I survey the group, doing a quick inventory of shapes and sizes and any apparent risks for injury. Sarah gave me a brief rundown on the phone while I was changing, explaining some of the issues with Down Syndrome and exercise. I already know from Shane that there’s a higher rate of obesity and issues with hypermobility. Balance can be a concern, not to mention cardiac problems and?—
“How about we start by going around the group and introducing ourselves and sharing why you’re interested in learning more about exercise?” I infuse my voice with enough enthusiasm to push it past the lump in my throat.
I look to Junie, who quickly takes my cue. “I’m Junie Traxel and I want to know about getting a booty like Beyoncé.”
There’s a titter of laughter around the room, but Junie just smiles.
“Can’t fault you for that.” I just barely manage to keep a straight face.
Sarah is covering her laughter with a fake cough, and the smile she gives me dissolves something warm in the center of my chest.
“Sign me up for the Beyoncé booty workout,” she says, giving Junie a friendly nudge. “Excellent idea.”
We continue around the group and I meet Saul, Aidan, Shelly, Laurel, Jessie, and Stanley. I’m watching carefully, getting a bare-bones read on fitness experience and interest in different types of exercise. Several of the guys mention wanting to get buff so girls will like them, and I catch Aidan shooting shy smiles at Junie. It reminds me of how my mother used to worry about whether Shane would find love or get married or?—
“Okay,” I say, cutting off that train of thought as my chest starts to tighten. “Let’s start with a little warm-up.”
I lead them through some basic cardio, beginning with marching in place and moving to high-knee running. I keep an eye on who’s getting winded, who seems ready for more advanced work, and who’s having difficulty with basic motor skills.
“Great work, guys,” I tell them once we’re all warmed up. “Who wants to see Sarah help with a quick demonstration?”
There’s a cheerful round of applause, and Sarah saunters forward with an eyeroll. “I told you I’m not a gym person.”
“We’re all here to learn.” I gesture to the bench Junie pointed at earlier. “Can I get you to lie face-up, please, with your head at that end?”
She gives me a side-eye but refrains from making any cracks about me ordering her onto her back. As she stretches out on the bench, I do my best not to stare at her breasts. Or the space where her workout pants hug her thighs. Or—okay, I should probably stay focused on the workout.
“Anyone know what this equipment is called?” I ask.
Sarah smirks, and I realize she’s eye-level with my junk and fighting the urge to make a crack about equipment.
“A bench press,” someone calls out.
“You definitely use this to bench press,” I tell him. “And the machine is called a power rack.”
I refrain from checking out Sarah’s rack, no matter how badly I might want to, forcing myself to stay focused on the lesson instead.
“A power rack is great for bench pressing because of these safety pins here,” I explain. “If you lose your grip on the bar or it feels too heavy, these pins will catch the weight so it doesn’t fall on you.”
There are a few murmured comments from the group, but everyone’s nodding and following along. “Aidan, could I ask you to grab a second one of these plates?”
I demonstrate with the first one, showing him which size to grab and how to lift it off and slide it onto the bar. Everyone watches closely, and from the way Aidan swaggers, I can tell he’s pumped to be the chosen one. Shane was like that, too, always eager to be helpful. Thrilled with any activity that made him feel like one of the guys.
God, I miss my brother.
I push away the emotion, determined to stay focused. To help Sarah and everyone else in this room. We finish getting things locked into place, and I test the weight to make sure it’s a safe amount for Sarah. She grins up at me, and my nonexistent heart stutters.
She’s so damn beautiful.
As the group gathers around, I give a quick explanation of which muscle groups get worked in a proper bench press. One of the guys—Stan, I think—starts taking notes on a little blue pad of paper, and I wonder if Shane would have done that. He was always so inquisitive, always eager to learn something new.
“Who wants to see Sarah lift this bar?” I ask.
Seven hands shoot up in unison, and a chorus of “yeah” goes up around us. Sarah grimaces, but puts her hands on the bar.
“Wait just a sec,” I tell her. “Let’s make sure you get the form right so you don’t get hurt. How about everyone come over here and take a look at Sarah’s hands.”
They file over one by one and join me in peering at the bar. “See this stripe right here? The place without bumps on it? Go ahead and feel it.”
