“I’m going to start warming up,” I said.
“Do what you gotta do, don’t worry about us. I just want to get some workout footage for b-roll, and I might ask you a few questions.” Ben paused. “But only if it won’t mess you up.”
“It’s fine, no problem.”
I headed for my usual spot to start waking up my body with ankle and shoulder rolls. I skipped my earbuds because I wanted to eavesdrop on them as they set up, to see if there was any residual tension from the day before, but they seemed to be business as usual.
It took a few minutes for me to settle into a headspace that was okay with an audience during what was usually my private time. Admittedly, some of what I did off-ice looked pretty darn goofy, like power skips across the room and butterflies. But every athlete had their weird foundation exercises that support their real skills. I’d seen speed skaters doing “belt crossovers,” which look like a slow-motion one-man tug of war.
Ben and Co. didn’t move from their spot as I went through my workout, which helped me to lean into the exercises and even pushmyself a little harder. This interview was a chance for me to send subliminal messages about how much stronger I was now, so yeah, I showboated a little.
I pulled the Bosu ball into position in front of the mirror and started my balance exercises.
“I hated that damn thing,” Ben laughed. “It looks like a toy but it feels like torture.”
He was right, because the wheel-size blue half ball with the rigid platform on one side and a soft dome on the other looked like it belonged in kindergarten class. The way it trembled under my foot as I stretched my leg behind me in a Biellmann suggested that it was more deadly than it appeared. I was already feeling fatigued, so when I went into a pistol squat the thing really started wobbling.
“Did you ever try anything like this?” I asked Ben, holding position even though my thigh was screaming.
He stopped taking notes to watch me. “No, but it doesn’t look too bad. I bet I could do it.”
“Oh yeah?” I stood up, grateful for an excuse to stop. “Then get over here and prove it.”
“Uh oh, let the games begin,” Hailey said as Ben walked over.
Ben was wearing yet another navy checkered business-casual button-down and jeans, which would make getting into position even more challenging.
“Can we bet on this?” Neil asked. “Is that against company policy?”
“It’s not a sanctioned competition, so the gambling rules don’t apply,” Hailey replied. “Yeah, let’s make this interesting.”
“What’s your usual hold time?” Ben asked me as he shook out his legs and stretched his quads.
“Well, I just did a minute, so aim for that,” I said, neglecting to mention that I’d doubled my usual time because of the camera.
“Ten bucks says he beats it,” Neil said.
“Eh, I’m not so sure,” Hailey replied. “I’m betting that he can’t make it past thirty seconds.”
“Ouch, Hailey, thanks for believing in me,” Ben joked. “This is gonna be easy. Someone time me.”
He was so cocky that I couldn’t tell if it was blind confidence or if he actuallyknewthat he could do it. I wasn’t sure what types of workouts he did in his heyday, but I couldn’t imagine that the figure skating–specific position was one he could nail. I knew his quads used to be strong, and even though he still looked as fit as he did in his glory days, time was a thief. If he wasn’t consistently putting in the hours at the gym, achieving the awkward squat with one leg held out straight on a shaky surface wasn’t going to be easy.
Ben got into position on the flat side of the ball without so much as a wobble. “Ready?”
“Three, two, one,go,” Neil said.
I saw the switch flip in him again as he descended into position. The happy, good-time guy disappeared, and his expression went into Magic Martino mode. Dead eyes fixed on the distance, with nothing in his field of vision butwinning.
“Lower,” I coached. “You need to be in a full squat on one leg with the other out straight in front of you. Like this.” I demonstrated the position again on the floor across from him.
“Yup,” he replied, watching himself in the mirror across from us. He went into a deeper squat and I was happy to see the ball start vibrating beneath his foot, because it meant that he was already starting to feel weak.
No surprise, it was a passable version of a sit-spin position because Ben could do everything, but passable wouldn’t do when there was moneyandego on the line.
“Now let go of your calf,” I said. “I did thirty seconds holding on and thirty seconds with a free arm.”
He shot me a look before letting go. The ball jiggled dramatically at the weight shift.
