I directed a grimace towards the bench press. Who was I kidding? After months of nearly killing myself working out three times a week, I was still the beanpole that I had always been, "More beef on a crutch," my grandmother had always said in exasperation as I had been growing up. Up and up, but not out.
Why had allowed my friend Matt, a star rugby player since our schooldays, to persuade me to join our local gym? I didn't really fit in with his musclebound friends. In a further moment of weakness, I had even let him convince me to take place in a weight lifting competition for charity. Apparently I needed a goal to work towards.
I hadn't made my regular training session, so I had gone to the gym alone, knowing that I needed to do all the work I could if I wasn't going to make a fool of myself at the competition. Now I was there, though, and without Matt to cajole me, I was having motivation problems.
"Come on, Sam," I said to myself, "at least I'm getting good exercise."
Lying on my back, I hoisted the barbell into the air. Unfortunately, I'd managed to get the weight wrong. I almost instantly realised that I was in trouble as I brought the bar down to my chest. Desperately I struggled to heft the iron off of my body, but the more I struggled, the weaker I felt.
The first rule about bench pressing is to never to try and do it on your own, and at that very moment I was discovering why. Just as I was beginning to get desperate, a second pair of hands materialised and helped me lift the weight. I gulped air as I sat up.
I struggled to my feet to thank my saviour. To my utter horror, I was standing face to face with a woman.
"Idiot!" she growled, fixing me with a fearsome glare, "don't you know enough to use a spotter? If you want to lift alone, use a machine." She turned on her heel and strode away.
I was mortified, wishing that the ground would open up and swallow me, wanting to crawl quietly out of the room. For some reason, though, I swallowed my embarrassment and chased after her. I put my hand on her shoulder as I caught her up, noticing the well toned firmness of her body even through my chagrin.
I stuttered an apology, acknowledged my foolishness and thanked her again for rescuing me. She gave him a quick once over before flashing a spectacular smile at me. "I'm sorry for snapping at you," she said, "I've just seen people get hurt before. Are you new at this?"
I explained that I normally had other people to do organise things so I didn't really understand the equipment as well as I thought I had. "I know," she said with a friendly grin, "why don't we work together. I'll keep you out of trouble."
I'd have jumped at that offer from anyone at that moment. And now that I'd had a good look at my rescuer, I wasn't going to pass up any opportunity to get to know her. She was tall and lithe, with a firm, well defined body with naturally pale, creamy skin. She wasn't especially pretty, with plain features framed by shoulder length black hair, but her eyes were an unusual shade of violet, almost lilac and that smile was a real heart-stopper.
