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10 Front Rack Lunges, per leg, 75/55.
2 Rope Climbs.
25 Kettlebell Swings, 53/36.
15 Sumo Deadlift High Pulls, 75/55.
20 Goblet Squats.
3 Rope Climbs.
20 Front Squats.
15 Kettlebell Sumo Deadlift High Pulls.
4 Rope Climbs.
10 Kettlebell Snatches.
Whatever all that meant.
Constance glanced around the room. The crowd was mixed. About twenty people, male and female, some with seriously muscled physiques, some not. All ages. There was a young couple who kept whispering and glancing at two small kids, plopped behind a baby gate with an assortment of toys. A tall lady wearing a WOD Now, Wine Later tank top. A man with more tattoos than bare skin. An elderly gentleman with a potbelly and big pecs.
“Everybody start the warm-up.” The coach pointed at the whiteboard. “Right here. Then we’ll go over the movements for the workout.”
Constance knew she should introduce herself, but that autopilot feeling hadn’t gone away. She read the warm-up, then peeled off her coat. A second later, she found herself doing jumping jacks. Constance ran through the movements on the warm-up list, most self-explanatory. When she started to struggle through push-ups, a tap came on her shoulder.
“Hi,” the coach said. “I’m Zoe. Are you new?”
“Um. Yes.” Constance was keenly aware of her outdated fitness clothes. Capri tights from college, a sports bra that cut into her back and an old T-shirt that, alas, had a unicorn on the front. None of her old running clothes fit anymore and these had been the only passable things in her closet.
Oh, hell, who was she kidding? She’d never intended to go to spin class or anywhere else and hadn’t cared what she put on this morning. Yet, here she was, doing push-ups without permission in a strange gym for people who played with tractor tires.
Had she gone insane?
“Okay. I’ll get you a waiver. Keep warming up, but go ahead and do those push-ups on your knees.”
Constance was a sweaty mess when the warm-up was over. Part of her felt like she’d already done her workout, but the really fit people hadn’t even broken a sweat. She glanced at the entrance. The door was only a few steps away and it was so crowded nobody would notice if she slipped out, just like nobody had noticed when she’d slipped in. Through the window she spied the bakery.
Zoe turned down the music and clapped her hands together. “All right, guys, let’s start going over this workout.” She looked toward the rear of the gym and called out, “Rhett, you joining us?”
Everyone turned in that direction. Constance, two steps from the exit, froze. This was the first time she’d noticed the man on the far left of the gym. He worked alone, on a raised platform, his body deep in a squat with a loaded barbell on his shoulders. He stood up, rolled the bar off his back with aclang!and shook his head.
“C’mon,” Zoe goaded. “This one’s right up your alley.”
“Yeah, Rhett,” someone else yelled. “Come kick our asses!”
Rhett—tall, dark-haired and built like a brick house—shrugged. “Fine.”
Constance tilted her head and stared up at the rope, attached to the twenty-foot-high ceiling. People really climbed that. Grown adults, not little kids in a gymnastics class. She wouldn’t have believed it, except many of the people around her were already doing it. Quickly.
Everything was supposed to be done quickly, Zoe had said. The goal was to complete the workout as fast as possible. Everybody started at the same time, and everybody did the same thing. Except if you couldn’t do something, like climb a rope fifteen feet, then you scaled the movement to your ability. Constance grasped the hemp and tried to remember what her scale was.
“Lower yourself to the ground—” Zoe raised her voice over Lil Wayne, booming from the speakers “—then back up.” She pantomimed, her biceps flexing.
Constance gave it a go, but the rope slipped in her hands and she fell hard, on her ass. She paused a second before standing up and grasping the rope again, refusing to look around to see if anyone had noticed her spill. Why the hell had she come here? The last thing she needed in her life was another reason to feel weak.
“Tighten.” Zoe was by her side, one hand on her midsection and the other on her lower back. “Tighten your core as you lower yourself down.”
