The Strongman
2
Working Out
DO YOU HAVE any idea how much work it takes and how long it takes to change from being a sixty-eight-pound weakling to a strongman? I didn’t get ‘all that.’ I mean, not right away. I got results, though. I felt stronger and I even grew a few inches in height. I didn’t get winded walking to school—even in winter. Gymnastics was hard work. Coach Dawson was so encouraging and so gentle in his ways that he soon became my best friend.
At first, either Mom or Dad accompanied me to every workout. I get it. They’d sit in the bleachers and read a report or surf online. They were putting their tender young boy in the hands of men who coached him and worked with him and made him their friend. We’d all been given a class in internet safety and knew the signs of grooming. Better than most adults who panicked over having a gay teacher or letting kids read a book about transvestites. That’s not grooming, parents. That’s just education. It’s not like going to church.
But Coach wasn’t like that. He never touched me inappropriately or made any lewd suggestions. He worked the same way with both boys and girls, and there were always several coaches in the gym. I even got instruction from a couple of the women coaches.
I started going to the gym every day after school, once Mom and Dad had decided it was safe. It was what made my day worthwhile. I still had a thing about not going into locker rooms or showering at the gym. I went home for that. I trusted the coaches, but I wasn’t sure about some of the guys who worked out there. Or some of the girls. I think a couple of the girls could have stuffed me in a locker without much problem.
Almost everything I did in that first month or two was getting me strong enough to do other things. I used the apparatuses to build strength, but you sure couldn’t call anything I did a ‘routine.’ I supported myself on the parallel bars and did dips and leg raises. I hung from the rings and did pull-ups. I turned somersaults on the mats, and did jumping jacks. I did push-ups, v-ups—a kind of sit-up where you raise both your shoulders and your legs until you can touch your toes above your head—hanging leg-lifts on a high bar, and pegboard exercises. Those take a while to learn and actually be able to do them.
I didn’t lift weights anymore. Coach told me that lifting tended to create the hypertrophy we were trying to avoid. He wanted me to stay flexible, so we did stretching exercises every day. I also jumped, and did backward and forward rolls. I really missed the gym on days I had off.
Nothing was automatic. Just exercising wasn’t enough. I was still skinny, even though I’d put on a little weight. Coach said that was just replacing fat with muscle. When I asked Mom for healthier meals, she looked at me and told me to get in the car. She took me to the grocery store and made me select the food I thought we should eat, then she stood over me in the kitchen to teach me how to prepare it. Before long, I was pretty good at half a dozen different meals and I took my turn in the cooking rotation.
Mikey wasn’t as enthused about that. Oh, she liked my cooking, but if I was cooking a couple of nights a week, she had to cook a couple of nights a week, too. I traded helping her in the kitchen with her helping me with my homework.
Oh! And did I ever start sleeping well! I used to stay up late at night playing on my computer. Then I’d be half-asleep through my morning classes. But by the end of seventh grade, I was zonking out as soon as I got in bed. Half the time, I didn’t even masturbate! And I got up early enough to do my morning exercise routine before school.
I took a test at the gym, and according to Coach Dawson, I’d achieved a Level 4 Junior Olympic rating. I didn’t know what it meant exactly, but it sounded impressive.
I don’t know if I actually had more confidence in school, but it didn’t bother me as much anymore. I still barely scraped by with the lowest possible passing grades. I still avoided every athlete I could identify in the halls, and there was a fair share of tough guys on the route home after school. The only time I got beat up, though, was when I stepped between a bunch of guys and my sister with her friends.
The guys didn’t appreciate it. I got slugged in the stomach and punched in the nose. Oh, I fought back, but I don’t think I landed any lucky punches before the school security guy came rushing up and broke it up. My mom wasn’t happy and would have spent all afternoon yelling at the principal if I hadn’t been bleeding and she needed to take me to the hospital. I was out of school for a week with cotton stuffed up my nose, and then had a metal bridge guarding my nose for a month while it healed. That sure helped my popularity at school—dipshit with a broken nose.
I still went to the gym every day to work out, and I didn’t see that particular group of toughs around school again. I noticed that a couple of my sister’s friends got boyfriends to join them as they walked home, and I was always included in the group. Not on purpose, I don’t think. I was just going to the same place Mikey was. They could scarcely tell her brother to bug off. Besides, the girls I’d taken a beating for at least tolerated my presence now, even though they didn’t really talk to me.
“You know, I’m impressed with your work and dedication,” Coach Dawson said that summer. I was afraid he was going to tell me I was abusing my gym privilege by hanging around all the time. That wasn’t it. “I think you could become a real gymnast if you wanted to work that hard at it. Think about your goals and let’s arrange a meeting with your parents to talk it over.”
A real gymnast. I immediately had a vision of myself hanging from the rings in the Olympics and wearing a gold medal. I talked to Mom and Dad and invited Coach over to dinner one weekend before school started in August. I cooked so he’d know I was following the diet, too.
“We know Paul is in better condition and we’re all eating better,” Mom said as we sat at the table. “What do you mean when you say upping his training?”
“As is usual, we’ve spent a good year in basic physical training,” Coach said. “Paul is stronger and he’s grown some. What’s your weight and height now, Paul?”
“Five feet and a hundred even,” I said proudly. My voice chose that moment to split on me and go in two different directions.
“And you’re maturing,” Coach nodded.
“Are you going to be a soprano or a bass?” Mikey teased. Everybody laughed and I just shrugged it off.
“By upping his training, I mean shifting from the Junior Olympics track we’ve been on and starting seriously to build routines on the apparatuses as a Junior Elite. Paul, you have good flexibility and reasonable strength. Now we want to put it to work. There are Junior Elite competitions this fall I think you should participate in.”
“Please, Mom?” I asked.
“Frankly, I never thought you would be interested in anything beyond playing Fortnite,” Mom sighed. She looked at Dad and he nodded.
“It’s good to see you develop a healthy interest,” he said. “You know eighth grade is a critical year before high school and isn’t going to be easy. We don’t want you to shirk your studies.”
“That said, I guess it’s okay to work out a more advanced training program,” Mom said.
Mikey gave me a high five.
I got Mom to buy me a regular uniform with the gym logo on it. Coach made sure I got one that fit and for the very first time, I went into the locker room to get dressed for my training. I changed into my spandex tank top and stretch pants. I stood admiring myself in the mirror. I wasn’t just a skinny guy anymore. I was wiry. I liked that term. You could see my arms weren’t just sticks. I wasn’t built with huge muscles, but I was doing okay.
I headed out to the gym to start my warmups. Coach had given me a complete routine he wanted me to do every day before we started really working. I headed to my usual mat and started stretching.
With the beginning of the school year, there was an influx of new kids in the gym. A lot of elementary school kids started with the beginning of the school year. So, the majority of those in the gym were young. That went for both boys and girls. I guessed most of the girls were between eight and eleven years old. I understood there were special classes for pre-teen girls who were self-conscious about their bodies and only women were in the gym during their training time. Most of the teenage girls worked out then, too, or assisted with the younger ones. I was always gone by then.
There were a few boys in the eight to twelve range, but as they got older, there were fewer and fewer who continued. Even at that, most of the kids were better than I was at almost everything. Then there were a few guys I only usually saw when they were working out early in the morning before school. High school guys who kept pretty much to themselves. The rest of the guys were above high school level, anywhere from college to Eric’s age.
Anyway, I was stretching and warming up when I saw the group of four or five girls, younger than my sister, watching me and whispering. Then they outright laughed. Nice. Real nice, little bitches. I could see the ridge of bra straps through their leotards. Training bras for girls who had nothing to train.
“Hey, partner,” Coach said. “Come over to the desk with me for a minute.” He motioned me around behind the front desk of the gym and grabbed a pair of scissors. “You missed a tag on your new uniform.” He efficiently clipped off the tag and handed it to me. I sighed and tossed it in the trash. Then I looked at him and we both snorted. “Let’s get started on the parallel bars,” he said.
Oh, well. Why would I care about what a bunch of ten-year-old girls think? I went to work and actually managed a couple of the moves coach had me try. It was the first time I managed a swing up to a handstand. It was a short handstand, but I made it. I was proud my arms could hold my body upright like that.
“Hey, dude!” one of the guys coming into the locker room said. Four of the high school gymnasts—senior elite, I was told—had followed me in. I tensed, ready to defend myself if I had to. “Nice handstand on the p-bars today,” he continued. “You’re coming along.”
“Keep up the good work,” said another. “Andy is going to be a senior next year and then we’ll be looking for a replacement for him on the team.”
“I see you work out every day, man,” the one identified as Andy said. “That’s what this sport is all about. Keep working every day. You’ll get this.”
“Thanks, guys,” I said. They went on to their own lockers and for the first time in my life, I felt like I was accepted.
I remember the first time I asked a girl on a date. I know, this is out of order again. I was fourteen and in ninth grade. It was damn near the last time I asked a girl out. I don’t think I heard anything in class all day because I was thinking about how to ask her out. It was the New Year, 2020, and I was determined that I was going to start remaking my image. I was nearly five-three now and I was pretty strong. I wasn’t going to be a wimpy little pissant. I caught up with Cathy at the end of the school day on Thursday.
“Um… Hi, Cathy.”
“Hi?”
“Um… Yeah… uh… Paul,” I said, pointing at myself. “From your English class.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“I was wondering… um… if… uh… you might like to go to the game… and uh… the dance after with me… um… tomorrow night? I’d… uh… walk you home afterward.”
Cathy looked like she was about to be attacked by a madman. I could see her shrinking in front of me. I looked around to see if we were about to be attacked and I guess that didn’t help.
“No!” she practically shouted. “I mean, I can’t. I can’t date until I’m sixteen. And I’m not. Even close. So, no. Bye, Paul. See you in English.”
She didn’t quite run, but I was pretty sure the direction she headed off in wasn’t toward her home.
Okay. Fine. I wasn’t fifteen yet, either. I didn’t think that made a difference when you were just going to an event at school and walking home together. And I sure didn’t think the first girl I ever asked out would just turn and run away from me.
I sniffed at my pits, but I couldn’t smell anything through my parka. One thing was sure. I wasn’t going to do that again. What the fuck? I didn’t know how to dance anyway.
I headed for the gym, and I might have worked out a little harder than I usually do. I was late getting home and getting dinner ready.
Eventually, like four years later when I was finally a senior and eighteen, I did ask a girl out and she accepted. Dana was cute and bubbly. I thought she’d be a lot of fun. And she was. We saw a movie and shared popcorn. We laughed as I walked her home and she took my arm to steady herself when she almost slipped on an early patch of ice.
We got to her house and I wasn’t quite sure what to do, but I figured starting by saying I had a good time would be all right.
“Thanks for going out tonight. I had a really good time.”
“Me, too. It was fun.”
“Would you… um… like to plan something for next weekend?”
“Oh. Well… I don’t think so. You’re a nice guy, Paul. I had fun. But I’m, like, not into you like that. Thanks for the nice evening.”
And then she darted into her house and closed the door. WTF? I tried to figure that one out all the way home. I put in a really intense day at the gym the next day.
Well, one thing was for sure: I was progressing in the gym. After my first rejection when I was fourteen, I’d started spending even more time working out. I could do some pretty good flips in both tuck and pike positions in my floor exercises. I’d even placed in a Junior Elite competition for my level. It was my first medal. I was getting a good feel for the pommel horse and was gaining confidence on the parallel bars. Coach Dawson introduced me to Coach Anders. Coach Anders was working on my rings and horizontal bar work. Those were the two aerial events and were the ones that required the most upper body strength. I hadn’t done more than the required vault yet, but that really felt like flying.
In case you didn’t pick it up, there are six apparatuses in men’s gymnastics: Floor, pommel horse, still rings, vault, parallel bars, and horizontal bar. Yes, the floor is an apparatus. It actually has springs under the floor and mat. You get a lot more bounce on that than if there was just a mat on the gym floor. That’s the big difference between cheer and gymnastics. Cheer doesn’t use a sprung floor. You only have the lift you get from your legs and hands. There’s nothing that bounces you up farther. I’d learn a lot about that difference when I started cheerleading.
About half my daily exercise was on routines. The other half was all building the skills and strength needed to create a routine. I did two or three hundred push-ups and sit-ups each day. I walked all around the gym on my hands. I did jumps and flips. I supported myself on the p-bars and did dips and raises. And every single move was done slowly and deliberately. I was getting to the point I could stand straight, then flex my knees and propel myself into a full back flip without touching my hands to the floor. Forward flips required at least a couple of steps to launch, but I could do them.
I realized I was becoming a real gym rat. Any time I had available was spent in the gym. I’d been late to school a few times because I lost track of time during my morning workouts. Mom and Dad noticed.
I guess I’m all out of order again. Let’s see. I turned fifteen on March 16, 2020. Coach told me I was doing really well and I’d be ready for more advanced competition this spring. It was possible I’d have my first Senior Elite competition this year.
I don’t know if it was good or bad, but life intervened. I mean, I know it was bad. Awful, really. Two days after my birthday, the Governor ordered all schools closed and all non-essential businesses closed. Guess what isn’t an essential business. The gym was ordered to close. I didn’t care about school. It just meant I had to listen to the teachers drone on over my laptop. Mikey latched onto the process like it was designed for her. All our classes met online and she could work as far ahead as she wanted to. Occasionally, she’d pause to help me catch up.
Uptown was a ghost town. And then the riots hit after the cops murdered George Floyd. Mostly, I tried to stay low when I was outside, and not be seen by any police. You never knew who they’d kill. Or why.
I went crazy fast. My body craved the workouts. I found myself back in the garage doing push-ups and sit-ups. There was only so much I could do on the concrete floor. I did pull-ups from the rafters. We’d been told the shutdown would only be for two weeks, but it kept stretching on. All the competitions I might have been in were cancelled.
It was no easier for Mom and Dad. Mom was home from the office and working remotely. Dad had to get us a faster internet connection because three of us were online all the time. He still had to go to work. Being a campus engineer was considered an essential job. He was responsible for keeping buildings operating and problems dealt with.
As the lockdown stretched on, I rigged makeshift bars and rings in the garage. Dad got mats to put under me, but they were right on the concrete floor. Whenever I got tired of working out, all I had to do was go inside and turn on my computer to get the day’s lessons. As if…
“You passed, but barely,” Mom said at dinner the weekend after Memorial Day. She was looking at the printout of our school reports. “You’ll both be sophomores next year. Yes, Michelle, we’ll approve the AP courses you have requested for next year. Don’t ask yet about the International Baccalaureate. We can consider that course of study when you’re a junior. But you need to find some non-academic interests as well. You know colleges look at your extra-curricular activities as well as your grade-point.”
“I know. It seems so stupid, but I’ll find something to get involved in. As long as it doesn’t take time away from studying,” Mikey said. I kind of snorted and Mom and Dad both glared at me.
“You, young man, are going to need to cut back on gym time to focus on your grades,” Dad said.
“No!” I exclaimed before I could get control of myself. I knew they would suggest something stupid like that. Mikey and I had talked it out and she hissed at me. “I mean… Um… Like… maybe there’s a solution without cutting back on gym time,” I said. “Um… Actually, I’m really doing well as a gymnast. Coach Dawson and Coach Anders both say I’m on track to compete in senior elite by next spring. Mom. Dad. It’s the one thing in life I’m good at. Please don’t take it away!”
“Dad, you guys are giving me the opportunity to excel academically. Thank you,” Mikey said. “And I’ll try to add that extracurricular stuff so colleges think I’m more attractive. But it wouldn’t be fair if you denied me the opportunity to take AP courses until I became a cheerleader or some stupid thing.”
“That would be a stupid thing,” Dad laughed.
“It’s just as unfair to deny Paul the opportunity to excel at something he’s really good at because his grades aren’t good.”
“Even with a sport, though, no college will admit a student with grades like this,” Mom said.
“I’m not interested in college, Mom,” I said.
“Where would you compete after high school?”
“If I can make the grade as an elite gymnast, I don’t need to have a college team. There are several independent gyms in the country that train elite athletes for professional competition all the way through to the Olympics. College is just one route. And you know, only a dozen or so colleges even have men’s gymnastics teams. It’s the same with things like figure skating and martial arts. Those just aren’t big NCAA sports. Oh, women’s gymnastics is, but not men’s. There would be no reason for me to attend a college to be a gymnast.”
“Why can’t you learn your math and history as well as you learn your sport?” Mom sighed. I glanced at Mikey and she nodded.
“You and Dad could teach me,” I said quietly.
“What?”
“You guys are smart. That’s a great idea. Why don’t you home school Paul?” Mikey jumped in enthusiastically.
“What makes you think we’d be more successful than the school?” Dad chuckled.
“Um… school just goes too fast,” I said. “I learn the stuff, but by the time I learn something, the class is two more chapters ahead of me. If I could just limit what I studied to the necessities and not rush it, I know I could learn it.”
Mom and Dad were silent. I could see the wheels turning in their heads. It was all I could do not to burst out with another argument, but Mikey had warned me about that.
“If that’s really what you think you want to do, we’ll investigate the possibility,” Dad finally said. Mom nodded. “That isn’t saying it’s a done deal. We need to find out what the standard is and how we can manage a homeschool curriculum. And you’ll need to show as much motivation to achieve the standard academically as you do physically. And son, you need to also be prepared to take longer than your classmates to get through the next year of high school. If we take a year to home school you, you might not be at the level that your current class is. You’ve got some catching up to do. In other words, your little sister might graduate with your class while you graduate with hers.”
Wow! That was a sobering thought. I was a crappy student, but I’d managed to keep up with my year—though just barely. It was going to be a huge adjustment.
Or not. I was always considered behind in class. My teachers had pretty much given up on me keeping up with the class and were passing me anyway. They didn’t want me around an extra year.
On June sixth, Coach Dawson called me.
“Paul, I’m going to open the gym to select trainees. There won’t be more than a dozen people there at a time. And we’ll all have to wear masks and wipe down the equipment every time it’s been used. This COVID thing is serious. We’ve got a couple of coaches down with it. But with all the precautions in place, you can start coming back in to work.”
“That’s great, Coach. I can come right over.”
“Easy, sport. We won’t be open full hours and right now, no one is there. Let’s plan on starting next Monday at ten. If you need more exercise, go out and run around the lake a couple of times. Then do all your body weight exercises. Just keep your mask with you.”
“Okay. I’ll do that. I’m kind of going stir-crazy here already.”
“They say we’ve weathered the worst of it,” he said. “Just be careful.”
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
