When My Sugar Baby Became My Fitness Partner

Since I’ve known her, Shelly has been one of those kinds of people who could somehow not exercise a day in her life and still look like she wakes up every morning at 6 am to get a workout in. I have no idea how she does it. She can eat like no one I’ve ever seen: hamburgers, fried foods, donuts, you name it. Not a blemish, not a single pound gained. Youth, I guess? To be fair, at her age, I was doing keg stands and sleeping in until noon. And I also looked pretty good.

But, alas, I’m not Shelly’s age anymore. Unlike her, I’m on a strict exercise regimen and diet as prescribed by my doctor. At my most recent check-up, he told me, in a quite brusque way, that if I didn’t do these things, I would have to start taking an array of medications for high blood pressure within a year. Maybe it’s childish, but I abhor taking pills of any kind. Especially ones that come with negative side effects like digestion issues, headaches, and nausea.

Don’t get the impression, though, that I hold any of this against Shelly. In fact, I think it was my unnerving conversation with my doctor that made me consider sugaring in the first place. Not only did I miss my younger days when I had no idea what a normal blood pressure even was, but I missed being around younger folks. I thought, “Okay, I’ll find a young, sporty person to keep me active.” That part didn’t work out the way that I expected.

If it had been up to her, Shelly would have gladly slept through my morning workouts and accepted breakfast in bed, made by yours truly. She would also have gladly enjoyed a luxurious sunbathing session while I got my afternoon pool laps in.

But I could tell that Shelly was attracted to my lifestyle. She liked that she had an active older sugar daddy, and she often asked to tag along when I went to the gym so that she could take selfies in the big mirrors in her activewear. It turns out, it was enough to have someone who supported my active lifestyle even if she wasn’t active herself.

This changed, though, when one day, after Shelly had stayed over, she saw me taking my blood pressure in the morning. It was something I did a few times a week so that I could share the data with my doctor. And she told me she had never had her blood pressure taken, at least not as an adult.

“What about when you go to get your annual physical?” I asked.

She met me with a blank stare. “You mean, people my age are supposed to do that?”

I laughed and told her to sit up on the bar stool at the kitchen island so I could take her blood pressure. Both of us were giggling about playing the role of doctor and patient, but the lightheartedness ended quickly when I realized her blood pressure was high.

I took it again and told her to relax her breathing. Still high.

“Hmm,” I said, trying not to alarm her. “Do either of your parents have high blood pressure?” She said that yes, both of her parents were on medication for hypertension.

“Well,” I squeezed her knee. “It’s probably nothing to worry about, but why don’t we get you in for an annual physical. Just in case.”

Luckily, it didn’t put too much of a damper on the mood. But even after dropping Shelly off at her apartment, I kept thinking about it.

Shelly did end up going to see the on-campus doctor to get a full physical, and the results were not great. High blood pressure was definitely a problem for her, and her cholesterol was in an unhealthy range. Her doctor, like mine, gave her a stern talking to about healthy habits. And it broke my heart to hear Shelly crying on the phone to me afterwards.

I thought, maybe, she would be mad at me for being the one who forced her to get a check-up, but she thanked me instead.

“I don’t want to end up like my parents,” she confessed. “Can we start working out together?”

I was honestly thrilled and decided that maybe we should bring in a personal trainer and a nutritionist to start putting together a plan. I also took Shelly to the mall so that she could get clothes that were actually comfortable to work out in, rather than take gym selfies. And we each got a workout journal to track our progress.

Of course, it’s a lot easier and more fun to make the decision to get into shape and buy all the equipment and accessories than it is to actually do the work. And Shelly struggled in the beginning.

There were mornings that I had to physically pick her up out of bed, sit her upright at the kitchen table, and put a cup of coffee in her hand so that she could wake up on time to go to the gym with me before her classes. When we worked out with our trainer, he had to use every trick in the book to try to get her to actually finish a set. I knew that trying to convince a college-aged person to stop drinking was out of the question, but I made sure that she was at least getting enough veggies and protein in her diet to maybe counterbalance the negative effects.

Whenever things got busier in her classes, her consistency fell off immediately. And I understood this. Luckily, I was at a place with my training where it was easier to keep momentum than fall off. And I tried to remind Shelly of this when she would come back to the gym after a two-week break and complain about how hard the exercises were or how much endurance she had lost.

“Even when you’re studying all night,” I told her, “You can call me up, and we’ll go for a quick run or do a routine over FaceTime. Just don’t quit, it’s always harder to come back.”

As finals approached, I could see that Shelly was more stressed than ever. She was in her third year, which meant that the pressure to find internships that could lead to jobs after graduation was intense. I offered to help as much as I could, but she was retreating, I could tell.

It was painful, sure, but I just kept doing my own thing and exercising and reminding myself not to be the kind of guy who oversteps.

One night, Shelly called me, and she was having a full-blown panic attack. She asked if I could take her to the emergency room because she was having chest pains, which, of course, I did, immediately.

I hadn’t really dealt with panic attacks myself, so it was pretty scary to see, actually. I didn’t know that they would take it so seriously in the ER, but they made sure to check Shelly’s vitals and do an EKG. They also offered to give her a dose of anxiety meds and a list of mental health resources. When the doctor could see that Shelly was in a more stable condition, she told her in no uncertain terms that, because she already had high blood pressure, it was imperative that she find healthy ways to manage stress.

That was definitely the wake-up call Shelly needed. After that night, Shelly never missed a workout unless she was sick. She cut back on drinking. She changed her sleep schedule. And I could notice a visible change in her mood. By the time she was lining up interviews for her internships, she was walking into every office absolutely glowing. Everyone wanted to hire her. It was incredible.

There were still days, of course, that Shelly tried to convince me that we should stay in bed instead of heading to the gym. And there were days when she insisted on more butter and salt on our popcorn at the movies despite my protests. But in general, she was on a path towards health, and I was really proud of her.

About a year after her panic attack, I went back to my doctor for a check-in. And unfortunately, he said that it was time for the medication. There was no fighting it anymore. Sometimes genetics and age just wins.

I was pretty bummed about it, but Shelly was there to support me. She reminded me of all the good that becoming more active had done in both of our lives and our mental well-being.

She gave me a friendly slap on the shoulder and said, “Enough moping. We’re going to be late to our personal training session, and I can’t wait to tell him about how big a failure you are since you have to be on medication now. I finally get to be the gold star student.”

I can always count on Shelly for a good laugh and a good workout. I think we’ve made this whole process a lot easier for one another.