AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I sold it when I moved, but I’m thinking about getting one toward the summer.”
“Good. You like biking so you’ll do it. Meanwhile.” Smiling, she gave Morgan’s biceps a squeeze. “We’re going to work on upper body strength and tone.”
Defensively, Morgan crossed her arms as Jen walked to the free-weight rack. “Are we really?”
“Most men who attack women see the woman as weak, as a victim. We’ve gone over some of the actions and defenses you can take against an attacker, one who’s likely stronger than you, bigger than you. That doesn’t mean you can’t get strong, and when you’re strong, those actions and defenses are more effective.”
When she carried over two weights, handed them to Morgan, Jen smiled again. “Let’s get you strong.”
For the next twenty minutes, she didn’t just learn how to curl, extend, press, but how to breathe and stand—two things she’d assumed she knew how to do already—how to stretch the muscles she’d worked until they’d burned.
“Good, very good. You broke a sweat.”
“I’ll say.”
“Same time next week. Meanwhile, I want you in three times a week to start.”
Rubbing arms that made their objection known, Morgan fought not to just deflate. “In here?”
“Out there the other two days. Fifteen minutes cardio—and bump that up so you hit a mile or over. Fifteen upper body, fifteen lower, five—to start—on core, and a ten-minute stretch. If I’m not around to show you the lower body and core work, Ken or Addy will be.”
“I don’t always have an hour to—”
“Three hours a week—for now. Get motivated, make time. Rest days in between.” She handed Morgan a bottle of water. “Hydrate. See you day after tomorrow.”
“Thanks. Sort of.”
Laughing, Jen went out.
After guzzling water, Morgan faced the mirror, flexed. Said, “Ow,” and rubbed her biceps. “Three times a week? Three times a week so I’m not weak.”
Okay, she thought, okay, she’d try it. For a month. Just one month.
She started out, then stopped, faced the mirror again.
“I can’t wear this three times a week for a month. I’ll look like an idiot.”
Outfitters, she decided. With her discount, how much could it sting? It would sting, she thought, but walked out to where people lifted, sweated, ran—by choice.
One month, she promised herself, and she’d consider the gear she had to buy not to look like an idiot an investment in her own strength, fitness, and self-esteem.
It stung, even with the discount, more than she’d expected.
When she reported to work that evening, she reported with sore arms, a sore ass—damn squat lifts—and leg muscles that reminded her she hadn’t fast-walked a mile in a very long time.
Nick beamed at her. “Jen said you did great.”
“Your sister is a monster.”
“Yeah, that’s what they all say. Little sore?”
“What do you think?” After a quick scan of tables and booths, she breezed into the back of the house, did her check there.
“You’ll get used to it,” he said when she came back out.
“I don’t think so.”
“So… we had a crowd for happy hour. Our signatures are moving.”
