to die
like Elvis. He stayed put until the painkillers had a chance to
kick in, but even so, the act of standing up made him break out in
a sweat.
At work he avoided sitting down
for as long as possible, bending over his desk to operate his
computer until twinges in his back signalled it wasn’t a tenable
position. Googling ‘muscle pain’ he discovered it was a common
result of unaccustomed exercise, and there was no real cure for it
except time. The best way to avoid it, according to the website,
was to make slow increases to the intensity of the exercise, under
the guidance of a personal trainer. He made a mental note to point
this out to Vincenzo at the first possible opportunity. If he ever
went back there. ‘Intensity’ was not his favourite word that
day.
That night he donned his
exercise gear with extreme reluctance but made it to the gym
anyway, determined he wasn’t going to let the discomfort put him
off getting fit. Mark had emailed him during the day and encouraged
him to be there, saying more exercise was the best way to ease the
soreness.
“Are you sure about this?” said
Dennis as they met up in the men’s locker room. He was doubtful,
but Mark seemed convinced.
“Yeah, really. I’ve checked the
science. Movement gets the accumulated lactic acid out of your
muscles and reduces the soreness. Didn’t Vincenzo tell you any of
this stuff? He really should have.”
“No, he just set the weights and
left me to it,” said Dennis, frowning. “Where is he, anyway?” He
looked around the gym. “I think I’d like a little word with him
about that.”
“Oh, he said he had a meeting of
some sort tonight,” said Mark. “I’ll give you a hand if you like –
sort you out some stretches and an upper body workout, maybe some
light leg work to get rid of that stiffness.”
“Would you? Thanks, I’d really
appreciate that.”
They got down to it, working
through the routines as delicate music wafted towards them from the
yoga room. After half an hour it stopped, and a gaggle of
brightly-clad women came out clutching rolled-up rubber mats. Cathy
closed the door and smiled when she saw Dennis across the room on
the chest press. She dropped her yoga mat and came over to him.
“Hi there, Dennis. How’s it
going? Everything OK?” Her tawny hair was pulled back in a tight
pony-tail, lightly damp from her workout. He looked into her pretty
blue eyes and lied through his teeth.
“Fine thanks, Cathy,
everything’s just fine.” He pushed a couple more reps to prove his
point. He’d actually finished his set of chest presses but wasn’t
about to get up from his seat while she was standing there in case
his scream of pain gave the game away.
“So we haven’t scared you off
yet? That’s good! Carry on, we can still talk while you work
out.”
Dennis smiled weakly and pushed
a few more times, feeling his arms protesting as the reps went on
well beyond the prescribed thirty-six. “There, done,” he said at
last, stopping when he couldn’t force his arms through another
cycle.
“Good work, Dennis! Now come
with me and I’ll show you a good trick to add an extra boost to
what you’ve just done.” She set off towards the rack of exercise
balls at the side of the room, looking back over her shoulder as he
sat there, unmoving. “Come on then.”
He plastered a smile on his face
and stood up gingerly, doing his utmost not to wince with her eyes
upon him. “Coming,” he said through lightly-clenched teeth.
Cathy stopped in her tracks.
“Oh-oh, I know that look. OK, what hurts?” She retraced her steps
and stood close to him, hands on her hips.
“Legs,” he muttered, reluctant
to admit his weakness. He rubbed at his thighs. “They’ll be all
right in a bit. Nothing to worry about.”
She frowned. “What sort of
workout did Vincenzo give you yesterday? Can I see your booklet?”
She held out her hand for the dark blue workout book. He passed it
over.
“What?” she exclaimed in
like Elvis. He stayed put until the painkillers had a chance to
kick in, but even so, the act of standing up made him break out in
a sweat.
At work he avoided sitting down
for as long as possible, bending over his desk to operate his
computer until twinges in his back signalled it wasn’t a tenable
position. Googling ‘muscle pain’ he discovered it was a common
result of unaccustomed exercise, and there was no real cure for it
except time. The best way to avoid it, according to the website,
was to make slow increases to the intensity of the exercise, under
the guidance of a personal trainer. He made a mental note to point
this out to Vincenzo at the first possible opportunity. If he ever
went back there. ‘Intensity’ was not his favourite word that
day.
That night he donned his
exercise gear with extreme reluctance but made it to the gym
anyway, determined he wasn’t going to let the discomfort put him
off getting fit. Mark had emailed him during the day and encouraged
him to be there, saying more exercise was the best way to ease the
soreness.
“Are you sure about this?” said
Dennis as they met up in the men’s locker room. He was doubtful,
but Mark seemed convinced.
“Yeah, really. I’ve checked the
science. Movement gets the accumulated lactic acid out of your
muscles and reduces the soreness. Didn’t Vincenzo tell you any of
this stuff? He really should have.”
“No, he just set the weights and
left me to it,” said Dennis, frowning. “Where is he, anyway?” He
looked around the gym. “I think I’d like a little word with him
about that.”
“Oh, he said he had a meeting of
some sort tonight,” said Mark. “I’ll give you a hand if you like –
sort you out some stretches and an upper body workout, maybe some
light leg work to get rid of that stiffness.”
“Would you? Thanks, I’d really
appreciate that.”
They got down to it, working
through the routines as delicate music wafted towards them from the
yoga room. After half an hour it stopped, and a gaggle of
brightly-clad women came out clutching rolled-up rubber mats. Cathy
closed the door and smiled when she saw Dennis across the room on
the chest press. She dropped her yoga mat and came over to him.
“Hi there, Dennis. How’s it
going? Everything OK?” Her tawny hair was pulled back in a tight
pony-tail, lightly damp from her workout. He looked into her pretty
blue eyes and lied through his teeth.
“Fine thanks, Cathy,
everything’s just fine.” He pushed a couple more reps to prove his
point. He’d actually finished his set of chest presses but wasn’t
about to get up from his seat while she was standing there in case
his scream of pain gave the game away.
“So we haven’t scared you off
yet? That’s good! Carry on, we can still talk while you work
out.”
Dennis smiled weakly and pushed
a few more times, feeling his arms protesting as the reps went on
well beyond the prescribed thirty-six. “There, done,” he said at
last, stopping when he couldn’t force his arms through another
cycle.
“Good work, Dennis! Now come
with me and I’ll show you a good trick to add an extra boost to
what you’ve just done.” She set off towards the rack of exercise
balls at the side of the room, looking back over her shoulder as he
sat there, unmoving. “Come on then.”
He plastered a smile on his face
and stood up gingerly, doing his utmost not to wince with her eyes
upon him. “Coming,” he said through lightly-clenched teeth.
Cathy stopped in her tracks.
“Oh-oh, I know that look. OK, what hurts?” She retraced her steps
and stood close to him, hands on her hips.
“Legs,” he muttered, reluctant
to admit his weakness. He rubbed at his thighs. “They’ll be all
right in a bit. Nothing to worry about.”
She frowned. “What sort of
workout did Vincenzo give you yesterday? Can I see your booklet?”
She held out her hand for the dark blue workout book. He passed it
over.
“What?” she exclaimed in
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