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I stare him down until his legs slow, and he lowers the resistance.
"What next?"
"Arnold Press."
We continue that way, him shouting out exercises and instructions while he pedals.
After an hour, I check his average wattage. "Not too bad. How do you feel?"
"Like I could spend the rest of the day on the couch and not get antsy."
"So your cardio's decent, but you need to condition your body to handle longer efforts."
"In two weeks?"
I shrug, because I've got no good advice on how to make a body ready for a race without enough time to properly train. "Want to work on core together?"
He looks defeated for only a moment before he pulls his shirt off over his head and curls his upper body to show off his ab muscles. "Let's work our cores," he says in an exaggeratedly deep voice.
I don't want to laugh and encourage him, but I can't help it. He's just so ridiculous. Especially in the face of bad news about his race chances.
When I laugh, he smiles like he's already won the race.
"You might beat me in cardio," he says. "But I can promise you won't be able to beat me in a plank off."
We plop down side-by-side on mats and get into tall plank positions. He tries to throw me off by telling stupid jokes, but I tune him out.
"Not even a laugh?" Asher says. How is he still talking? We're three minutes in and my body is shaking with the strain of holding the plank. "I thought you had a sense of humor."
I ignore him. If he gets me talking, I'm going to lose my focus, and I will not lose to this man. He already thinks I'm weak because of my knee.
"You're a tough girl, right?" Asher says. "I bet if I'd pushed, I could have gotten you out running on the trails today, even though it would have wrecked your knee."
That is too much. "Bullshit."
"Oh, yeah," he says. "'Cause I think I've got your number. How about we up the ante here? Lift your bad leg." He lifts his right leg.
"Do you ever stop talking?" But I lift my bad leg, because I'm not about to let him say he beat me.
"Why should I when I have delightful things to say? Lift your opposite arm."
I snort, but lift my opposite arm. My core is vibrating like a washing machine on the spin cycle, but I am stronger than my primal urge to give into pain. I will hold on. We're starting on minute six and I'm dying, even though I've held a plank for as long as thirty minutes before. "This isn't fair. I've been lifting on upper body, so my shoulders are already burnt."
Asher twists his head and grins at me. "Lift the other leg."
I glare, and he laughs like he just told the funniest joke. This muscle man with the enormous beard and the stupid palm tree tattoo on his arm.
He is a child.
And yet, I have to turn my head and look back at the ground before he sees my smile.
The stopwatch he set on the mat between us clicks over to minute eight and I nearly groan aloud. Asher looks like he could do this all day, but my supporting arm's shaking now and my shoulder's screaming. I'm not going to make it.
I will not let him beat me.
I swing my raised leg, hook it around Asher's ankle, and tug. His eyes go wide in surprise for only a moment before he smirks.
He doesn't even wobble.
