Author's Note:
This is NOT the kind of Part 6 that is designed to stand alone. You will be very lost without having read the first five parts.
To prevent anybody else going down the same rabbit hole two of my editors did, the two Pornhub videos described in this chapter are fictional.
General updates about what I'm working on can be found on my author profile. Got a question or feedback (positive or negative)? Feel free to reach out! Interactions with fans are a huge part of what motivates me to write.
As always, many thanks to EGRI and the other editors who prefer to remain anonymous.
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Ignore the Warning Label
Part 6
"It's a bit of a weird motion to get used to. You've got to keep your heels on the ground." Vivian nodded, her jaw clenched with effort. "And you gotta remember to breathe!"
"Oh yeah," Vivian panted. She tried another squat, struggling with the weight after holding it up for several reps while I corrected her form.
"That's better," I said, encouragingly.
She smiled back at me in the mirror, sweat dripping down her face and making her bangs fall in front of her eyes. "That's better, but..." she prompted.
"Here, let's switch and I'll show you again."
'Was there ever a time that I struggled squatting two tens plus the bar?'
Probably, but I'd long since buried the memories. Vivian was doing well considering she'd never done any real weightlifting before. Her enthusiasm hadn't dulled at all, despite an hour of what I worried were buzz-killing form corrections. "See how far down I'm going?"
"Yeah. It felt like I was doing that."
"Check yourself in the mirror. Trust me, this is important." I re-racked the bar and stepped onto my metaphorical soap box. "There's two types of people in this gym. Those with self respect, and half reppers." I pointed to some guy I'd been quietly judging from the corner of my eye since we'd arrived. "Watch that guy on the bench press. See the way he's barely moving the bar up and down? That's fucking cheating. He thinks he's cool because he's benching 225, but he can't do it for real with a full range of motion." I locked eyes with my audience of one, flooding my voice with passion, "I'm not going to tell you how to live your life, Vivian. It's up to you to choose whether to support good or evil. All I'm going to say is, if you do decide to be a half repper, don't stand next to me or else other people might think I'm with you."
Vivian had managed to hold her laughter in, the effort showing more and more every second, but it finally escaped in a burst. "Wow, you're so serious! Did that guy call you a bitch or something when I wasn't looking?"
"It is serious!" I insisted, but more quietly. "The bar is 45 pounds, and each of the big plate weights are 45 each too. Moving up in increments of 45 are big milestones. 225 is a big one on bench, two of the 45 pound plates on each side."
"And doing it for half the motion triggers you because it's claiming credit for something he didn't earn?"
"Loads of people do it, and they're all morally bankrupt." I must have looked deadly serious again, because my expression made Vivian laugh more.
"Okay, I promise I'll do as you say, coach." She slid under the bar, lined her feet up with her shoulders, and went back to it. '
Much better!
'
She learned quickly. There are a lot of people who go to the gym and never actually work hard enough to sweat. They just walk on the treadmill, wave some baby weights around for five minutes, then call it a day. Then they wonder why they're not getting any stronger.
For all she thought of herself as a nerd who played video games and only watched athletic people on TV, Vivian wasn't afraid to sweat. It was great! I honestly hadn't expected her to come with me. I'd mostly just been teasing her about coming into my wheelhouse after all the time we'd spent in hers recently playing Overwatch together. She never complained or tried to get us to leave, instead tossing herself into each exercise with an enthusiasm that defied her failing energy level.
'If she can keep this up, she might just turn into a proper gym rat.'
If it had just been me, I would have kept going for another few sets, but Vivian really was tired, and I thought it would be best to end on a high note. Club Metro in Newport, Jersey City had its fair share of drawbacks. The locker room was shitty and there's always a line for dead lifts. The one huge thing it had going for it is location. I could see both my apartment building and my office from the entrance.
It was also twenty yards from that pinnacle of exquisite culinary goodness that is Chipotle. Malcolm once tried to figure out how much money I'd spent there over the years, but I made him stop after the count got to four figures. Let's just say I was a familiar face and leave it at that.
There's something about standing on line and smelling the food so close that makes it impossible not to feel starved. My eyes were pulled to the bucket of guac like a magnet while Vivian chatted happily about her most recent date with her new boyfriend, David. It was a little difficult to keep up with the details -- when Vivian is excited about something, her brand of storytelling takes on a Tarantino style of ignoring chronology and jumping to whatever she's just remembered. Apparently, she'd met him at his place for the first time.
"It was like five different artists lived there! Remember how he said he likes to dabble in lots of things? Well, he wasn't kidding! There was tons of half finished stuff around -- paintings, sculptures, clothes, even furniture."
"Furniture? Like, woodworking?"
"Yeah, apparently he's got a friend that needs a new desk. Turns out there's a ton more to it than just nailing boards together." Vivian absolutely radiated delight, but her description of David's carpentry skills was cut short by the server.
"Welcome to Chipotle, what can I get for—Oh it's you again. Usual?"
Vivian raised an eyebrow, and I shrugged helplessly. "What! Can you blame me?"
She thought for a second, then admitted, "If I lived where you do, I'd probably be a regular too."
Vivian's arm shook very slightly holding her cup steady for water, and I smiled approving. She'd be sore tomorrow. Hopefully, she'd like the feeling as much as I do. Kind of like post-BDSM marks, nothing makes you feel like you've really accomplished something the next day quite like a bit of pleasant achiness.
"He seems like he's really making you happy," I said once Vivian's date commentary was interrupted by her burrito. "I'm really looking forward to meeting him tomorrow."
"I am too, I really hope you like him," she echoed, but her expression turned slightly anxious.
