Chapter 12 #2
“That’s the understanding we have. For now,” Ian amends. “Fitness theory is ever-evolving. Same with food science, which is why there’s some new trend every few years. But to put on muscle, you gotta eat.”
“I’m not afraid of putting on muscle,” I assure him. “Just so we’re clear.”
“Glad to hear it.” Ian sits forward in his chair, bringing the legs back to the floor as he looks over the form. “What would you like to accomplish here?”
“I want to get stronger,” I say firmly. “And I want to be able to do more of the movements as prescribed. Short term, get a handle on the general skills, then add more weight. Long term, master more complicated movements?” I nod toward the rig.
“Toes-to-bar was pretty humbling.” They were a component in today’s cardio portion.
It turns out, getting my toes to the pull-up bar while I’m dangling from it requires strength I do not currently possess.
“You’re not too far off. It will come down to fine-tuning.
” Ian makes a note on the form. “I recorded your final weight from the back squats, and you can test out other lifts in the next couple of days. As you get comfortable with them, you’ll see some big jumps in weight, so we’ll track that and set longer-term goals.
” He clicks his pen a few times. “Anything else?”
I let my attention wander across the facility.
I probably should have waited on this; two days in, I don’t know enough to know what to shoot for.
My eye lands on the trio of ropes attached to the I-beams between the pro shop and the gym floor.
The ropes have been pulled aside and secured to a hook in the wall, like macho curtain swag. “I’ve never climbed a rope before.”
“It’s more about skill than strength to start.” He looks me over, and a wry smile snags on the corner of his mouth. “Come on.”
“What… now?”
“Unless you have other plans?” Ian leans to peer under the table. I self-consciously tense my legs, lifting them off the seat lest they appear unflatteringly splooty. “You left dominant or right?”
“Left?”
“You’ll probably wrap right, then,” he says, more to himself than me, and pushes away from the table. “Congratulations. You’re going to learn how to climb a rope.”
“Try leaning back when you pull,” Ian says. “Your feet will come up more, and the higher your feet are when you get purchase, the more rope you’ll get to bypass when you stand.”
“Makes sense,” I grunt. I have achieved little more than Ian’s standing height, so we’re basically at eye level.
The lesson went better than I’d have anticipated, if I’d ever anticipated receiving a lesson on rope climbing.
There’s a wrap-and-crimp maneuver that was a little hard to get my head around, partly because it was so foreign, and partly because it required that I direct my focus perilously close to Ian’s groin.
But once I got that, it was smooth sailing.
Before we started, Ian set me up with a bright blue neoprene sleeve to protect my right shin—which gets “wrapped”—from rope burn.
I was assured it was a precautionary measure, though I’m on my own for making sure I don’t burn my hands during the descent.
This was a touch dismaying, but I found myself chirping, “Noted!” Go with the Flow Yet Dedicated to Her Fitness Journey Ellie strikes again!
“Mind if I touch you?” he asks.
Every place on my body that has known his hands goes hot with recalled contact. Back, butt, boobs, outer thighs, and the back of my skull all flare so violently, I almost lose my grip on the rope. Some part of my brain not hijacked by my libido produces a “Sure.”
Ian places a hand low between my shoulder blades, joining the ghost of Friday night’s contact, and the other just above the waist of my shorts; also a repeat visit. Welcome back, guys!
“Keep looking up the rope. I’m going to guide you a little, and on three, pull with your arms and lift your knees.” He’s close enough that I catch that same hint of cinnamon I noticed last weekend. Is it his toothpaste? Gum? “When you no longer feel me, just stand.”
“Gotcha.” My hands have started sweating.
“All right. One, two, three!”
He presses against my lower back, controlling the range of the resulting backward tilt with the hand at my shoulders, and I hike up my knees and pull myself as high as I can.
Then Ian’s no longer holding me, and I stand.
I have to loosen my grip as I rise, sliding my hands up the rope, but when I’m at my full height, I’ve managed to get myself higher off the ground.
Like, considerably higher. I stare down at Ian, who smiles. “Whoa.” I turn wide eyes on Alistair and Diego, who’ve finished wheelbarrowing and are clapping for me.
“Well done,” says Ian. “Think you can do that again on your own?”
A recently familiar thrill hums in my chest, the now what? gearing up for an outlet. “Think you can catch me if I fall?”
“You’re not going to fall,” he chides. “But also, yes.”
“Then, yes!” I repeat the motions, not getting my feet as high as I did with Ian’s assistance but covering more distance on the rope than I was when we started.
“I did it!” And this one was all on my own.
My smile is huge, the humming in my chest extending to my arms and legs.
My roommates whoop; both raise phones, recording.
“Great!” cheers Ian. “You have another one in you?”
We find out together: yes, again!
I survey the gym from my higher vantage point. I’m only ten or twelve feet off the ground, but it’s exhilarating. Back squats have nothing on this. I feel like I could fight crime! I look down at Ian, standing on the cushioned mat he situated below the rope “just in case.”
“Now, I have to get down,” I say, realizing it as I articulate the thought.
“Do you remember those steps?”
“Get the rope on the outside of my knees,” I recite, shifting the rope, “loosen up on my feet—” I loosen too much, relaxing my hands at the same time, and then I’m streaking down the length of rope. I don’t even have time to scream before I hit the mat with a grunt.
No, not the mat: I’ve been caught by Ian. “You okay?” he asks in a rush, a gust of cinnamon rustling the hair by my ear. His remarkable eyes are wide with concern. I have a death grip on his shoulders, like I’m trying to climb him. Man Mountain. How fitting.
“How are your hands?”
It takes another second for the question to register, and I release my hold. My nails have left tiny crescents in the fabric of his shirt. Still too stunned to speak, I raise my palms for inspection.
“A little red,” he determines. “Not too bad.”
This close, I pick up on a rattling sound as he speaks, like he has something in his mouth. “Are you eating?” I blurt.
He frowns, attention darting from my face to my still upraised hands and back. After a moment, he works his jaw, and I watch, rapt, as his lips part. Between his teeth is a bright red candy. Cinnamon.
“Ah!” I say, appreciating the resolution to the mystery of his spicy scent. His tongue darts out to draw the candy back in, which is fascinating.
My focus stays on Ian’s lips as I regain the rest of my senses.
Primarily touch, as I register the hard heat of his chest against my entire right side.
I’m being held bride-over-the-threshold style, which is a first and a thing I like very much.
Like Ian’s chest hair! And muscle soreness.
I’m learning all kinds of things about myself these days. And—“I just climbed a rope!”
Ian laughs. “Yeah, you did.”
“That’s so cool!” I am awash with adrenaline and pride. It’s dizzying. Though that could be the pheromones.
“Oh, shit.” Ian lifts the arm behind my knees to raise my lower legs. A dark pink line about two inches long angles over the sliver of shin between the sleeve and the top of my shoe. A smattering of crimson beads blossom within the pink.
“Abraded,” he grumbles. He lowers me to the floor, keeping a hand at my side as I find my feet. “I’m so sorry. I should have gone over that descent one more time. We’ll get that cleaned up.”
I’m in my car a few minutes later, admiring the Band-Aid on my shin, when a text populates in the roommate group chat.
Diego has wasted no time editing and distributing the footage of my rise and fall, and I watch the replay.
I grin, getting another hit of that heady, buzzy high.
I really did that. Me and my busted body did that.
I watch the clip two more times. And then I call my mom.