Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Twenty feet away, I watch Locke on the push sled. His feet dig into the turf, muscles bulging, and I notice from the perspective of a woman who appreciates a beautiful man, not as a performance coach.
We run three full rotations and by the end of it everyone is breathing hard. Boss has started the low-level grousing that I’ve come to understand is his primary mode of communication during physical exertion.
“Hey, Rome,” he says, coming off the pull-up rig and rolling his shoulders. “You’re slow on the rotation.”
Rome smirks. “I finished before you, dude.”
“You finished wrong.”
“There’s no wrong on a pull-up.”
“There’s definitely wrong on a pull-up.”
“Okay,” I say, before Boss can suggest anything that involves me losing control of this session entirely. “One more thing. Sled push. Individual times—fastest wins. But to make it fair, everyone pushes seventy-five percent of their body weight.”
Boss is already doing the math in his head and looking pleased about it. Rome nods. Arch grins. Locke seems ambivalent.
“You figuring the weight?” Crosby asks.
“Yup.” I pull out my tablet, grab their last weigh-ins from the player database, and do some quick math. “I’ll call out your plate load when it’s your turn. Full track length and back. Any questions?”
“What does the winner get?” Boss asks.
“The satisfaction of being fastest.”
“That’s it?”
“And bragging rights,” I add.
He looks deeply unsatisfied with this answer, which means he’s going to run like his life depends on it.
I pull my stopwatch. “Arch, you’re up first.”
Arch rolls his shoulders and steps to the sled as the other guys load his weight. He drives well—powerful and low—and when he finishes, he turns around breathing hard and points at the group. “Beat that.”
Boss goes next and he does beat it, by four-tenths of a second, and the victory dance he does is disproportionate to the margin. Rome goes and splits the difference between them. Crosby does a hell of a run and edges Arch by a tenth.
Then Locke steps up.
The joking quiets and no one engages him in light bantering, I suspect because no one knows him well enough to do so. I’m hoping that will change soon.
Locke sets his hands on the bar, drops his hips, and takes a deep breath. I can’t help it but inside, I’m cheering him on to win.
“On your mark,” I say, holding up my stopwatch. “Get set. Go.”
Locke drives hard and whatever he’s channeling to push himself, it’s working. I can tell before looking at the results that he’s faster than all of them, and the margin isn’t even close.
Inside my head, I do a little victory dance for him because I know he never would.
He’s huffing and puffing and rolls his neck once before grabbing his water bottle.
“And Locke has you all beat,” I announce, holding out the stopwatch.
“Oh, come on,” Boss laments.
“Do it again,” Arch demands. “I want to see that again.”
“That’s not how it works,” Locke says, then takes another swig of water.
“Donovan.” Boss points at him. “You’ve been holding out on us.”
I see the barest suggestion of a smile before he shutters off again.
“All right,” I say, handing the stopwatch off to Crosby. “My turn.”
That gets their attention.
“You’re running it?” Arch asks, almost reverently.
“Seventy-five percent of my body weight, same as everyone else.”
I step up as Rome loads my weight, risking a glance at Locke. He gives me a nod, as if to say You’ve got this.
I know my load is considerably lighter than theirs in raw pounds, but it’s proportionally identical. I step into position, wrapping my hands around the bar. I’ve done sled work for years, long before this job, and I know my mechanics. Hips down, drive from the legs, don’t let the upper body collapse forward.
Crosby counts me down and I’m off.
The guys cheer me on as I dig deep, whooping and hollering as I drive down the track length until I cross the finish line. I hunch over, breathing hard with my hands on my knees.
I twist my neck, call back to Crosby. “Time?”
Crosby looks at the watch and calls it out.
“Holy shit.” Arch cackles. “You beat Rome.”
“She did not,” he exclaims, looking over Crosby’s shoulder at the results. “Fuck.”
“The watch doesn’t lie,” Crosby says, and there’s amusement in it.
“She beat Rome,” Arch says, looking between me and Rome with the delighted expression of a man who has just been given a gift. “Rome. She beat Rome.”
“Okay,” Rome says, pointing at the sled. “I need a rematch. Someone get me a lighter sled.”
“That’s not how the math works.” I laugh.
“I don’t care about the math.”
“I know you don’t. Session’s over.” I take the stopwatch back from Crosby and make a note on my clipboard. “Good work today. All of you.”
They filter back toward the door, the competitive energy breaking down into the easy aftermath of people who enjoy each other. Boss is still arguing the times. Arch slings an arm around Crosby’s shoulders and says something that makes Crosby exhale in what might be a laugh.