Chapter Two
“Ow! What the fuck?”
The words flew out of her mouth before Misty could even shut off her alarm.
Even though it was impossible that she could have put on a significant amount of muscle weight from one workout, her limbs still felt like they weighed a ton.
She’d been too tired to care about this when she’d gone to bed last night, but it had clearly caught up to her now.
The blare of her alarm wasn’t helping. She hit snooze and lay back down, but her stomach muscles hurt so much that she couldn’t get into her preferred sleep position or stay there for long.
She vaguely remembered Spencer saying there would be some core engagement during the exercises, but she hadn’t realized there would be so much of it! She couldn’t help moaning out loud.
“You okay in there?” one of her flight attendant roommates called from the living room. They’d divided it into a sleeping area, leaving only a couch and TV crammed into the remaining space.
“Shut up,” someone else moaned, drawing out the last word. Sometimes the three flight attendants’ schedules aligned so that one person had the space all to herself, while other times they slept practically on top of each other. This seemed to be one of the latter.
“I’m fine.” Misty pushed herself up with every muscle protesting, took some Advil, and rubbed arnica gel from head to toe before climbing back into bed for the next hour or so. She’d start work once she felt like she could sit up and move her arms to do it.
By the time she met up with Spencer again the next day, most of the pain had disappeared in the wake of two hot showers and multiple layers of medicated lotion.
Nevertheless, Misty chose a sports bra that zipped up the front, as sometimes forcing a sports bra over her head could be its own form of upper body workout.
Her sample t-shirt, leggings, and sneakers came on more easily.
Spencer was waiting at the front desk again, dressed in his usual gym-branded gear without a drop of sweat staining any of it. His short brown hair looked artfully arranged, gold flecks stood out in his eyes, and he looked like he hadn’t missed an hour of sleep. How was any of this fair?
She didn’t get to ask about that because he spoke first. “How did you feel after the assessment?”
“Sore.” She could barely bring herself to meet his eyes. She’d always thought of herself as athletic because she’d been so active in school and continued to play a sport, but suddenly felt like a fraud for being defeated by such rudimentary exercises.
Spencer’s expression didn’t change. A sympathetic look might have been nice, but at least there was no judgment in his face either.
“I’ll bet you are if you haven’t been using those muscles in those ways.
But now that you’ve activated them, they’re not going to scream at you like that again going forward. ”
He handed her a printout. “Speaking of which, to get in the shape you want to be in time to submit your video, I’m going to recommend that you do three days of cardio and three days of strength.
You’ll get a day to rest, at which time you should really rest. I’d go so far as to suggest you do as many of your errands as possible before that day so you can stay home and get as much rest as possible. And that brings us to diet.”
“Diet? Am I going to have to stay at or below a certain weight?” She tried to remember if she’d seen anything like that on the combine requirements.
“No, the good thing about this sport and this plan is you can pretty much eat whatever you want. However, some foods are going to be more conducive to your goals and your health than others, so I can work out a plan for you based on that if you want.”
“Couldn’t hurt. I know Tish is on a performance diet.”
“Okay. Is there anything I should know about? Restrictions, allergies, anything you especially don’t like?”
She thought it over. “I didn’t get the gene for liking cilantro. That’s about it.”
He didn’t look amused. Was it because he had the pro-cilantro gene? “I can work with that and have something ready for you by tomorrow. In the meantime, let’s get to work. How does a cardio day sound?”
“I don’t know if I can move for it.” Her muscles twinged as if to concur.
Spencer’s expression didn’t change. “Getting your blood moving will help with the soreness, and you can take a hot shower or sauna after you’re done. Besides, it doesn’t sound like you’re going to get too many rest days at the combine. You might as well get used to pushing through the pain.”
That made more sense than she wanted to admit, and she followed him to an area with treadmills, StairMasters, bikes, and other machines she didn’t recognize. He sent her to a somewhat familiar elliptical. “How’s this?”
“That should do it.” She set her gym bag down by the machine and reached in for her e-reader.
Spencer frowned. “Whoa, what are you doing?”
She didn’t answer until she’d found the file she was looking for. “Multi-tasking. I have to read this book for work and thought I might as well treat this as a billable hour, half-hour, whatever.”
It would also help offset the crazy cost of this gym, but she didn’t say that out loud.
Spencer’s expression tightened as if she had, though.
“That’s not going to fly at the bobsled combine.
When you’re doing any of these sessions, I want your head in the game.
Those TVs are one thing” — he gestured to a wall of TVs with various ESPNs, a few news channels, and, for some reason, a legal procedural, all with captions running at the bottom — “but if you get too distracted by your own entertainment, you’re not going to be able to give it your all.
And isn’t that what you want to do to go to this thing? ”
Misty couldn’t argue with any of that, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. She pressed her lips together, feeling the slide of her Glossier lip balm, as Spencer punched in settings. “Are you ready?”
“Ready.” He pressed Start, and the machine went on under her. It started out easily, then intensified. Misty didn’t say anything else, but decided to channel her annoyance with Spencer for not letting her read, for being so bossy in general, into the set.
“Slow down.” His eyebrows knitted a little closer together in the only change to his expression. “It’s good that you’re ready to go, but you’ll burn out if you start too fast. The goal is a pace you can sustain.”
Misty clenched her teeth to keep from screaming, but a sound between a snarl and a moan still escaped.
She reached for her water, hoping that would lend credence to the idea of thirst, and kept going at Spencer’s suggested pace.
It started off a little slow for her, but then the elliptical got more demanding.
By the end of the workout, she had her jaw clenched again, this time to keep from admitting he’d been right.
“Good job.” Spencer didn’t seem ready to gloat, though. His expression didn’t change at all as he handed her a small towel. “I’ll give you your diet plan when we meet up for tomorrow’s workout.”
She’d been wiping the sweat off her face and nearly dropped the towel at his words.
“Wait, we’re working out together again?
I thought I’d come back on my own time and go through the exercises you gave me here,” she said, holding up the printout.
At least she’d be able to read without being bitched at on her own time.
“And I thought some structure would help you with this. You said at our first meeting that your workouts were pretty irregular and that you were a freelancer with a flexible schedule. That’s great for now, but it’s my guess that things are going to be a little stricter at the combine.
I want to get you as ready for this as possible in all ways. Does that work for you?”
“Depends. How much is this going to cost?” If today was any indication, working with a trainer felt too much like someone her age or younger treating her like a child. She didn’t feel like paying someone to do that.
He quoted his rate, and Misty inhaled sharply. “I can swing that...if I don’t get takeout, go out for coffee or drinks, or buy new clothes, shoes, or anything extra whatsoever for the next two months.” So much for getting new workout gear.
“For the next two months,” he repeated. “After our time’s up, you can go back to doing all those things with a successful World Winter Games tryout under your belt.”
The only thing keeping her from cancelling this arrangement was the thought of going to the Games with Tish.
Her friend had looked so excited about the possibility, and she was intrigued by the thought of doing something no one else in the world had ever done, and that only a handful of people would get to do.
“Then, to answer your question, it does work for me.”
“Good.”
On the walk home, Misty put her earbuds in and music on.
If Spencer had put up this much of a fight about her reading a book and demanded so much of her attention for the workout, she bet his head would have exploded if she’d tried to put on a playlist. His instructions were well and good, and yet she couldn’t help wondering where the line between sexily stern and a bossy asshole was.
A block or so into her walk home, an incoming call interrupted the song. She glanced down at the screen and took it. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, honey!” Janice Kaufman’s voice rang out over the phone. “It’s been a while since we talked.”
“I know, it’s been busy with work for me. Not to mention, Tish and I are trying out for the World Winter Games, so I’ve been working out more.”
Her mother made a confused sound. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Tish’s track coach suggested she try out for the World Winter Games’ four-woman bobsled team—the first time they’re doing that event—and she suggested I try out too.”
“How are you going to train for that?”
“I signed up with a personal trainer to build strength and speed.”
“How’s that going?”