wanted to soften Renate up.

“Slaap lekker,” Renate relaxed her face. “Tomorrow at 6?”

Meadow nodded. Only a couple of months remained before time trials, so she had to put the effort in now. Renate was tough, but she was also especially protective of Meadow. Meadow’s Tante, or Aunt Johanna, was a Dutch Olympic speed skating medalist in the 1980s. Johanna then trained Renate, who medaled for the Netherlands in the late 1990s.

Meadow’s own athletic roots ran deep. Her Italian-born father, Paolo, had been an Olympic skier during the same years Johanna competed. It was at the 1984 games in Sarajevo that he met Johanna’s little sister, Marien. While Marien was never an Olympiad herself, she had won some titles at major tournaments in Europe before a major injury at age 18 ended her competition career. The couple fell in love and married after Paolo medaled at the 88 Olympics in Calgary. They moved to Colorado in 1991 where he was hired as a Pro in Aspen, and the next year, Marien was pregnant with Meadow. When Meadow turned 10, the family moved to Minnesota where Paolo took over managing a large ski resort in northern part of the state.

Coached by her mother, Meadow exceled at gymnastics at an early age, and was traveling to competitions throughout Colorado while still in grade school. But with snow sports all around her, and skates on her feet by age 3, she gravitated toward the ice. Her gymnast’s flexibility and grace gave her a natural ability as a figure skater, and soon she was competing at an elite level, winning regional youth competitions around the Midwest.

During high school, her strong technical skills, timing instincts and training discipline got her more notice, and she was asked to get involved with pairs skating. She was partnered with a boy from Duluth, and they began practicing together every weekend. At first, it worked well with Justin. He was easygoing, patient and they had fun together, despite the long hours and tough coaching.

But Meadow loved speed more than style... that her own two legs could propel her at such exhilarating velocities was an athletic epiphany. She’d beg her mother to take her to the Oval in Roseville after competitions in the Twin Cities so she could do some fast laps on the long track. It was during these visits that Marien introduced her to Renate, who gave Meadow a pair of clap skates, and planted seeds in the girl’s head about her ability and potential in racing.

Renate encouraged her to put more time in at the gym strengthening her legs, and working on endurance conditioning while building her core. Meadow’s arms transformed from girlish little twigs into lithe, defined tools. Her legs had been so thin and child-like, and now were more powerful, revealing sharper quads and harder glutes. She was becoming a better skater too; better at the jumps, and better at getting air. It wasn't like her increasing strength was a deal-breaker for figure skating, but it was definitely pushing her passions farther away from it.

After a few months, Justin began to notice that Meadow’s body was changing. He was having a harder time with lifts and spirals and making occasional comments that her weight was shifting. After a dangerous drop in which she slammed down hard on her shoulder, he lashed out in mix of both guilt and anger. “How much weight have you gained?”

“I’m not fat!” Meadow screamed at him, feeling the pain radiate across her body. She knew her legs were bigger, and she had gained a few pounds of muscle, but she also had cut her body fat too, hoping that would offset any weight-related performance issues on the ice.

“I have to do all the heavy lifting, Meadow, you can’t make it harder for me,” he taunted her.

“F*ck you, Justin,” she screamed back, causing many coaches and parents at the rink to turn white. “Good luck finding a better skater than me to make you look good.” She stormed off the ice, and that was the end of her figure skating career. At age 17, she sold her competition skates to buy custom speed skates, and committed herself to her true passion.

Wanting to work more with Renate, who was training skaters in the Twin Cities, she was accepted at the University of Minnesota. She walked-on the track team as a mid-distance runner, so she could hone her speed fitness even more. And, at UMN, she was a short drive from the Roseville Oval, where she could train on the long track on ice in the winter, and on wheels throughout the summer.

Her obsession with training seeped into her educational pursuits when she decided on Kinesiology as her major. She loved connecting what she was learning in school to making her own body faster. Her second summer, she sought out an internship in Milwaukee at a sports medicine clinic. The work was mostly boring, taking care of exercise equipment and assisting PTs and trainers, so it was hardly glamorous, aside from the Pilates and core training classes she taught in the evenings. But what a summer in Milwaukee really gave her was daily access to the Pettit Olympic Center, where she could get long track ice under her feet during warmer months, and mingle with some of the best in US speed skating.

Athletics came easy to Meadow, but relationships did not. With all of her commitments, she had no time for boys. She had at various times attempted to get to know people who were also involved with sports, trying to build a circle of acquaintances based on common interests, until they inevitably came on to her, wanting only one thing. Too many budding friendships, with both guys and girls, ended in disappointment that way.

Meadow’s blessing and curse was her beauty. She inherited her parents’ physical lineage as a natural athlete; but she also received the best of their looks. Her father’s chocolate brown hair and flawless, olive skin paired perfectly with her mother’s big, deep-set eyes, wide smile and the defined cheekbones that framed her face.

She always felt her looks were something outside of her, and not a part of her athletic identity... but she had no problem with it when it helped her gain favor with figure skating judges, and she had suspected it often did. Yet, in speed sports where only athleticism was valued, she found her looks actually worked against her. She was regularly treated by peers as ornamental and not serious; and it made every interaction with some alpha male that hit on her even more frustrating.

There were a small handful of dates in high school, but nothing ever became remotely serious. She missed parties and proms, spending most weekends at camps, clinics or competitions. A few minor kisses were all the romantic experience she had going into college. The boys who were even willing to approach her for a date became quickly frustrated with her lack of time and commitment to them, and just moved on.

College was more of the same. For a time, she questioned whether romantic relationships were going to be for her at all. She knew she wasn’t into girls, not physically nor even socially. She had nothing in common with most girls anyway, and if she did, they were usually her competition. But she also didn’t feel anything for the hockey jocks and gym rats that all the other girls swooned over at the rink. Some were cute enough, but the idea of being intimate with the arrogant clowns that hit on her never seemed appealing.

Her outlook on relationships changed when she met Tim, a PT nurse working at the clinic in Milwaukee. He was not the kind of boy she had ever met on the ice or in the gym. He was shy and sweet, with a baby face containing really pretty eyes and charmingly plump lips.

She liked that he was gentle and kind, and not the archetypal aggressive jock. He had a lovely face, but there was something else about him that gave her fluttery feelings... he had a nice bit of pudgy roundness across his middle, an ample bum and chunky thighs. He was not huge, but he was undeniably on the tubby side. She noticed him right away, zeroing in on the way his adorable love handles clearly revealed themselves under his scrubs.

Meadow hadn’t always understood it, but she had long been intrigued by plumpness. The first time she realized it was really ‘a thing’ for her was in eighth grade science class. She was assigned to sit at a lab table with Kyle Jorgensen, a cute guy that had always been popular with the girls in her small northern Minnesota middle school. As the year progressed, he put on a noticeable amount of weight. Nothing extreme, but for a boy who had always been pretty lean, it showed.

At first, she just happened to glance down and detect the slight roll of flab forming above his jeans as he sat beside her. She was fascinated that a bit of belly fat could begin to settle in where it hadn’t been before. It somehow made him more vulnerable and authentic to her, which she found utterly charming. Kyle may have only put on 10, or maybe even 15 pounds that whole year, but the way his weight gain changed her view of him became the bridge to her self-awareness as a girl who liked some meat on a man’s bones. Over time, as puberty awakened her feelings more, it became clear to her that she loved it when guys gained weight and found heavier guys much more captivating.

In her world, though, fat had never been a good, nor advantageous thing for athletes, not even a little bit, unless maybe they were in football or sumo wrestling. Any excitement she felt, for even a small amount of chub, was stifled deep inside her. She certainly didn’t have it on her own body. Her whole family was naturally athletic and lacked any softness whatsoever. She became desperately curious about it... What did fat feel like? What might it feel like to grab a big handful of it? To have a big, soft bellied guy press himself into her, kiss her neck and have his meaty hands all over her body?

Even though she had finally connected those fat feelings to her hard-wired sexuality, she was never sure how to act on them. With her crazy schedule, and fitness focused environment, there were few opportunities to meet the right guy. So when she finally met Tim, she found his sweet and soft appeal was exactly what she had been wanting for so long. But between his shyness and her lack of experience, it took half the summer before they even had a basic conversation.

As she walked from the training rink back to her apartment, she smiled to herself, remembering their first awkward interaction. Tim had approached her one evening after she had finished cleaning gym equipment. “Meadow, right?”

She had felt excited that he even knew who she was. She said hello to him a few times in passing, but they hadn’t ever been introduced. “Yes,” she smiled brightly, her heart pounding. Then, realizing he had a VIP client with him, she toned down her excitement to a professional level.

“This is Mattias,” he introduced them, but Meadow already knew who he was. Mattias Clausen was a second-line forward for the Chicago Blackhawks, but had been sidelined late last season by an MCL injury. She had overheard the receptionists talking excitedly about a pro hockey player, and learned he was seeing the top orthopedic doc in the clinic.

“Nice to meet you, Meadow,” Mattias said flirtatiously to Meadow in his Danish accent, shaking her hand.

Tim continued, very professionally, “Dr. Lake said you had experience with speed skating, so he asked me to introduce you two.”

Mattias smiled and raised his eyebrows at Meadow, “You don’t look like most speed skaters I’ve met.”

Meadow gave him a baffled look.

“I mean, you’re too beautiful,” his eyes scanned down her body in a smarmy way that made her feel uncomfortable, especially with poor, adorable Tim as the middleman.

Meadow hid her annoyance with a plastic smile. Well, you look exactly like most douchebags who say things like that, she thought, barely able to keep the words inside herself.

“So, you know people at the Pettit?” Mattias widened his stance confidently with his hands on his hips, completely clueless that she was annoyed.

“Yep,” she forced her smile longer.

“Some long track work may help me rehab,” he clarified.

“I know the program director, she can help you with scheduling,” Meadow explained, hoping she wouldn’t run into him there.

“Great,” he smiled, his eyes intent in hers, handing her his card. “Email me her information.”

“No problem,” she remained polite.

“Then maybe I can ask you to dinner to repay you,” he flirted more. There it was, the inevitable hit up. No matter what country they came from, hockey guys were so predictable.

She glanced at Tim who was turning pink, clearly embarrassed to be standing there in the midst of this entanglement, and probably uneasy about how to extricate himself from the situation.

“Alright then,” Meadow just continued to smile, turning to Tim to be her savior. “I want to catch you before you go, I had a question about...” she tried to make something up quick, “um, ordering supplies.”

Tim looked at her with confusion, but Mattias was oblivious. “Thank you, Meadow,” he winked at her and sauntered away confidently.

“Ordering supplies?” Tim was perplexed.

“Sorry, it was the only thing I could think of,” she sheepishly grinned.

“Huh?” he still didn’t understand.

“That was uncomfortable,” she explained to him. “Now I suppose I’ll have to see him over at the Pettit,” she rolled her eyes.

“You’re not a fan?” Tim was dumfounded.

“No,” she blushed and whispered, “I’m not interested in hockey douches. They only want one thing.”

Tim’s expression softened and he let out a relieved laugh.

“Even the famous ones?” He still seemed skeptical.

“Especially the famous ones,” she shared, now kind of giggling. She was raised surrounded by professional athletes, and had been to enough international competitions to have gotten over being star struck by just about anyone, let alone some arrogant pro hockey player.

After that day, Tim and Meadow began eating lunches together, getting coffee after work, and developing a friendship that by the end of summer, turned into a romantic relationship. She was rather inept at first, with the physical side; she had so little experience. Tim was gentle and understanding though, and he didn’t even seem to mind when she became brave enough to caress his little belly and grab a handful of side flab. Her experience with him turned her fat curiosity into a solid preference. She finally learned what it felt like to hug, cuddle and grope a chubby person, and she was completely satisfied by it.

They continued in a long-distance relationship when she went back to school. Every other weekend she’d drive down to Milwaukee to get some training time in and see Tim. He even became a bit of a coach for her, timing her laps and encouraging her progress. He also helped her study for her board exams, which she’d scored well.

But things ended quickly when he got his dream job as a PT with the Orlando Magic. He was passionate about basketball, so it was an offer he couldn’t pass up. He asked her to move down to Florida with him, which flabbergasted her, since they never had talked of commitments. She hadn’t even said ‘I love you’ to him yet.

Tim was persistent, researching the Orlando area ice rinks and skate clubs in an attempt to persuade her that Florida was a great place for her to continue her competitive passions. But Meadow could never live in Florida, she knew that well. She was a cold-blooded girl who loved her roots and her goals more than she loved Tim. Her place was in Minnesota, and that was that. She could have been persuaded to spend more time with him in Milwaukee, but more for its Olympic facility than for any man, no matter how great of a guy he was.

Tim moved on, and Meadow continued with her life alone. She had liked him a lot, maybe she did even love him. But she really didn’t need a committed relationship in her life. There was training to focus on, and nothing would get in the way of that.

She graduated, passed her boards, and found a job working as personal trainer at a boutique gym in the North Loop, while also giving skating lessons to kids on the weekends. Eventually she wanted to get board certified with a specialty in Sports PT, but in the meantime, she’d focus on her personal goals. She kept her early mornings, and some nights open for training with Renate, and there wasn’t room for any more than that in her life.


“I have a new client,” Renate shared the news as Meadow grabbed a kettlebell.

She felt her neck heat up, hating the thought of her working with a rival skater, not wanting Renate’s secret coaching sauce getting out to anyone who might be her competition. Meadow hadn’t been training for speed since she was a kid like many other speed skating athletes. She had insecurities about her lack of experience, but Renate’s accelerated training program was getting her closer to feeling like a seasoned contender. She did not want to share that mojo with anyone else.

Renate could see Meadow was unhappy. “Don’t worry, Meisje, just a hockey player, no threat to you.”

“Well, that’s beneath you,” Meadow winked at her coach.

“Pays the bills,” Renate shrugged with a smirk.

“So you’re selling out?” Meadow continued to tease her coach.

“You want to sell out a little too?” Renate raised her eyebrow.

“What?” Meadow’s voice dropped. She was not amused with what Renate was implying.

“There’s a scheduling overlap,” Renate looked hopefully at Meadow. “I can work with you one on one from 6 to 7, but then I have both of you after that. I’ll give you a break on your training fees if you help work with this one... and we still have those Wednesday evenings together too.”

This proposal hit into her weakness, a little. It would be nice to reduce training costs, as she wasn’t getting rich off her work as a trainer, nor those weekend skating lessons. Plus, the experience of training another athlete would help pad her resume as well.

“Please tell me this is a female hockey player, at least,” Meadow knew Renate had worked with a handful of athletes from women’s hockey teams in recent years.

“Nope,” Renate smiled. “UMN men’s team.”

“Really?” Meadow was irritated. “Those guys always think they’re so damn great already, why bother with a speed skating coach?”

“Because this one needs a lot of extra time on the long track,” she said smugly.

“Huh?” Meadow was confused. Hockey was about quick bursts and agility, not long track endurance, pacing and rhythm.

“One of their Golden Gophers got so fat over the summer that they gave him the red shirt,” Renate explained.

Meadow was stunned, and didn’t know which emotion to react to... she was feeling instantly turned on by the idea of a conceited jock who got too fat for his fame and glory. But at the same time, she was totally perturbed about sharing Renate and her precious training time with some pampered hockey bro that caught a fleeting case of tubbiness.

Renate seemed oblivious to Meadow’s reddening face and continued to explain. “Coach Morris heard about my work with the women’s’ team and that’s how this one landed with me.”

“He’s in for a rude awakening,” Meadow tried to mask her exasperation with a joke.

“I hope so,” Renate winked, “He needs to drop at least 60 pounds if he wants back on the team next year.”

Meadow nearly choked. Oh my God, I can feel it when a couple creep up on me, what would 60 be like on a guy? She was tingling all over, How am I going to play this off? If I’m lucky he’ll be all scarred and ugly and that will be that...


Busy writing
May 8, 2006
Part Three: Deep Freeze

Meadow clenched her fists and gritted her teeth. He’s not scarred and ugly at all. He’s only the most gorgeous damn player on the whole Gopher team. She had seen him before, a couple of years ago, at the Mariucci Arena. She put her season pass to use during public hours after her morning classes to practice tightening her turns and refining her crossovers.

Hearing the Zamboni rev up, she’d slow down to a glide toward the exit, as the machine was ready to roll on and resurface for the precious hockey team. They’d be hanging in the tunnel, waiting to get on the ice for practice. One of them, she couldn’t even remember his face anymore, but she remembered his irritating persistence... he’d linger where she would be taking off her skates, trying to chat her up, saying dumb things like, “Be careful on our ice in those,” pointing at her speed skates, or, “I’ll race you anytime, honey...” He was totally patronizing and utterly annoying.

And this new student of Renate’s, standing in front of her now, was that jerk’s buddy, Logan. After the nameless creep was done making an ass of himself, this Logan guy would make a cocky half nod and slight grin to her, as if he were in agreement that girls just get in the way of the important, manly sport. She cursed herself for even noticing Logan’s blue-green bedroom eyes, mop of sandy blonde hair, and bright white, confident smile. Even the good-sized scar along his right cheek was infuriatingly adorable.

She noticed him again at the Gopher hockey games that her dad dragged her to when her parents would come down to visit her. That was where she learned his name, Logan Hansen. There she witnessed how good he was on skates. She was never big on the games themselves, but more interested in the skating. She watched his technique intently, and remembered being impressed with his natural style, effortlessly stopping, shifting and taking off. He wasn’t the fastest skater ever, but he still made skating look so damn easy, from his fluid strides down to his sharpest turns. He even seemed to spray the ice higher than any other guy on the team.

What she most remembered though, was how extremely physical he was, almost gasping when he checked opponents. A couple of times he checked along the boards a bit too much for NCAA refs, putting him in the penalty box. When he took off his helmet and confidently flashed a mischievous grin to the cheering fans, she could literally feel her eyes rolling back into her head. She didn’t clap or cheer along with the fans, knowing full well that this hot guy and the rest of his teammates were complete douchehounds.

She couldn’t keep herself from continuing to watch him though. He certainly wasn’t the leanest looking hockey player she had ever seen. He seemed even thicker than the already promising 225 pound number published on the roster. But under all that uniform, who could tell for sure? His slightly soft face and broad form seemed to indicate he could at least be a bit thick? She liked imagining a little roll of flab hiding under that jersey. It would be rare for an elite player to have much by way of body fat, but she wanted him to be chubby... she always wanted that.

Meadow had forgotten all about him though, just a passing blip in life. He had been another in a long line of cute but annoying guys she pushed out of her mind. But now here he was, right in front of her, in an obviously fatter body. His poly-knit t-shirt could not hide the swollen silhouette of his jiggling belly, nor did it conceal the plump, luscious mounds on his chest; and definitely not the magnificently rounded love handle flab his big, meaty hands rested on.

No longer a blip; now more like a blimp, she wickedly amused herself. It somehow made her feel more in control of this confused pendulum of feelings, swinging between fuming exasperation and wanton excitement. For most girls, it might have been a triumph. How great that some jerky jock who seemed like he was above everyone else, turned into a fat tub of lard, falling off his high horse with a thud. But damn it, not me, she kicked herself inside, I’m the one girl in the world who is actually even more attracted to him now. Awful.

Logan remembered Meadow from those day practices at the Mariucci, but he tried to hide his recognition of her. She was a fixture there for public hours, during his freshman and sophomore years, clearly trying to ignore the collective gawking by his whole team. The guys sometimes made comments, although the more depraved ones were saved until after she was gone. Logan avoided the worst of it, but he may have smiled at some of the jokes. It was hard not to when she had such a stuck-up attitude.

Josh, one of his best friends on the team, was especially persistent in trying to flirt with her. But she was colder than the massive sheet of ice under their skates. Logan understood not to even try anything with her. She was obviously a serious, committed athlete, and he knew well that those kinds of girls were rarely amused by the cheeky antics of hockey players, especially when they’re that beautiful.

“Don’t bother with her,” Logan told Josh after several lame attempts at her attentions, “She’s never going to talk to you.”

Josh was always irritated by Logan’s advice, taking his caution as an insult. “You think you’ve got a better shot at her?”

“No, I don’t mean you personally, I mean any of us,” he’d reasoned. “Girls like her always hate guys like us, especially a speed skater with a chip on her shoulder. She’s a lost cause.”

Logan hated seeing his friend embarrass himself trying to get this girl’s attention. It took some time to get through to Josh, but Logan would always remind him, “She’s just another pretty girl. There’s plenty already cheering for you at every game.”

It was true, there were always hockey groupies around, and usually ready to take home any guy on the team, Logan included. Although with his gradual gain, he became more self-conscious about showing off his burgeoning girth to easy girls with no discretion and no filter. He was smart enough to know that he was a semi-celebrity now, and had a target on his back.

After Emily, he completely avoided any romantic situations where a girl might see exactly how soft he was getting, afraid he’d be exposed by some loud mouth chick as a fat failure in bed. Coaches warned guys all the time about doing stupid things publicly, especially with social media and sports blogs giving every mistake a megaphone. How dumb was he to think that controlling his sexual urges would save his athletic standing? Of course it would be his food and hunger urges that would ultimately ruin his reputation.

Still, Logan couldn’t avoid noticing how remarkably beautiful this aloof ice queen still was. She was very easy to remember and even easier on the eyes. She wasn’t just any typical, cute chick... she was one of those unapproachable, unattainable women.

How is it possible that she is here now, standing in front of me, to witness my humiliating rehabilitation? And why these women anyway? What did they know about hockey? Maybe some crazy gym bro would have actually been better than this. Logan wasn’t thrilled with dealing with his weight problems, but he was used to it with coaches and teammates; they were just guys. With females, well, it was just different.

He had no choice though. He was up against the wall with Coach Mike and his future. The scholarship was at stake, so he had to give this a chance, as sick as it made him inside. Now he’d spend every morning with this odd, androgynous woman with a funny accent; and the other, one of the coldest, hardest, and most incredibly stunning girls he’d ever laid eyes on.

“I hope we’ll do some good work together now,” Renate finished the introductions, ready to get down to business.

No way, Renate, Meadow thought, cringing more. She was still angry inside. She forced a pained nod and barely a glance, but couldn’t smile or say a word. She’d have to share training time with a hockey jock. And not just any hockey jock, a chubby, gorgeous one who would distract her. With Renate’s wizardry, he’ll probably lose all the weight he needs to, and then be an even bigger douche than he already is. Just.... f*ck.


Logan was unprepared for Renate’s plan. The entire first week, he brought his skates every day, figuring he’d be working out on the ice, at least part of the time… but Renate kept sending him up to the gym mezzanine to work on the cardio machines. Each day, he spent the entire hour spinning, or on the elliptical, all while watching Renate work with Meadow on her training across the room.

He became increasingly annoyed, feeling as though he could have done this himself without money going to a speed skating trainer. At least he wasn’t getting weighed by her too, but an hour of aerobic work each day wasn’t going to fix his problems. Been there and done that... this will only made me hungrier… I’ll easily eat as much as I burn off.

He did find some opportunities to enjoy the view, though. Meadow’s body was an impressive little machine. She was almost like an optical illusion, with so much power coming from such a petite silhouette. As he pushed his legs through the hard intervals on the machines, he admired her toned, narrow back and tight, heart-shaped glutes. He imagined getting his hands under her short shorts and feeling the silky skin underneath. He smiled to himself, pumping the pedals, thinking dirty thoughts about her might get me through this.

At the end of that first week, Renate finally pulled him off the equipment to talk to him. “You are used to this, I can see,” she pointed to the line of stationary cycles and machines. “You have big muscle strength and stamina, you didn’t lose that when you put on all this weight.”

Meadow was pretending not to listen while balancing on the dynadisc, but it was impossible not to hear the juicy bits. Just the words alone, put on all this weight, made her feel lustful inside. She glanced over and saw him blushing, his belly quivering a bit from his heavy breathing. She loved that he looked pudgy and embarrassed. She felt a little guilty about thinking such a mean thing, but she was excited by it anyway.

Renate plopped a big bag of muesli on the bench he was sitting on. It was only a matter of time before he got his breakfast provisions too. “A cup of this before you come to me, and a cup after, for recovery,” she advised, “then a good, healthy lunch that fills you, not stuffs you, and a light dinner. No starving, and no binging.”

“What about calories? My coaches have had me do food diaries and take supplements,” he started to explain softly, glancing at Meadow, hoping she wasn’t hearing any of this. He could handle the physical work in front of her, that wasn’t going to bother him. Even though he was fat right now, he was also extremely strong and capable of anything athletically. Still, he hated dealing with the food side. His lack of willpower had always made him feel weak and inadequate.

Renate just laughed, “No, Logan, the only numbers and records that matter to me are the ones you make on the ice. I don’t believe in that old, complicated way of doing things, it’s not sustainable. You just follow what I tell you - cup before, cup after, good lunch, light dinner – that’s it, very easy. Avoid processed foods, starchy carbs and cheap sugars... you know all of this, just eat clean.”

Meadow had heard those very words from Renate too and couldn’t help but laugh to herself. It didn’t matter if you were petite and lean, or a big hulking beast of a man, Renate had the same nutrition advice for everyone. It sounded easy, but Meadow wondered how easy it was for a guy like Logan, who clearly enjoyed indulging beyond those simple boundaries. She really enjoyed visualizing his obvious lack of appetite control though, he was such a big chunk right now. God that’s hot. Damn him.

“And hydrate, lots of water, herbal tea is good... no soda, not even diet; and no alcohol either.” she reminded him. “Especially beer, no beer!”

“Done, already done,” he put his hands up and half-smiled in exasperation, shaking his head.

“So,” Renate continued, “we are done with these,” pointing back at the machines. “You have your evening practices with the team already. Do light exercise on the weekend. Get outside whenever you can. Ride your bicycle, take a brisk walk, hike the trails... even when it gets cold, bundle up and get outside... whatever you need to do to keep your head full of fresh oxygen. No running, though, not at your size. There’s too many better options. Your team needs your knees and hips healthy, and you carry too much weight right now for that pounding on your tendons and joints.”

Meadow’s ears tingled as Renate outlined his instructions. He is carrying all that extra weight around, she felt her body give in to a deep exhale, feeling wicked again. What would it be like to feel him press all of that weight into me?

Logan glanced at Meadow, and he could have sworn he saw her smirk to herself when Renate mentioned his weight again. What a snob, he thought, now completely irritated by her presence. She really thinks she’s hot shit.

“Next week, our mornings will be focused on core work, together with Meadow,” Renate stood up, “Use the weekends for recovery. And no binging,” she repeated, wagging her finger at him, “stop when you are full.”

He was relieved to move on from the insult of blindly working on lame cardio machines, but he didn’t love the way Meadow was clearly listening to all of Renate’s dietary directives with such obvious judgement. Whatever, he thought, her shallow, stuck-up opinion isn’t what matters to my future.

With Renate’s words though, Meadow imagined him plowing through a table full of fatty foods and rich desserts, gorging himself into a stupor... and then trying to get through a tough workout, jiggling breathlessly... all making her feel dirty and hot... not to mention confused. At night, in bed alone, it was hard to shake those thoughts without pleasuring herself to them. How could she not? A big, strong yet tubby athlete in his fattened up state was the ultimate catalyst to reawaken her sexual desires... and a total nightmare to staying focused on her professionalism and athletic goals.


Renate’s dry land training was at least more interesting than boring aerobic machines, but Logan was still frustrated they weren’t on the ice yet. He would always be more comfortable on skates than in sneakers, wearing clingy, sweaty, flab-revealing clothes, and dealing with these two women that he had nothing in common with.

“Your coach told me you have an aggravated hip flexor that flares up from time to time,” Renate started the session.

“Yeah, my hip usually nags me a lot by mid-season,” he explained rubbing along his right side.

“In skating, the abdominals give your hips integrity, you need the entire muscle structure strong and balanced there, not just the ones you use the most,” she motioned around her own torso. “We’ll spend time on that,” she pointed at his gut.

Logan had dabbled in core training in the gym over the years, but never had too much time for it. So much focus was always on practice, ice drills, the weight room and calorie burning cardio. His core was pretty strong from skating anyway, or so he had always thought. But the specific methods Meadow was doing to hone long track speed did intrigue him. At least it was something different to try, and he needed to do something differently if his situation was going to turn around.

Renate pulled out the slideboard first. He knew the slideboard all too well as a staple in his hockey training for years, but she showed him some techniques that he hadn’t seen before. Within a few minutes, he wanted mercy for his abs, glutes and inner thighs. Everything burned by the end of the hour. He was definitely, and unexpectedly to him, being tested.

The next day they focused on plyometrics. Renate had him do planks and squats, while Meadow did box jumps. “You just work low-impact, for now,” Renate reminded him of the extra load his body was carrying, “We need you ready for the ice, not in rehab. Maybe when you’re lighter, you’ll show Meadow how to do those jumps,” Renate winked at him.

Meadow just rolled her eyes. Not in a million years, Fatty. She couldn’t help herself with these thoughts, as nasty as they were. It seemed like a harmless way to keep herself protected from his good looks and sexy pudge. If he just didn’t jiggle so much, I could concentrate.

Another session was spent showing Logan advanced work on the Pilates reformer. Renate was very hands-on to make sure his position and moves were aligned. Meadow squirmed when Renate wrapped her arm under his belly to show him how to keep his back straight.

Another little fantasy played in her head... slipping herself underneath him on the reformer while he worked out, getting a handful of his belly with one hand, and teasing him between his legs with her other hand. Logan, you’ve really let yourself go, she’d jiggle his belly imagining it was even bigger than it was now. You might as well give in to this too. Then pulling him down on top of her, she’d feel the only rock-hard thing left on his body enter inside her. I really have to stop thinking about him this way, she chastised herself.

Renate also mandated a yoga session each week for her athletes in training. Logan balked. He had never liked the idea of mindfulness in his exercise. He preferred the adrenaline rush of an intense workout and a fast recovery, just getting it over and done with. “Men think they’re too tough for yoga, but your coaches will thank me later. Less injury here,” Renate reminded him, pointing again to his hips.

He did his best, but mostly focused his eyes on Meadow’s lithe body and graceful movement throughout the class. This particular requirement seemed a little unfair to him. He wanted to do what he was good at, and prove to them he was a real athlete and not some tubby schmuck off the street. And when it came to yoga, he felt exactly like the latter.

Renate was truly managing to kick his ass in ways it hadn’t been kicked before, and Meadow seemed to enjoy it a little too much. She was so conceited. He couldn’t imagine she’d ever had a boyfriend, they’d all be beneath her. And if she actually did find one who measured up, he would have to be a complete sucker. What guy with any sense of self-worth would put up with a narcissist like her? Unless, it was just for sex, he smirked to himself, admiring her body, thinking wickedly, she’d be good for that. He couldn’t help but escape into another little ‘have my way with her’ fantasy to get through this training alongside the ice queen.

“Today the turn cables,” Renate announced that Friday, taking them to the outdoor track. Meadow groaned, but Logan didn’t mind. He had done plenty of training with turn cables and technicords; and knew he still had the powerful legs to pull all the way.

“Good work, Logan,” his new coach nodded her head, “You have great form, nice...” she appraised his work. “Meadow, see how he plants low with his knee straight, keeping an even rhythm?”

Meadow just sort of nodded, not wanting to enthusiastically acknowledge his physical prowess. She had never much liked those damn turn cables. They were one of those things that favored the bulk muscle and brute strength that came to men more naturally. Her skills always shone through much more clearly on ice than on asphalt anyway.

Logan was oddly happy to get some praise from Renate. While unsure why he wanted it, he soaked it in anyway. It was nice to finally hear something positive. Nonetheless, he was relieved to reach the end of a long, painful week.

“I hear the weather will be good on Monday,” Renate smiled, “Let’s meet at the Oval.”

Meadow was thrilled, “Field trip?”

Renate nodded, and looked at Logan, “You have inline, yes?”

“Uh yeah, roller hockey if that’s okay,” he shrugged. It would be nice to finally skate, even if not on the ice. But looking at Meadow, he was stunned… he couldn’t believe the joyous look on her face. It was the first time he actually saw a genuine smile there. He’d seen plenty of her amused smirks, but never any sincere happiness come through. It made her look even more beautiful, and he was momentarily dumb struck.

“That’s fine. Meadow might have the advantage, though, she has five wheel racers,” Renate teased him, “But don’t be discouraged,” she laughed. “Come a little early so we can warm up and get the whole time in.”

Meadow was elated and a little turned on. She loved the idea of speeding past him, leaving his round, chubby ass in the dust. She couldn’t wait until Monday.



Well-Known Member
Dec 30, 2008
I love this so far! There's a movie that I watched years ago that this reminds me of (without the sexy fat parts, unfortunately) call The Cutting Edge. It wasn't particularly great but I kind of loved it anyway. Your writing is, as always, so intuitive and natural and appealing-- I can't wait to see where you take this!

fat hiker

Well-Known Member
Oct 25, 2005
Ottawa, ON
Wow, this story is 'shaping up great', so far. I really enjoy both the careful and thoughtful physical descriptions of the exercises and the their effects - not common in stories here. And the emotional hunger being built up between the two principals will someday.... explode? Or just burn in togetherness.

Whichever way you choose to take it, I'll enjoy reading it.


Busy writing
May 8, 2006
Thanks for the nice comments!

clockwork - OMG, I had totally forgotten about that movie, but you completely reminded me that I saw it when I was a kid. I can't say it directly inspired this story, but some aspects of it (ice sport rivalry+lust) MUST have seeped in a little ;)

Some of the inspiration for this story came to me when my hockey-fanatic cousin took me to a game... Alex Wennberg happened to be on the other team, and she was gah in love with him - and as always, I was the voice of reason, “well, yeah, if he were fatter...” Wait a minute, now THAT could make for a good story... So for those who may like a visual model to aid their reading, he inspired Swedish-American hottie Logan. Then as the story came into my head more, Allison Stokke immediately came to mind for my vision of Meadow.

fat hiker - thanks! I have some experience with skating and core stuff, so that makes it easier to bring some of the details in... my hockey knowledge is a little lighter though, so that's a challenge, especially knowing there could be some superfans reading, so I'm trying hard to get that side right :blush:

Next part almost ready...


Busy writing
May 8, 2006
“This will be covered in ice soon, so we’ll get some wheels on it this week, while we can,” Renate pointed around the Oval with a grin, making both her students happy with news of some gym-free days ahead. “We’re lucky Eric gave us early morning times; but back to the gym next week.”

Renate was referring to Eric, the rink facility manager, who gave Renate private training time at dirt cheap rates. Meadow had known him since she was a teenager, but she had always found him, sort of, uncomfortably friendly. Luckily, Renate was a complete mother hen, so no boys ever got very close to Meadow when the two of them were training together.

They jumped on the track, and very quickly Meadow found out she had been a bit overconfident. Despite her years of focused speed training and her superior skates, Logan was ahead of her much of the time. She tried to ignore him, mostly, but stole the occasional gaze over his plump body and huge, muscular legs. It was hard to tell if he had actually lost much weight, but his body was definitely more graceful on skates, making him seem lighter.

Renate was clearly impressed with his technique. “You are a fantastic skater, Logan,” she praised him.

“I should be by now,” he shrugged his shoulders sarcastically, wondering if they had entirely forgotten that he had been competing at an elite level for several years. But at this point, he had been humbled enough by his current situation that he almost appreciated the compliment. It definitely felt good to fly down the track, feeling unencumbered by his weight. Skates always freed him from the shackles of his bulk.

“Now that I see your mechanics, though, I think you’d benefit from trying to lengthen your stride even more,” she explained. “Just a little bit of improvement will make you more efficient. When you’re more efficient, you get less tired… and then less injury too,” she added.

He nodded back, hearing what she was saying.

“You could switch over to competitive speed skating if you were leaner,” Renate told him this news with an encouraging smile, like it was another compliment. He was growing used to her bluntness about his fat, but was still relieved Meadow wasn’t right there to hear it. He’d never get used to her arrogant looks and judgmental eyes.

At least he had finally lost a few pounds. After the way his weight had been snowballing upward, it was hard enough just to stop gaining. Now finally losing even a little bit was an accomplishment. His last weigh-in with the team recorded him down to 284 after three weeks with Renate. It wasn’t that much, but it was better than nothing.

He felt like he was sticking to most of the plan. Although by the end of the day, a light dinner was so hard to adhere to; he could rarely resist bigger portions and second helpings when he was hungry. He was proud of himself for not loading up on fast food anymore, and he was making an effort to eat higher quality proteins and complex carbs. He was building some new muscle too, and his t-shirts weren’t clinging to his gut quite as tightly... so that was something to feel good about, if not much else.


It was well into October, and the crisp air invigorated Meadow; it was in her bones. When the temperatures dropped below freezing at night, she felt herself awaken inside like a bear coming out of hibernation. Her favorite day of the year wasn’t her birthday, or Christmas, or any holiday in between; it was always when the air gets just cold enough to flood the Oval, transforming it into her favorite sheet of ice in the world. Indoor rinks felt artificial to her in the warmer months, but the Oval in winter made the blood rush to her every fiber.

Logan, on the other hand, was not feeling excited. His team was starting their opening season games without him, and the first match didn’t go well. Coach’s official media statement was that Logan’s red-shirt was related his nagging hip injury. But the real story of his weight problems were well-known to everyone on the team. His teammates, at least the older guys, were supportive and downplayed it; but a few of the younger guys were less friendly, feeling that he had let them down with his laziness and gluttony.

He tried to keep a low profile on campus. With only smaller, upper division classes remaining to satisfy his graduation requirements, he hoped to stay fairly anonymous. Maybe most Economics majors didn’t pay much attention to hockey? Or at least they wouldn’t remember who Logan Hansen even was… especially if he squeezed into the back row, relying on baseball hats and hoodies to blend in with all of the other chunky upperclassmen at UMN.

Coach Mike met with Logan the night before the first game to discuss his progress. “Renate tells me you’re really working hard, showing up on time, every morning, and putting in the effort,” he said. “So I can’t understand why you’re not even down ten pounds after more than a month at this.”

“I don’t know, but I feel lighter and stronger,” he started to explain. “I’m sure I’m building more muscle, and my clothes fit better.” Logan hated sounding like an excuse machine. He’d been saying things like this to appease coaches for years, but he didn’t know what made his metabolism work at a snail’s pace. It wasn’t like he was packing away piles of fatty foods and six packs of beer like he had over the summer. “I’m eating better, for sure.”

“You seem to be improving at practice too,” he agreed. “I know you hate the red shirt, but we all need the patience it offers. You just don’t cut weight fast like other guys, do you?”

Logan just shrugged and shook his head, agreeing with his coach.

“Don’t give up, son. You have gifts that some of your teammates don’t have: you’re shrewd, you have a strong mind and great instincts. You’re my grinder... but I need to know I can make room for you next year. Get a handle on your weight and you’ll have a terrific return next year,” Coach walked Logan out of the office patting him on the back, “Stay focused.”

But the focus was not going to be on competition, studying opponents, and getting ready for the weekend games... Damn... Game day... Logan loved game day. He could handle all the training and drudgery, the muscle pain and the ice baths... and even the constant pressure to keep his weight down. But missing the adrenaline rush of high stakes competition truly hurt the most.

Now on a very different rink, he was competing in exile with Meadow. Renate had finally got them both on the ice together for some short track skating drills. Quick off the mark, as he expected himself to be, he started much faster than Meadow. It’s what he was trained to do since he was a kid. But she picked up speed, and after a couple of laps, she caught up just behind him, turning their laps into a race with each other.

Logan may have been a strong skater, but he wasn’t used to the short track technique that Meadow was practicing to get lower and hone her racing balance, so Renate told them not to skate in tandem. “No drafting,” she yelled at Meadow. “Let your upper body lead,” she yelled at Logan, “I want to see some nice edge work out there.”

Meadow hated how damn good he was. Sure, she had witnessed him in competition and had seen for herself how easy he made it look, but she had also assumed he’d lost some speed when he piled on all that weight. He was still so good though, beating her blind off the mark.

Watching him ahead of her, beating her at her own game? It made her nuts. She began to really pour it on, pulling nearer, and getting her body lower. Coming closer into his turn, she took the entry a little wider, planning a pass inside... then, against her coach’s wishes, she started drafting him, which excited her to no end.

“Enough! Over here!” Renate screamed.

They stopped cold simultaneously, with their blades scalping the ice, and both skated contritely over to their angry trainer.

Renate turned to Logan first, “I know you miss competition, but you’re not here to race her. You have all that skill you want to show off, I can see that, but you also still have plenty of flab to shed,” she motioned across his body. Even though he knew Renate was just using the best English she could find, the cutting words made Logan feel like a complete whale all over again, especially in front of Meadow.

Meadow glanced at him and saw his cheeks pinken as Renate bluntly described his tubby body composition. She really wished she could avoid the erotic feelings that his chub stirred in her. She was supposed to be focused on competition preparation, instead of being distracted by filthy thoughts of his soft belly pressed against her, imagining him growing fatter rather than thinner. She felt her cheeks pinken too.

“And you,” she turned to scold Meadow. “You know better,” shaking her from another fat fantasy. “Enough with this chip on your shoulder. You are here for you alone, and not to prove something to him.”

Meadow was frustrated, and irritated by how well Renate could see her competitive indignation, but she nodded in deference anyway.

“I want you both to work on stride today. Not excessive speed, more mechanics; nice and fluid, good control, clean crossovers,” Renate reminded them. “Use more here,” she motioned across Meadow’s tight torso to illustrate her point, “Less here,” she pointed to Logan’s big, muscular thighs. The two nodded to each other in a truce, and finished the session as Renate instructed, from opposite sides of the rink.

Afterwards, when the two women were alone in the locker room, Renate asked Meadow, “What do you think of things so far? Should I get out the scale and get cruel with him?”

Meadow inhaled deeply, hearing those fantasy-laced words. Even though Renate didn’t mean to bring out her perversions, the visual in her mind of him stepping on a scale and watching the numbers skyrocket made her momentarily speechless. This whole fat thing had systematically wired itself from her brain to every pleasure center in her body.

“He’s not losing much yet,” Renate continued, oblivious to Meadow’s closeted feelings. “His coach is calling me wanting updates from our side, and I’m not sure what to say. He’s definitely working hard here, and he is probably down a bit, but after several weeks, I would have expected more weight loss too,” Renate seemed almost defeated. “Maybe I need to get him back on more cardio and hope he doesn’t eat it all back...”

“I think he’s definitely lost some weight,” Meadow jumped in with honesty, having observed the exact size, shape and jiggliness of his fatter parts very closely over the last few weeks. She had already felt an irresponsible level of disappointment in noticing his slight but clear reduction.

“Have you seen him skate? His footwork? He’s so gifted, I can’t see how he got so fat,” Renate admitted.

Meadow squirmed with fleeting thoughts of what kind of gluttonous forces caused his rapid expansion, but tried to stay focused on Renate’s train of thought. “He obviously has a tendency to be heavy, so it probably takes him longer than others to lose it,” she reasoned.

Renate raised her eyebrows, “I’m surprised to hear you defending him.”

“Defending him?” Meadow scowled, “Not really, he’s just a natural tubbo, is all,” she reverted back to more overt hostility where he was concerned. “Besides, why should that surprise you?”

“You clearly do not like him,” Renate scolded her, “You barely acknowledge his existence most of the time.”

“He’s just in the way,” she explained, which was true on more than one level. He’s in the way of my training, my focus AND control of my emotions, she admitted to herself, not bearing the thought that Renate would learn of Meadow’s furtive desire for Logan’s big, thick, fantastic body.

Renate nodded, “Well, he’s going to be in the way for a while, I think.”

Meadow nodded too, almost drained by the whole situation. “I don’t know about switching back to boring old cardio machines. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. I know it makes me hungry as hell; I can’t imagine what it does to his appetite.”

Renate nodded, “You are right, Meisje. I believe he’s mostly following the plan. His face looks less puffy and his skin is clearer and brighter,” Renate had said the same things to Meadow when she adjusted her own diet away from refined sugars and empty carbs.

Meadow just shrugged again, not wanting to admit anything about his damned charming features. She often avoided looking at his face altogether to not deal with her attraction. She could objectify his chunky physique all day long, but she didn’t want to fall for his good looks too.

“He is handsome though, yes?” Renate seemed to read her mind. “He’d make a nice date for you once he gets himself in shape,” she winked at Meadow.

Meadow made a sour face, but couldn’t help but feel a pang of discomfort over the whole idea. He was gorgeous, and she found his fatter body hot, but didn’t want him around. And as a thinner version of Logan emerged, that would only disappoint her libido. Not to mention that his head would probably get even bigger than his gut had ever been. There was no winning either way.

“See you Monday,” Renate handed Meadow another bag of muesli. Meadow softened, smiled and hugged her coach.


“Just you and me today,” Renate greeted Logan in the gym. “Meadow is not feeling well this morning.”

“I think she’d feel good enough to come in today if we were training on the ice and not in the gym,” Logan joked.

“I think we all feel that way,” Renate smiled in understanding. “Too bad the ice alone isn’t enough to make us be the best on it.”

“True enough,” Logan understood the off-ice work all too well.

“Meadow knows she doesn’t always get what she wants, but she keeps coming back. She is very dedicated to the work,” Renate defended her protégé.

He nodded in agreement, “I think she wants me gone from her training time though.”

Renate smiled knowingly, “She is a tough one.”

“Yeah,” he half-smiled back. “I can’t tell if it’s me she hates or that’s just who she is, but she’s not warm and fuzzy, that’s for sure.”

“It’s who she is,” she explained with a shrug. “All she knows is training for herself, and working only for herself. She’s never really had to be a team player like you have.”

Logan gave Renate a perplexed look. He still didn’t understand what Meadow’s problem was.

“Meadow’s world has always been filled with competition. She’s never known anything else. Her father was an Olympic athlete; he medaled in skiing. Her aunt medaled in speed skating and her mother was a serious gymnast in Nederland. Her life was surrounded by high achievement. She never had to share or sacrifice for anyone but herself. The team cooperation you take for granted? She doesn’t know how to think that way... it’s what makes her a great long-track skater. She’s terrible with sharing space in a short-track pack,” Renate laughed. “She does not hate you, Logan, she just does not have the same experiences you have had, and you hers either.”

Meadow was a lone wolf, clearly, but he had no idea that she had come from a family of elite athletes. It made sense that she strived for the kind of achievement that her parents had aspired to. Logan himself felt his athletic success was a huge gift from his parents, giving over their paychecks to uniforms, lessons, camps and clubs; and dedicating their nights and weekends to his practices and games. Sometimes he persevered for them as much as for himself. He was starting to piece Meadow’s psyche together now, which lessened the sting of her coldness, maybe a little.

“Anyway, this gives us a chance to talk about you now,” Renate changed the subject. “Do you feel you’re getting something from our time together?”

“Yeah,” Logan nodded confidently, “I’m getting in better shape, and healthier, for sure.”

“Your coach is still concerned about your progress,” Renate leveled with him. “He thinks you should be down more weight by now.”

“I...know... I...” Logan suddenly felt anxious, and defensively started to try to explain.

“Wait,” she saw the angst in his face and stopped him, “I think he’s being too impatient,” she continued. “I told him you’re working hard and making meaningful progress. Those hockey dummies would have you on a treadmill and starvation diet,” she blurted a little emotionally. “That’s why you gain more than you lose, because you don’t do it right. I don’t want to speak badly of your coaches, but for all those men know about being tough in sports, they know so little about caring for the human body correctly,” Renate’s Dutch accent became stronger as she became more passionate.

Logan listened intently, sort of surprised by her overt frustration. Yet a patient approach was buried in her words too. “You are on the right track, and that’s my report back to them. You just keep up the good work,” she nodded firmly, and patted him on the back.

“I’m still struggling with portion control,” he admitted to her, feeling like she was actually on his side, and he could trust her a little with his food issues.

“In life there’s struggle. We all have our struggles. Yours are food and fat. You just have to manage it,” she shrugged her shoulders. “That’s why I didn’t put you back on cardio, you’ll only eat more,” she seemed to completely understand his problem there. “Now, slideboard,” she pointed him in the direction of the equipment.

A few minutes into their work, Renate broke his concentration, “You know, I was unsure about your progress at first too, but Meadow was the one who defended you.”

“What?” Logan stopped and stood upright. How was that possible? The ice queen?

“She reminded me that not all of us are built the same,” pointing to his plump belly. “So she’s not completely without a heart,” she reasoned. “She also agreed that going back to the cardio machines would crush your soul.”

He was a bit stunned and a little uncomfortable by this revelation. He didn’t like the idea of being discussed by them like he was an experiment, even if he should have been used to it by now. Yet at the same time, he felt almost relieved that despite Meadow’s unfriendliness, somehow she’d found some empathy for the battle he’d always fought against: his own body.


Busy writing
May 8, 2006
Part Four: Slow Thaw

“Renate had to fly home to Amsterdam last night,” Meadow was solemn, informing Logan of the emergency.

“What’s going on?” Logan asked her with concern.

“Her father’s been ill, it sounds serious,” she told him.

“Oh, wow,” he felt horrible for Renate.

“She’s staying with my Tante,” she explained further, realizing after she said it that she was sharing more than she needed to… but she felt too badly for her coach to make a concerted effort at being a hard-ass with him right now.

“Your... Tante?” Logan was confused.

“Oh,” she half-smiled, remembering that Logan was a lot farther removed from his ancestral languages than she was, “I mean my Aunt.”

“The one with the Olympic medals?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Meadow looked at him puzzled, “How did you know?”

“Renate told me a little about your family,” he admitted, almost gobsmacked over the number of civilized words now exchanging between them.

Meadow nodded and looked away, withdrawing herself from his eyes. She felt the instinct to stop him from knowing her any more as a person than he did right now. Just get down to business, she told herself.

“Renate wants us to do the usual today,” she pointed toward the plyo area, pulling her head back to the training.

“Okay,” he agreed half-heartedly, still feeling bad for Renate. He had already come to rely on her tough but caring presence in his life.

“She asked me to work with you while she’s away,” Meadow clarified, staying cool while feeling the awkwardness of being without Renate’s neutralizing authority.

“Okay...” he repeated with a cautious nod, feeling confused by her emphasis on the arrangement. What the hell is she talking about? Of course Renate would have us continue this arrangement; it’s not like there’s any other option at this point...

“I am a certified athletic trainer and I have a degree in Kinesiology, so I’m qualified to help you,” she sputtered out, completely annoyed that he acted like she wasn’t competent to guide his training in Renate’s absence. Typical chauvinist jock.

“Well, thank you for sharing some information about yourself,” he responded with his own sarcastic annoyance. Like I’m supposed to read her mind, or have googled her resume, or something? He wasn’t so sure he loved the idea of working with her alone. It would definitely be harder to concentrate without Renate there to keep him centered. Whatever, I’ll make do.

Meadow turned away from him without response, marched over to the reformer, and adjusted the springs for his high strength level. “Let’s start with upper body,” she tried to channel Renate’s direct and assertive coaching style.

“Do you get the day off now, Princess?” He smirked, feeling daring now that Renate wasn’t around to play peacemaker.

“I’ll see how you do first, and then show you how it’s actually done,” she challenged him back without batting an eye. Princess, my ass, you big jerk.

He rolled his eyes, but followed her lead anyway, watching her from behind. She is so full of herself… but oh man, that body.

Meadow had him go through the exercises that Renate had already been working with him on, reminding him to breathe through the movements while focusing on form and fluidity. She was relieved he was doing all the moves properly now, as she didn’t want to have to put her hands on him to correct his position. He might figure out how much she wanted his body, just by her touch. A slip of my fingers into that quivering pudge and it will be obvious all over my face. Just keep taking through it, Meadow… keep your hands wrapped neatly behind your back.

“Pilates is really going to balance you out,” she went on, sticking with her verbal coaching strategy. “You’ve built so much specific muscle for hockey, but I think you’ll find this gives you more agility where the usual targeted muscle training misses.”

She’s actually being kind of pleasant all of a sudden, Logan thought, this is really weird. For weeks he barely knew what her voice sounded like. She had only spoken a few words at all while in his presence. Now he was getting an earful. She actually had a warm, smooth and comforting voice, with no distinct accent.

“Did you grow up here?” Logan asked her in between reps, to break up the silence.

“We moved up north when I was ten,” Meadow answered. “Before that, Denver.”

“Denver was a little too good to me last summer,” he smiled nervously. Why did I say that out loud? He lightly patted his belly to play it off like it was no big deal to him.

Meadow felt herself getting pink. Why does he have to do that? Make a joke about his weight, but look so adorably embarrassed while doing it? Ugh, so hot...

“Why do you ask?” she ignored his comment, going back to the last point in the conversation to keep herself from thinking about the way his middle bulged out as he contracted his body through the movements.

“You don’t really sound like you’re from Minnesota,” he explained, now relieved she didn’t say anything in response to his dumb joke.

“I grew up hearing a lot of Dutch and Italian mixed with English, so maybe that’s why my accent is not specific, or whatever,” she told him.

“Are you fluent in them?” He asked.

“In English, yes,” she couldn’t help but make fun of his question.

He gave her a wry smile, “Your parents’ languages?”

“My Italian is halfway decent, from my Dad. My mother was better at English, so she didn’t speak as much Dutch to me... I can still understand a few words, like when Renate switches over... but my father has a ton of Italian pride, so that nested deeper in my brain.”

“That’s interesting,” Logan smiled. “Pretty cool.”

She shrugged, feeling weird again about babbling on about herself with him. “What about you?” She asked him so she could turn the topic away from herself.

“Minnesota, born and raised, all my life,” he grunted through the hamstring move. “Edina,” he clarified.

“Edina... well now,” she raised her eyebrows and dramatically crossed her arms in front of her. She couldn’t help but tease him about his wealthy suburban hometown, “I’m in the presence of royalty.”

He smirked, “Not my family. My parents bought their house a long time ago, before I was even born... before all the McMansions sprouted up everywhere.”

She was relieved he wasn’t filthy rich too. His good looks and athletic talents were already more than enough gifts for one human being to have. “You grew up in the right place to be a hockey star anyway,” she told him. Edina was notoriously brimming with top hockey talent in addition to being a rich kid’s town.

“I’m just relieved you didn’t make a cake eater joke,” he laughed nervously, kind of expecting it from her. Almost everybody gave him crap about his wealthy hometown.

“What?” Meadow was confused. Why would I bring up his appetite?

“You’ve never heard that? They call people from Edina ‘the cake eaters,’” he explained, but she still looked confused. “Did you ever see The Mighty Ducks? You know, rich kids have their cake and eat it too?”

“Oh,” Meadow felt her face getting warm. The term ‘cake eater’ had taken on a completely different visual in her mind.

“I ended up on the wrong end of that joke a few times,” he breathed out hard through the next move, nearly reading her thoughts.

Now Meadow could feel her face really turning red, desperately trying not to scan his chubbiness again.

Logan only saw more confusion on her face and explained further, “I was usually the only fat kid on the A team. Everyone already hated Edina, so the opposing teams and their fans usually took the cake eater jokes out on me.” He felt his face getting warmer now. Why am I admitting this to her, of all people?

“Well, I guess you showed them,” Meadow shrugged, wanting him to stop talking about both cake eating and fat right now, or she might say something incredibly stupid about his hot chubby body and her appreciation of it. “I mean, how many of them are playing elite now?”

Logan shrugged too; she was actually kind of right. All the shit he took for being fat didn’t stop him from achieving an awful lot more than any of those assholes. Just thinking about it now made him push his body even harder.

“Breathe,” she reminded him, hoping she wasn’t letting her guard down too much. She couldn’t let him think she was too open to his friendliness. Once that happened, he might want to ask her out, then hold her hand, touch her, kiss her... and she may not be able to resist. Damn him... big cake eater.

“The Oval opens tomorrow,” she changed the subject completely, trying to beat back the thoughts that gave her body chills. She needed to regroup from these momentary lapses in judgment. That’s what getting back out on the long track would give her: focus on the work and not his body.

The obvious happiness on her face and in her voice when skating at the Oval came up, once again, amazed Logan. She was so indifferent and cool most of the time, that these glimpses of humanity were still a little surprising. “I didn’t think they had early morning hours.”

“Eric will get us in,” she informed him, alluding to the special status her connections had at the Oval that didn’t include hockey players. “They know us there.”


When Logan arrived at the Oval, Meadow was already laced up and chatting with a few guys who also had speed skates on. He was oddly jealous, watching her socialize effortlessly with them, while she had been so unfriendly to him for so long.

Meadow knew Eric and his speed skating buddies ever since she was a teenager, when she began to work with Renate. Renate herself was well-known in local speed-skating circles for her Olympic accomplishments as well as training successes, and had a business relationship with the Oval. She had done some promotional work with the facility and in return, she had pretty much an all-access pass to the place, which by association bestowed some special treatment for Meadow.

Eric was one of those guys who always flirted with Meadow, and was always looking for more. She wanted to be friends with him, as he was a gatekeeper for ice time, but it wasn’t easy to dance around the reality that he clearly wanted her and she definitely did not want him. He was okay looking, but boring... and way too pushy about what he wanted.

She saw Logan lacing up and walked over to him, “Ready to go?”

He nodded.

“Let’s pretend Renate is here, and spend a few laps on form and technique, not racing,” she joked.

“Sure,” he agreed with a smile, relieved she seemed like she was in a good mood.

“And try not to chop up the ice in those,” she pointed to his skates. “They can’t have the Zamboni follow behind you the whole time.”

He smiled wider and shook his head, “Blade means so little when you have all this,” he pointed to his brawny legs, grinning mischievously, but Meadow couldn’t help but think of the rest of his big, plush and powerful body.

“Just warm up, nice and easy,” Meadow directed him, as they jumped onto the ice. She definitely seemed a little more pleasant on skating days, he noticed.

“Sure thing, coach,” he teased, following her lead. They did some warm up laps, and then some timed laps, running intervals between speed and recovery. She really admired his gate on skates. He was totally in control of the ice, the way he used his edges. Part of her wanted to tell him that, but it seemed like a dumb thing to say to a guy who played elite hockey and already knew he was that good.

After a bio break, Eric cornered Meadow alone, “What’s up with Lardass Hansen?”

“Logan,” she corrected him with a scowl, feeling oddly protective. Only I can call him fat names in my head. “He’s training with Renate.”

“Got too fat for the team, I hear,” he sneered with a big, dumb grin on his face.

Meadow became more uncomfortable. Apparently Eric knew who Logan was, and why he was not playing hockey with the Gophers this year, but she didn’t like him making a joke about it. Her instincts told her he was using Logan’s weight to make himself seem better in comparison, and she disliked him even more for it. “Why should he matter to you?” she challenged him.

“He doesn’t matter to me at all,” Eric shrugged it off, his smile fading, backing down from Meadow’s assertiveness.

Before she could say something that might damage her connections at the Oval, she turned from him and jumped back on the ice. She was angry that she had to defend Logan, angry with herself for feeling protective of him, and angry that Renate wasn’t there to shield her from Eric’s boorish behavior. He is such a tool, she shook her head.

Logan came up beside her on a turn. “Everything okay back there?” He saw the irate look on her face, and had seen that enough to know when she wasn’t amused.

“Eric is such a huge douche,” she blurted and slowed down, not having gotten control of her emotions yet.

“He knows who I am,” Logan quickly turned on his blades to glide backwards, facing her.

“What do you mean?” Meadow straightened up and asked, now confused. Logan hadn’t been within earshot of that shitty conversation she’d just had with Eric.

“While you were on the other side of the track, he made sure to remind my why I’m red-shirted,” Logan glanced across where Eric was standing with his arms folded, watching Meadow intently.

He acted like he hadn’t heard Eric’s cutting insults, but with the loud way Eric joked with his buddies as he skated past them, how could he miss words like ‘fat load’ and ‘team failure’ as they were so obviously meant for him to hear?

“Ugh, he’s such a loser, don’t even think about it,” she told him, disgusted. “You’re a successful NCAA athlete and he’s a washed-up nobody,” her anger reignited. “He never even got past time trials,” she scoffed.

He couldn’t help but feel flattered by what she said about his success. It made the sting of Eric’s words almost disappear. But he knew why Eric said those things... he could see the guy’s interest in Meadow right away, as soon as he arrived at the Oval. “I don’t think he really cares about me, but he’s obviously territorial about you,” Logan laughed. “He clearly wants you in a big way.”

“Gross,” she snarled her lip. “The only thing worse than the average douche is a wannabe ice rink manager douche.”

Logan was heartened by her annoyance over Eric’s grade school insults. He figured she probably didn’t completely hate him if she was willing to defend him a little bit.

“Can I ask you something?” He asked her, looking for some validation for all the misery and humiliation he had endured since his weight got completely out his control. “I’m down 25 pounds since summer, and half way back to my playing weight last season... do I really still look... that... big?” He couldn’t bring himself to repeat the specific words Eric had hurled in his direction earlier though.

Meadow was taken aback, not expecting this kind of honest self-doubt from him. His eyes looked sincere and sweet, maybe even a bit anxious. He was vulnerable just like any other human being. She had been kind of wrong about him... maybe he wasn’t the stereotypical overconfident hockey jock she had pegged him to be.

“You look... leaner, for sure,” she grasped for the right words. How could she tell him how hot he looked before, with the 25 additional blubbery pounds now lost? “You’re not even that big,” she blurted. “In a couple of months you’ll be about done with all of this and your coaches will wish they could put you back on the ice to salvage their miserable season.”

“Thanks,” Logan felt better, hearing someone tough like Meadow give her opinion. She obviously wasn’t easily won over by anyone or anything. But he didn’t exactly want to be done with all of this either. He was actually starting to not hate being around her. She pushed him to be better, and still made him feel like he could be a successful athlete again, and not a hopeless failure, doomed by his uncontrollable appetite and endomorphic body type.


That night, Meadow checked in with Renate, who was still in the Netherlands, spending her days and nights by her father’s bedside. She broke it to Meadow that she would be staying overseas into the holidays, leaving Meadow to work with Logan one-on-one for a little while longer.

“I’m sorry I won’t be there for your time trials, Meisje” Renate commiserated with Meadow.

“No, don’t even think about that,” Meadow told her, feeling badly for what her coach was going through with her family.

“You’re going to do great. Just remember what I taught you about pacing and visualization; be progressive, you’re fantastic at working the clock.”

“You’ve taught me well. I’ll be hearing your words in my head the whole time,” she reassured Renate.

“You are my best student,” she told Meadow with an obvious smile in her voice. “Speaking of my students, how is Logan doing?” Renate queried, “Losing anymore?”

“I guess so,” Meadow shared, trying to sound upbeat to mask her disappointment. “He told me today that he’s now down 25 pounds.”

“Wow, you are doing quite a job with him,” Renate sounded pleased.

“You set the wheels in motion,” Meadow sighed, “He needed a different approach, I guess.”

“I think you are a good influence in his life too,” Renate shared.

“What do you mean?” Meadow was confused. What influence do I have over him?

“I think he wants to do well for you,” her coach explained.

“I think he’s more motivated to get back on his team,” Meadow scoffed at the absurdity of Renate’s idea. He couldn’t possibly like her after the cold attitude she had given him for all those weeks. Maybe they had shared a few conversations recently, but they were hardly best buddies.

“I’m sure he is,” Renate agreed, “But I also think he’s trying very hard to show you he’s worthy.”

“Whatever, Renate,” Meadow played it off with her words, but felt her cheeks heat up. What if he actually liked me? Like, really liked me? Her stomach felt knotted. Not possible, we have nothing in common. He probably goes for those easy puck bunny groupies. I’d be way too much work for him. He wouldn’t waste his time thinking about me that way, much less trying.

“I think you two are good for each other,” Renate pushed the issue. “You know, you could learn from him on starts; he’s obviously worked for years on explosiveness, maybe he knows some drills for you to try?”

“Renate,” she laughed, “come on, that’s why I have you.”

“The best learn from more than one coach, Meadow. The more experience you absorb from different disciplines, the more of an edge you will have,” Renate explained. “Think of the foundation figure skating gave you...”

“Fine, we’ll see if he knows any more than I do already...” Meadow grudgingly conceded.

“He’s very smart. His coach tells me he’s on track to graduate with honors,” Renate continued to sell Logan’s merits.

Meadow was a little surprised at Renate’s seeming attempt at matchmaking, but pretty impressed with his academic status as well. It wasn’t easy to juggle high-pressure sports commitments with academic demands.

“So he’s not a dumb jock,” she played down her reaction. “That doesn’t mean I suddenly like him.” She hated admitting even to herself that she already liked him a lot.

“You are a tough one, aren’t you? Just like your Tante,” Renate laughed.

“You and Johanna always put the work first. That’s why you both have medals,” Meadow reminded her.

“Oh, I don’t want you distracted, Meisje, don’t misunderstand me. But if you can find a friend in your life that helps you achieve your goals... someone who understands and supports your drive to compete, that’s not a bad thing,” Renate explained.

Meadow sat silently for a few seconds, absorbing Renate’s advice. It was bizarre to hear her be, sort of… sentimental?

“Meadow, did I lose you?” Renate pulled Meadow back to the conversation.

“Yeah, bad connection, I better let you go,” Meadow didn’t want to talk anymore about Logan as a dating prospect with Renate. It was getting too weird.


Library Girl
Staff member
Library Mod
Jun 21, 2008
I really like the slow-paced realism of this story. Especially how well you elaborate the strong effects peer-group-compartmentalization and adult meddlings still have at college age.


Busy writing
May 8, 2006
After spending another few mornings at the gym, Logan and Meadow went back to the Oval to work on speed drills. She was especially relieved that Eric wasn’t around that day to spoil her good mood.

She started the session with all good intentions to do some practical form and endurance training, but she couldn’t help but get sucked into another race with Logan. Sprinting down the track, Meadow was catching up. Logan would always be stronger and quicker off the mark. He had explosion, she had to concede that. His leg muscles dwarfed hers. But she was going to challenge him with her distance speed, knowing just exactly how to catch up with pacing and highly efficient crossover turns.

She could feel her adrenaline surge as she quickened her stride and closed in to pass. But then, just as fast as she had begun the move inside, she hit a divot in the ice and landed hard. Logan stopped fast, his blades cutting into the ice and, spraying it across the track.

“Meadow!” He quickly skated back to her, truly scared over how rough of a fall it was.

“Yeah...” her slide finally ended as she looked up at him, stunned by the fall.

“God, are you okay?” He gasped in fear.

Dazed, she took a deep breath, and felt her body. Her butt and hip were throbbing, but fortunately her head hadn’t hit the ice, and her back seemed intact. “Yeah,” she gasped again.

It felt just like old times, landing hard on the ice after a jump or a spin. One of the many things she loved about speed skating over figure skating was that usually she spent most of the time upright rather than on her ass. But a fall at high speed was never enjoyable and could be a lot riskier.

Logan scanned quickly over her body for any major damage, but thankfully she was still in one piece. “You’re going to have a big bruise from that,” he shook his head.

“Another in a long line of many,” she half-smiled, starting to get back up.

He bent down to pick her up himself.

“No, I’m fine, I just need to sit for a minute,” she tried to wave him off, but he had already reached under her waist and quickly pulled her up.

Having helped teammates off the ice a few times, Meadow was like a feather in comparison. “You don’t want to make it worse...” he scolded her. She’s something, he thought. Tough and stubborn as hell. He wanted so badly to beat both her and her ego that he forgot that she was a woman, and half his size... and she’s beautiful, he looked into her eyes.

“Landing on my ass is one thing, but Renate will be furious if I mess up my knees screwing around like that,” she shook her head, relenting. “She’ll have us both strung up.”

Logan nodded with an understanding smile, and glided effortlessly off the ice with her in his arms. He set her down on a bench and helped her get her clap skates off. “You need to get some ice on that,” he turned the training dynamic around.

“I’m aware,” Meadow muttered.

Logan learned a long time ago to keep a stash of instant cold packs on hand for all the hard hits and falls he’d taken over the years. He grabbed one from his gym bag, broke the pack open and gently set it across her hip and butt.

“I can hold it for you,” he winked in mock flirtation, his hand grazing her flawless glutes. A warm feeling came over him from his fleeting touch of her body. She was flushed and still a bit stunned, and he couldn’t help but spend another long moment gazing into her eyes again.

She grabbed the ice and shooed him away, “I got this,” smirking. He’s a little too damn cute when he flirts, she thought. Her eyes passed over his body, observing the way his belly roll still formed in his lap, even though he had lost some of his sexiest fat. “You should go get yourself some recovery aminos while I ice this,” she wanted to give him something to do to keep her from gazing back into his eyes.

“Recovery aminos?” He tilted his head in confusion. Renate was totally against the unnatural, chemical contents in packaged sports products. And he knew that cheap, lab-made supplements would never fly with Meadow either.

“Muesli and a banana, you goof,” she laughed. If felt almost natural to talk to him like a friend now, which made her feel anxious at the same time.

“You were about to get ahead of me out there,” he acknowledged, only half-surprised at how good her long game was.

“Makes sense,” she shrugged her shoulders with a wry grin.

He glared at her skeptically.

“I’m built for the long track and you’re not,” she shared without hesitation.

“Wow, thanks,” Logan was a little offended anyway.

“I don’t mean your weight,” she explained with some impatience. “I mean you’re pretty tall with really broad shoulders; and you carry beaucoup muscle in your upper body.” She motioned her hands over her shoulders to illustrate. “That’s a good recipe for a hockey defenseman... and for attracting women...” she smirked. “But not as ideal for the low and compact center of gravity you need when maintaining speed for longer distances.”

“Attracting women?” he smiled again flirtatiously, trying to use a little humor to cover the jump in his heart in hearing her indirectly complimenting his body, rather than berating his heaviness.

“That’s all you heard, isn’t it? You are hopeless,” she punched him lightly on the arm. “I’m sure you’ve gotten your share of ice tarts hanging out at the hockey frat.”

“A bro’s gotta do what a bro’s gotta do,” he teased back. She didn’t need to know that he hadn’t exactly been getting a lot of action these days, nor had there been much opportunity now that he was on lockdown from everything social for being a big, fat screw-up.

Meadow shook her head, smiling, but it made her wonder. Is he a big player, or is it all show? She didn’t really want to think about him with other girls. He’s so not my type, damn it, why do I even care?


Busy writing
May 8, 2006
With a few weeks now into the season, and not a peep from the media questioning his status, Logan thought he had dodged a bullet. He thought wrong. He woke early on the Saturday morning before Thanksgiving to multiple texts from his coaches and teammates:
Don’t pay attention to any of it, stay focused

Already yesterday’s news

We have your back
He checked the hockey blogs and quickly found out why. “Redshirted UMN Defenseman Hansen Reported Overweight.” Damn it, they found out. His neck felt hot and his heart pounded, I should not read any more of this. But he couldn’t help himself.

“Insiders say Hansen showed up at camp pushing close to 300 pounds... “

It was awful. He hated seeing it in print, and he hated the whole world thought of him in terms of that number: 300. He was supposed to be thick-skinned and not take it personally. It still hurt though. It hurt him as an athlete, sure, but also as a man.

He felt even more nauseous when he thought about Abbey seeing the story; she would be disgusted… and Emily, who would probably be gloating over it, the way that ended. Then Meadow popped into his head. This will definitely reinforce to her what a disappointment I’ve become.

As if all that weren’t bad enough, he knew this story was now going to dog him past college. Every negative thing published online would be out there forever, and become another roadblock to the next level. What pro team would sign a player who couldn’t control his weight? It was a huge liability for his future prospects.

He was an idiot for thinking his hard work was going to be the answer to everything. With nearly 30 pounds lost, he had started to feel like he was beginning to get some respect back from his coaches and teammates. Everyone that mattered seemed to be moving on with the redshirt plan. But that didn’t get reported… just the part about the fat, lazy, gluttonous slob of a hockey player who couldn’t control himself enough to be in the best possible shape for his team.

“You saw the news?” Logan asked Meadow the following Monday. He wasn’t quite sure why he brought it up with her, of all people, but he couldn’t help it. It had been clouding his thoughts for the last couple of days and he needed to know how widespread it went.

She was almost relieved he said something so she wouldn’t have to pretend today was different from any other day. Of course she had seen it. Coach Mike contacted Renate, and then she alerted Meadow. “Be gentle with him tomorrow,” Renate had advised Meadow.

“Short news cycle, don’t worry about it,” she tried to make him feel better. It seemed like a pretty rough thing to go through, even for someone she didn’t want to like, but was starting to like anyway.

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the butt of the fat jokes,” he was a little annoyed that she trivialized it, but also kind of heartened by her attempt to make him feel better.

“It doesn’t matter now anyway, you’ve lost a lot already,” Meadow shared her observations. Deep down she hadn’t loved it, but he seemed to be picking up steam in his attempt to get lighter.

“I was never 300, for the record,” he was very insecure about that not-so-little detail. A couple of more weeks in Colorado, left to his own devices, and he could have probably gone over 300, but he didn’t want her to know that.

“They exaggerate all the time. It’s just click bait for the bloggers,” she told him. She didn’t dare say that she thought 300 sounded incredibly sexy... or that she thought 300 wasn’t even that big... or that 300 was more like a nice start for a strong and beefy guy like him. But no, she couldn’t ever say something so heretical to a fellow athlete.

“As if the bloggers weren’t bad enough, the commenters are brutal,” he regretted being dumb enough to look at the story comments in a vain attempt to confront the whole thing head on.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to read internet comments? It’s like, the first rule of collegiate athletics,” Meadow scoffed.

“I thought the first rule in the NCAA was don’t get paid,” he reminded her with a smile. At least he had someone to talk to about this who wasn’t emotionally invested in his playing status, like his coaches, parents or teammates.

“You can get paid for college athletics,” she joked. “You just have to be one of those rich old assholes who makes money off some poor kid’s name and likeness.”

“Indeed,” he shook his head with a wry smile. Everyone he knew hated seeing their hard work, not to mention a lifelong injury risk, line someone else’s pockets.

“Could be worse… you could be a female athlete and have little hope or prayer to ever make a buck off your own name or likeness,” she tried to take his burden off with a little self-pity of her own.

“I want to feel sorry for you, but I’m the humiliated one right now,” Logan reminded her. He also realized, though, that he was half-smiling and joking around with her, so maybe he was going to get through this with some sense of dignity left in him.

“Maybe you wanna go take it out on the heavy bag? Turn it into something positive?” Meadow suggested, trying to keep him thinking about his goals to cheer him up.

“I think I’d rather eat an entire extra-large meat lover’s pizza instead.” He surprised himself in the way he admitted out loud to Meadow that he had hungry-demon food issues.

Why did he have to say something so horribly exciting? With those beautiful aqua eyes looking into her own? And that boyishly handsome face? She had been trying so hard to keep her brain set on his logical pathway to success, through productive training and healthy eating. But flashes of him devouring a huge meal and getting fatter than his fattest made her feel lightheaded. Why do I have to be such a freak?

“So what’s up for the schedule the rest of the week?” he mercifully changed the subject. “With Thanksgiving...”

“Yeah, I meant to talk to you about that,” Meadow remembered. “I’m heading up to see my parents.”

“That’s a long drive, right?” he asked.

“It’s about four hours up north,” she shrugged. “But I did the round trip all the time in high school, so I got used to it.”

“Wow, I mean, we traveled for games, but most of the time they were down around here.”

She nodded. “Yeah, it is a haul, so I’d like to drive up tomorrow afternoon. We can still meet tomorrow morning and then I’ll see you next week Monday, back here?”

Logan smiled, and nodded. He couldn’t believe it, but he was going to kind of miss her; and maybe even the gym workouts.

“I’m not going to insult you by reminding you to stick to Renate’s plan,” she smiled and winked.

“What? Turkey is loaded with protein,” he jokingly defended a big Thanksgiving feast. “Besides, my mom already has a whole healthy spread planned.”

“You can have a little stuffing and mashed potatoes one day of the year, right?” She found herself encouraging him to break his diet, and then immediately kicked herself for saying it.

“It’s my mom’s Swedish apple pie I’ll really miss,” he shrugged, unfazed. “She’s not making it this year to help me stay on track... I’m completely bummed about that.”

“Come on, you can’t have just one piece?” Meadow was precariously flirting with her deep, dark desires.

He just smiled, “Naw, she knows I’ll eat the whole thing. I can’t ever just eat one piece, it’s that good,” he flashed a guilty grin. He realized how much he was letting his guard down with her, and it felt surprisingly okay.

Feeding him a whole pie... she thought, hating herself for how viscerally that thought reached into her erogenous zones. What kind of professional athletic trainer would feed her chubby client a whole pie?


Busy writing
May 8, 2006
Well that did it, getting Starling in here motivated me even more to get these last parts of the current chapter cleaned up and posted before a holiday weekend.

psssst... Starling, when will you share more of your talents with us again? miss your work xxoo :)


Busy writing
May 8, 2006
“I’ve got time trials down in Milwaukee this weekend,” Meadow told Logan at their first session after the Thanksgiving holiday.

“Time trials,” he nodded and grinned in understanding and encouragement.

“I’m trying to qualify for nationals in February... Renate says I’m ready,” she kept a serious look on her face. “So I’ll be tapering this week.”

“So I’m left to do all the work then?” his grin turned playful.

“Exactly,” she allowed a smile creep over her face too. “Well, I’ll try to be mostly with you on it today, but then I’ll slow down and it will be all about you the rest of the week.”

Meadow did feel she needed one last intense session, considering the days they had been away from training because of the Thanksgiving break. She had still been pretty active up north though, skiing with her dad and snowshoeing some hills with her mom. Her parents both thoroughly quizzed her about her training and regimen. They would get into the crazy details of her life if it had to do with competition, but they never bothered her at all about her career or dating prospects. They just understood her focus, and that was actually kind of cool.

As promised, she joined Logan in a long, tough workout session. Lying on the floor afterwards and stretching her quads, she looked over at him. He was sweating bullets, his chest heaving, and his little belly slightly jiggling from the movement of his lungs. Ugh, why does he have to still have some of that delicious fat? If he would just lose it all, and be the arrogant jock he’s supposed to be, I could stop thinking dirty thoughts...

“Oof,” Logan grunted, sitting up. Every square inch of his body ached. He was used to hard work, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a little bit uncomfortable each time. And apparently there were muscles deep in his body that he had missed working over the break, as they were now screaming out with a vengeance.

“Don’t you just love it though?” she asked him, feeling pleasantly exhausted yet invigorated.

Logan breathed out heavily, “Love what?”

“The way the sweat feels when it drips off your body, it’s orgasmic,” Meadow blurted, lost in the post-exercise high. She had always fed off the endorphins, and felt a certain sensual pleasure come along with the pain.

He didn’t know what to say... he hadn’t expected something that sounded so suggestive to come out of her mouth. She had been so hard to know, it was unexpected to say the least.

She saw the astonishment in his face and felt a little stupid for having phrased it like that. She didn’t mean to get sexual about it. Poor word choice, Meadow, way to make him uncomfortable. They locked eyes for only a moment before she quickly pulled hers away from his and stood up.

“I never liked the pain side of exercise,” he broke the tension. “It’s just a means to an end.”

“You don’t seem to shy away from inflicting some pain on the ice,” she remembered those Gopher games where she witnessed his aggressive methods that must have given him some discomfort. “You kind of push the rules with your physical style.”

“How would you know? You’ve never seen me play,” he was confused.

“I have seen you play,” she admitted, crossing her arms, “I’ve been to a few Gopher games.”

“You remember me? Weren’t we just a swarm of hockey douches to you?” He laughed.

“Nah, I remember you,” she blushed a little. “The crowd loves an enforcer.”

“Enforcer?” he scoffed, “Just because I’m a bigger player doesn’t mean I’m a goon. I like to intimidate, sure, but I’ve never been ejected or suspended... Yeah, okay, I’ve gotten a few majors...” He rambled a little before realizing he was talking to Meadow, and not a coach or scout. “Besides, what do you know about hockey?” a smile now spread across his face.

“My dad is pretty into it... he’s dragged me to some games over the years,” she admitted, sitting down on the bench next to him.

He shook his head, “I would have never guessed it.”

“I saw you when I’d practice at the Mariucci too... with your buddy that never got the hint to leave me alone,” she laughed, reminding him of Josh’s asinine behavior.

Logan now felt uneasy, stunned that she had, in fact, remembered him the same way he had remembered her. “I told Josh to leave you alone, but he was never the brightest guy.”

She smiled and looked down, “I was kind of a bitch, I know, but...”

“No, I get it, you have guys hitting on you all the time, I’m sure. It must get really annoying,” Logan felt stupid right after the words came out. He didn’t really want to imply he was telling her she was beautiful, even though she was... and he didn’t want to sound like he was attracted to her too, even though he was.

She shrugged and blushed, feeling uneasy about Logan’s implied compliment, “Kind of.”

They looked at each other for another moment, both clearly feeling a little awkward by the mutually uncomfortable topic.

Glancing away toward the clock, Meadow saw how late it was and jumped up, “I have to get to work.”

He nodded and heaved himself up, “I’m off to class... Are you going to check out the lights tonight?” He asked her, referring to the annual UMN winter light show. One of his teammates in the engineering program had been dragging him to it every year since they were freshmen.

“No, early to bed tonight. Renate will kill me if I don’t follow her strict pre-time trial game plan,” she explained, hoping he wasn’t potentially asking to see her there, which oddly made her feel tempted to go.

“My pre-game plan is always...” he changed the subject, enumerating on his fingers, “drink a smoothie, tape my stick, get dressed, do warm ups, throw up, and then it’s game time.”

“Throw up?” She made a sour face.

“Usually, yeah, I play best when I do,” he laughed and shrugged. “It totally kills the nerves.”

“Maybe it’s just something in the smoothie that’s making you throw up,” she raised a confused eyebrow.

“I don’t know, but it works. When the music cranks up in the arena and I hit the ice, I feel totally ready to take on any guy who wants to try and get in front of me,” he shrugged. Logan himself had always marveled at the alarmingly high level of confidence he felt at the start of games. It was a self-assured swagger that he rarely experienced during any of the rest of his waking hours.

“I’d get accused of bulimia if I drank a smoothie and vomited it up in the locker room bathrooms before every race,” she laughed.

“Well that’s just sad. You should really standup for a woman’s right to performance-anxiety barfing,” he joked.

“Gross,” she giggled anyway.

“So tomorrow...” he started to say.

“Yeah, meet me at my other gym tomorrow morning, I’ll get you a pass,” she offered, remembering she wanted to change things up for Logan this week, as long as she was tapering.

“Your other gym?” Dang, she’s such a jock.

“Where I work as a trainer,” she clarified. He doesn’t really know much about me, does he? She realized that she hadn’t given him much of a chance, either. “I want you to try out the TRX there, to see if you like it.”

She gave him the address, he nodded in agreement, and then he watched her quickly leave from behind. Her strong little figure was really beginning to make him crazy, along with her expressive big eyes and improving personality. He let a deep breath of air escape his lungs in a hard sigh. I’ve got to stop thinking of her like that...