The Art of Unopulence

21 | baiting

I take my time to change into my gym gear and wrap the safety bandages around my knuckles when I reach The Glade. Sitting on the bench outside the practise ring, I let my eyes scan all the people inside the gym idly.

"Are you planning to sit there all day?" my instructor barks from inside the ring.

He looks as bright and sunny as ever, with a crystallised scowl that's probably become his resting face now. He's sweaty, the entire upper half of his maroon t-shirt is drenched so that it looks almost black. That means he's been here for some time today and is eager to be done with me.

"Stop nagging, old man." I grin, bending under the ropes flanking the ring, "I have better places to be too, but we can't always have what we want, right?"

"I'm not even that old." he grumbles, mostly to himself, "Why would she call me that?"

"I wouldn't if you told me what your name was." I remark cockily, getting into the correct stance.

He turns his back to me and shakes his head- picking up the large, curved rectangular pads that he makes me punch and kick alternately after warming up.

"Give me a hundred high jumps." my instructor orders in an indifferent tone.

"I normally do seventy five-" I begin to protest.

I'm cut off rudely mid sentence, "And fifty push ups after that. I trust that you already completed your daily running requirement before coming here."

I'm still trying to process the fact that I need to do extra jumps to warm up today. If my workouts weren't responsible for the lovely shape my body was taking, I wouldn't have given a single fuck.

"Fast!"

"You don't always have to be so rude, you know." I mumble bitterly.

"I wouldn't have to be if you weren't so bloody annoying." He replies stiffly, pickling up a bottle of water from the bench, "You may begin."

I nod tersely, swallowing as I mentally prepare myself for hell.

Focusing my concentration straight ahead I exhale slowly before leaping into the air, using the momentum of my jump to power my next so that I'm jumping in a kind of spring motion. My legs fold every time I'm airborne, my heels brushing against my bottom.

I feel tired by the seventieth jump since my body has become conditioned to doing seventy five but I push myself, making a strong effort not to lose the momentum I've built.

I'm exhausted by the time I'm done with fifty pushups and a couple of other warm up exercises , and that's just part of the warmup. I lie on the floor in a sweaty heap and breath heavily, revelling in the coolness of the cement floor against my sweltering hot skin.

"Up!" my instructor calls out.

"Just give me a minute." I point out one finger.

"If you want to do a few burpees after-"