Cowboy Ending - Overdrive: Book One (31 page)

I handed her
the clipboard. “You good?”

She nodded
sadly and adjusted her librarian glasses. “Yeah.” Her feet shuffled
a bit as she fidgeted with the board and her notes. “I hate having
to do that. I just wish they’d just listen the first time.”
“Did you listen much at their age?”
Tamara laughed. “Oh yeah, all the time.”

I grunted.
“Yeah. Me too.”

I began loading
up the Olympic sized bar with plates as Tamara stared after the
kids, as if mentally watching them make their way home. Her face
concerned.

A lot of folks
just work a job. Show up. Punch in. Take their breaks at the same
time every day. Never get involved. Do the bare minimum.

Other people
care. They get involved and want to help.

I can
relate.

Both of my jobs
bother the shit out of me and are lucky if I give ‘em the bare
minimum.

My gunshot
scars ached for some weird reason.

“You okay?”
Tamara asked as I winced, rubbing at my chest.

I shook off the
feeling. “Yeah, all good.” Then I shook out my fingers and did a
couple of deep knee bends. My bad knee made some crackling noises
as I did, but no pain. So I clapped my hands together once and gave
Tamara a wink. “Let’s get to work, I’ve got a thing.”

Chapter
28

Turns out that
people notice when you start lifting big weights.

Given my
regular working schedule this was my usual time for hitting the gym
so I saw a lot of familiar faces. No one I really knew, just faces
I recognized. We all were the after-work-weightlifters and so often
had to lift around each other while trying not to get in each
other’s way.

Generally we
kinda ignore each other wrapped in our own egos and efforts.

But apparently
once you start loading up Olympic bars until they can’t hold any
more weight people tend to pay attention.

Thankfully it
didn’t get weird. There was no cheering section or anything kooky
like that. But there was definitely a hushed silence every time I
stepped up to the bar, gathered my grip and started firing up
reps.

I could feel
myself getting used to the sensation. Like before, I could feel a
cooling rush trickle down from the back of my neck all the way to
my extremities. Feeding me energy and fuelling my confidence.

“Do you want to
keep going, Joe?” Tamara asked quietly, her eyes were wide with
excitement and yet still concerned. We’d gotten past the shock from
the previous day. What I was doing wasn’t impossible to her
anymore. Now she was keeping an eye out for signs of failure and
waiting for the fatigue to hit me. Standing by with my pre-loaded
protein shake and a smile of encouragement.

I stared down
at the bar where it rested on the floor, taunting me. For the first
time today I’d hit a point where I physically couldn’t lift the bar
for another rep. Sure, it had taken me seven heavy sets to get to
this point but at least it had finally happened. The muscles in my
back, my hamstrings, my quadriceps and forearms were completely
fired up. The muscle bellies full to bursting with extra blood and
pumped to the max. Sweat was pouring off my forehead and soaking
the front of my sweater, which meant the tank top I had on
underneath was drenched as well.

It felt good to
be back at this mental point, with this level of focus. The average
person tends to believe that weight lifting is all about strength.
That it’s just a bunch of grunting meatheads who think with their
units and take a lot of pills.

True
weightlifting is about belief.
Belief that your body is more than the sum of its sinew and bone.
That it is more than blood and sweat and fibre.

Belief that you
are unstoppable when you find the right focus.

I had found it
this day.

That calm place
where everything in the world that was frightening, stressful and
otherwise irritating had been shoved into a furnace in the pit of
my belly and used as fuel for my lifts. The Neanderthal resting
there roared its approval. Taking my anxieties and throwing them
upon the bonfire while it hideously danced, shaking its fists
skyward.

Life was not
going to defeat me; I was going to rule this life.

And I was going
to start by ruling this bar.

I didn’t answer
Tamara’s question. I just stepped forward and dropped to a half
squat, getting my hands in their perfect shoulder width position in
the universally preferred deadlift grip – both thumbs facing the
same direction. My palms were a bit damp so I fiercely rubbed them
on the bar until I could feel the flesh lock into position, sorta
like a vacuum seal.

In that
position on the floor, my knees up to my chest, and my arms relaxed
I took a deep breath.

Then
another.

On the third I
exploded upwards from the ground and heaved the maxed out bar for
my final set.

By the eight
repetition I’d had enough and racked the weight before the bar
slipped form my grip and crashed to the floor.

Blood rushed
through my head, roaring in my ears and through my body. The cool
sensation from the back of my head continued its way down my spine,
providing energy and reassurance to my fatigued muscles. My breath
came in explosive gasps as I stared myself down in the mirror.
Totally focused and totally spent.

In the mirror I
could see groups of people who had been watching begin talking
amongst themselves and moving away. Some of them sneering and
making snide comments. Others just with a faintly impressed
look.

Tamara stood
there with her clipboard jotting down some last figures; her eyes
flickering up to me now and again.

“You okay?” she
asked.

My stomach
gurgled quietly, warning me that I was near the end of my
reserves.

“Yeah,” I
muttered, pushing off of the bar and wiping my forehead against the
hem of my sweater. So much sweat. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

Tightness
reigned all along my body, from my calves up to the back of my neck
and into my traps. Exactly the way it should feel after a power
lifting deadlift day. Swollen and blasted muscles that were pushed
to the extreme limits of their abilities. I stood up as tall as I
could, reaching my fingertips to the sky to get that full body
stretch and breathed in as deeply as possible. When I exhaled and
relaxed, the swell in my latissimus muscles was amazing.

“Oh yeah,” I
assured her with my small smile, reaching for the loaded protein
shake on the ledge next to where she was leaning. I popped the cap
and took a long draught from it, enjoying the soothing sensation as
the liquid hit my belly and sent the Neanderthal there into hiding
for a time. I sighed. “Honestly, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt
better.”

Tamara blinked
up at me, her expression unreadable. The clipboard held close to
her body.

“What?”

She shook
her head slightly, staring up at me. “You
do
know how crazy what you’re doing is,
right?”

I shrugged
slightly, enjoying the tightness in my trapezius as I did so. “What
am I supposed to do? Cower in a corner somewhere?”

A touch of
humor sparkled behind her librarian style frames. “That would be
quite the corner.”
“I know, right?” I took another hit off the protein shake and began
to unload the Olympic bar, racking the plates as neatly as possibly
on the nearby weight trees. “So how do the numbers look? Anything
stand out?”

Tamara
blinked at me. “Stand out?”
“Yeah.”

“Beyond the six
hundred pound deadlifts you did eight sets of?”

I laughed
quietly. “Yeah, beyond that.”

Tamara pursed
her lips quietly in thought as she scanned over the notes on her
clipboard. I finished replacing the weights, grabbed my hand towel
and cleaned up after myself. Wiping down the bar and finally my
face once again.

“Honestly, Joe
the most remarkable thing is your sheer endurance.” She turned the
clipboard around to show me her charts. I stepped in close to read
along with her.

The numbers
were frankly staggering. In the three weeks since being shot I had
returned with ease to the peak numbers of my previous lifts. But
instead of going for one or two explosive power lifts, I was able
to score high numbers of repetitions each time around with very
little rest time in between.

My stomach
growled loudly.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, draining the last of my shake.

Tamara
stared up at me again, her face thoughtful. “Have you thought about
seeing a specialist, Joe? Someone who might be able to do better
testing than a simple
how much ya
bench?
”

She was awful
close to me.

I forced
another small chuckle and took a half step back to create some
space. “Sure. Just … not right now.”

“Why
not?”
Why not indeed.

“I just …” How
do you explain something like this? I scratched at my head briefly,
the classic expression of a big man thinking. “I don’t want any
more poking and prodding. And I don’t want to be a lab rat.”

“Joe …”
“Look, I’ve always been a fast healer. I’ve never really been sick
in my whole life. Just because I seem to have gone all Wolverine
lately doesn’t mean I need to subject myself to the medical
community does it?”

Tamara looked
uncomfortable.

“What?”

“I get you
wanting your privacy, Joe. And I get that you’re scared about
losing it.” Tamara took a look around the weight pit where a few
people were still shooting glances my way and talking amongst
themselves. “But if you’re want to maintain that privacy, you’re
going to have to be a little more discreet about our testing
sessions.”

I grimaced. “I
know, this was an exception.”
“Right. You have a thing.”

“An
important thing.” I shot a glance up at the clock on the wall and
felt my stomach drop away from me. “A thing that I’m gonna be late
for if I don’t hit the showers.” I scrubbed at my face again with
my towel for a second. “Did I seriously do deadlifts for over an
hour?”

Tamara nodded,
consulting her clipboard. “Fifteen warm up sets until you started
getting into the big weight lifts. Even with short breaks that
takes a bit of time.”

“Fuck,” I
grumbled, tossing my towel down next to my gym back and quickly
shucked off my bulky gray sweater, taking a moment to cool off in
my sodden tank top as I rummaged in the bag for another pre-loaded
shaker cup. Finding one I jammed the drenched sweater loosely in
the bag and stood up. Bag in one hand and the cup in the other as I
started towards the staircase. “Okay, time to get moving. Thanks
for everything, Tamara. I owe you lunch tomorrow.”

“Huh?’ Tamara’s
distracted voice asked from off behind me.

I frowned and
stopped, letting two overly dressed post-work businessmen pass me
by as I turned slightly and glanced back over my shoulder. Tamara’s
expression was unreadable, the clipboard held cross armed in front
of her body once again. Her eyes staring after me.

“Lunch?” I
repeated quizzically. “Tomorrow? I owe you. After my workout?”

Tamara blinked
rapidly and adjusted her glasses, a slight flush creeping up her
cheeks. “Right. Tomorrow. Sure.” She made a shooing motion. “Go
shower. Your thing. The important one.”

What the
hell?
“You okay?”
“Yup.” Seriously, that’s a blush right? Is there a hole in my track
pants or something? I felt around as subtly as I could for one.
“Get going, mister. Don’t want to be late.”

Nope. No
holes.

Weird.

I gave Tamara a
quick salute with my shaker cup and trotted down the stairs only
stopping at the water fountain on the way out.

Weaving my way
down the hallway to the locker room is never fun at that time of
day. Never mind the people coming in to train or heading away to
shower, there’s always an inordinate number of people who just seem
to be loitering around engaging in gossip and shop talk. Hey, I get
people wanting a social life but do they have to do it in my
way?

The younger
kids that Tamara had sent home earlier were just stepping out of
the changing room door as I reached it, now dressed in appropriate
gym attire; track pants, tee shirts and hats. They still looked
like little hip hop thugs straight out of a Jay-Z video, but at
least they were following the rules. They gave me a wide eyed berth
as I approached.

Odd that. I
gave them a quick nod and kept going.

Found a spare
locker as near to the showers as possible and jammed my gear bag
in, rummaging around until my towel and protein shake were free.
Took two steps away and scanned for a clock, saw it right over the
big wall length mirror and froze.

No, I still had
almost twenty minutes.

I froze staring
at the unfamiliar figure in front of me.