Page 25 of On the Bright Side
After saying hi to the others, I tell my dad, “Really, I’m exhausted.” He usually works out while I’m at my own training. Why today of all days did he think we needed to do this together?
“You got this.”
We start with some warm-ups and strength techniques before moving on to the competitive workout. Dad is eager to get the record time today, even though what someone from an earlier class already attained seems impossible to me right now. As the trainer starts the clock, Dad claps while dipping into his first squat. “Let’s go!”
My first ten squats are fine. But they continue on and on. Dad knocks his out no problem and moves on to the rowing machine. The woman goes next. It’s just me and the other guy remaining.
“Keep it up, man,” he says, slapping my back as he, too, runs off to the next station.
I take a deep breath and mutter the count out loud to myself. “Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One hundred.”
The back and forth of rowing is nauseating. Since I’m on the far end of the line of machines, I try to bump down the resistance when no one is looking. Even with that relief, everyone else moves on to their run long before me.
Pull, release. Pull, release.
“Come on, Jackson!” Dad shouts as he hurries past me to do his half mile outside. The others cheer and holler as well. The counter inches to the one-thousand-meter mark. By the time I let go of the handlebar, they’ve all returned and are quickly knocking out their burpees. Soon I’ll be the only one still going.
I rush out to the parking lot, where no one can see me, and then slow to a jog, planning to cut this short at a quarter mile. Dad would say doing so is only cheating myself, but I don’t care. I want to go home. He’s probably embarrassed that I’m the last one done anyway.
As I finally stagger back into the Box, Dad calls out, “Let’s go, son!” I hobble over to the center of the gym for the final exercise.
Fortunately, the old woman is sitting on the bench mixing a protein shake, but the other guy, my dad, and the trainer are all standing around waiting for me. The worst burpees of my life with three sets of eyes staring at me. I throw myself down to the ground, fully extend my legs, hop back up, then jump.
“One!” the instructor calls out. At least I don’t need to remember the count.
By the halfway point, I’ve given up on form. I just lie down for a brief relief and drag myself back to standing. The smallest of hops.
I’m going to be sick.
But my dad never takes his eyes off me. “Let’s go!” he shouts, more commanding than encouraging.
The trainer counts out my final burpees. “Twenty-eight! Twenty-nine! Thirty!”
After the final jump, I sprawl out on the floor again, completely broken. Dad offers a hand to help me up, barely giving me a moment to rest on the floor. “All right, kid. At least you didn’t quit,” he says in a tone that conveys it wouldn’t have been an option. “Good thing you’ve got months before soccer officially starts back up.”
Totally wiped, I’m relieved to get back home. Dad hangs his car keys on the hook, and I immediately go to chug several glasses of water. My stomach rumbles as I scoop almonds from the jar on the counter and grab some chocolate chips from the pantry.
Mom rushes across the living room, shaking her head as she sees me about to sit at the kitchen counter stools. “I’ve told you, please shower first.”
“Right, sorry.” I straighten up. “But we’re having lunch soon, right?”
“Yes, just something light since we’ve got that fundraiser dinner tonight.”
I definitely need something more than light.“Should I order something later, then?”
She shakes her head. “I bought a plate for you, so you’re coming with us. We leave at six.”
I trudge upstairs to wash up. The last place I want to go tonight is some fancy dinner. At least I can pass out after lunch for a few hours first.
It would be nice if Mom would ask before committing me to these events, but she likes when all three of us can go. The happy, healthy family there to help “those poor dears,” as she’ll say multiple times throughout the night, regardless of what the fundraiser is for. It doesn’t matter, since all of them are on her social calendar, especially when she’s friends with the organizers. I know she feels proud of herself for doing what she can and considers charitable work her job now that I’m grown up.
I check my phone and see a recent text from Ellie.
ELLIE:
Hey, do you know where I can find quizzes on the AHS portal? I need to do one for AP English and can’t find it anywhere.
I type out some instructions, but I’m not sure how clear they are. The whole website is confusing and pretty glitchy.
