“I’m not worried about it, Rocky. You’ve been hitting all your goals, and you’re building up your stamina fast. You’ll be ready for the half-marathon in the spring, you just have to trust yourself.” I’m not even surprised at this point by the way my whole body relaxes from his steady reassurance and his unwavering belief in what I’m capable of.
I nod and eye the set of bars on the far wall near the door to Fender’s boxing studio, the same ones that intimidated me on my first day of training.
“I’m ready to try it today,” I decide, hitting the button to stop my cooldown walk and taking a quick drink from my water bottle.
Butch follows my gaze, and as soon as my meaning clicks, he does a fist pump.
“Hell yeah. You’ve got this, no problem.”
I don’t know about “no problem,” but after all the training we’ve been doing for the last few weeks, it feels a lot morepossible than it did when I first walked in here. Butch hops off his treadmill and we both wipe down the handles and display screens, then make our way towards the pull-up bars of doom.
“It’s so silly. I know it is,” I say quietly so that only Butch will hear me. “But I can’t get my eighth-grade gym teacher’s voice out of my head telling me that ‘girls don’t have the physiology to do pull-ups.’ I know that’s not even true, and he was just an old, misogynistic moron, but it still feels like being able to do it is proof I’m really a man or something. God, I know it’s dumb.” I groan.
“I get it.” He puts his hand on the back of my neck as he leads me over to the pull-up bars and gives it a little squeeze of reassurance. “We all have shit that rattles around in our heads like that. But there’s only one surefire way to shut that voice up.”
I look back at him and quirk a half smile. “Do the thing and prove the voice wrong?” I guess.
He winks at me and squeezes the nape of my neck again. “You got it.”
We reach the bar, and I don’t even need any more of Butch’s coaching. I can already hear it all echoing in my ears.
You already know you can do this. You’ve been doing the progressions for weeks now.
Breathe and remember that your body has to obeyyou.
You’ve got this.
I do have this. At least, I think I do.
I shake out my hands and blow out a slow breath, looking up at the daunting bar. It’s probably the only thing in this gym, other than the locker room, that’s been taunting me since the moment I walked in. I have to stand up on my toes to reach the bar and position my hands. There are boxes I could stand on, but I don’t want to. I want this challenge. I need it.
I’m not sure if everyone at Sweat is watching me right now, or if it just feels like they are, but I close my eyes and block itout, focusing on my breathing and the feeling of the cool metal under my hands. If I can climb a rockface, I can do this. If I can run three and a half miles, I can do this. If I can get naked and vulnerable with Butch, I can do this.
My muscles burn and tremble, but that doesn’t matter. I block that out just like I block out the eyes boring into me and the voice in the back of my head that says I won’t be able to do this. The metal bar brushes my chin, and my eyes pop open.
“Oh my god, I did it,” I gasp, slowly lowering myself and then doing it again. “I’m doing it!”
“Looking good, Rocky.” Butch gives an encouraging clap. “Nice and controlled, tight core, your form is perfect.”
I manage three more for a set of five, then let myself drop after lowering myself for the last time. I stumble a little when my feet hit the floor, but Butch is right there to steady me.
“I did it,” I say again, spinning towards him. He holds up both hands for a high five, and I slap them enthusiastically, then meet him in a chest bump.
“I never doubted you.”
The adrenaline coursing through me has me bouncing on my toes and laughing with relief.
“I always thought people were lying about exercise endorphins, but I get it now. I’m pretty sure I could lift a car right over my head if I wanted to. I could swing through the jungle on vines like Tarzan, or punch a shark.”
He laughs, his eyes sparkling with affection and amusement.
“No sharks around, but I’m sure Fender would be up for some sparring if you really feel the need to hit something.”
Right on cue, Fender appears in the doorway of his boxing studio, sweaty and shirtless from finishing up with his recent class, with a smirk on his lips.
“You rang?”
I shake my head and huff a laugh. “I think I’d rather ride the high from my sense of accomplishment for the rest of the day than ruin it by getting my ass kicked.”
