Page 42 of Screwed (Dad Bod Contracting 4)
I grab a 24kg kettlebell off the rack and set to work warming up with a set of two-hand swings. I feel the men watching me, but more to assess my form. I can’t help showing off, then: I do a few one-hand snatches with the 24, which is a feat I’ve been working on for quite a while. It’s a lot of weight to snatch, and I know it’s impressive. I do five each arm, and then set the kettlebell down, out of breath now, and probably more warmed up than I need to be.
James laughs. “Don’t even think about it, Franco,” he rumbles.
I glance at Franco, who I realize is eying the 24kg kettlebell speculatively. “What?”
James answers. “He’s jealous. He can do double snatches with the sixteens, but those twenty-fours have been giving him shit. He’s not quite ready to level up yet, and he feels inadequate now that a woman has done what he can’t do.”
“Fuck you, James,” Franco snaps. “I do not feel inadequate.”
I laugh. “I did a total of ten reps, one arm at a time, and that’s all I can do,” I admit. “I was kind of showing off a little.”
Franco holds out his fist for me to tap, which I do. “Well, consider me impressed,” he says. “But if you’re gonna work out here with us, you’re gonna take some shit. I hope you know that.”
“And if I’m gonna take shit, you know I’m gonna give it as good as I get,” I shoot back.
James juts his chin at the power rack. “What lift you wanna start with?”
I head for the station where he was squatting. “I like to squat first, if you’re done.”
He nods. “I’m good. Go for it.” He taps the end-most 45lb plate. “How much to start?”
I grin. “As much as I’d love to pretend I can compete in your league, I’d just end up killing myself,” I say. “I’ll start with one plate. My one RM is just shy of two plates, which is my goal.”
James nods without replying otherwise, and takes off two plates on one side while I remove the two on my side. I slide the clamp back on and settle under the bar, aligning the center knurl low on my neck, and then slowly push up with my legs to accept the weight. Once balanced, I step back from the rack, glancing down to make sure I’m aligned with the spotter arms, and then slowly but fluidly squat down until my butt is past parallel with my hips—a full squat. I tighten my core and exhale loudly through my teeth as I press back up. I’m hyperfocused on retaining perfect form through each repetition, stopping at eight reps. After eight, I rack the bar and step away, rolling my shoulders.
“You have impressive form,” James says. “Nice and deep, and your back is straight all the way through.”
Ryder snickers. “Yep. Niiiiice and deep.”
James and I give Ryder identical glares.
“Shut up, Ryder,” I say. “Let’s see you do better.”
That shuts Ryder up real fast, and James laughs. “He’s not answering because he knows he cheats on his squats.”
“I do not!” Ryder protests.
“At a proportionate weight, you don’t squat anywhere near as deep as she does.”
I laugh. “That was my warm-up set,” I say. “I’ll start cheating on my form once the weight is nearer the upper end of my working range.”
“You don’t have to make him feel better,” James says. “He needs the inspiration. He knows he cheats his form.”
“I don’t fucking cheat!” Ryder insists.
Jesse laughs. “So put another pair of plates on there and let’s see.”
I watch as Ryder and Jesse slide two more forty-fives on each side of the bar, clamp it, and then Ryder settles under the bar, lets out a short, sharp exhale, and stands up under the weight. Slowly and under extreme control, Ryder squats down, and he does go deep…but after three reps, he’s struggling to get back up. He finishes five full reps, going deep each time, and then racks the bar roughly, with a loud clang.
“Boom, motherfucker.” Ryder jabs a pointer finger in my direction. “Five clean, no-cheat squats at three-fifteen.”
I laugh. “Hey, I never challenged you, that was all James.” I point at the bar. “Not a fair comparison anyway, because there’s no way three-fifteen is a warm-up set weight for you. I was doing a warm-up set, and you were doing a working set.”
Jesse laughs. “You know your shit, Nova.”
“I’ve been into powerlifting for a long time,” I say, and then knock out my second set.
James and Franco pair up for benching, while Jesse takes over doing cleans and Ryder squats next to me.
Things are quiet for a while, except for the occasional comment or joke here and there. I go through five sets of squats, ending up at 205 by the last set. I could’ve gone higher for a few reps, but I decided against risking failing a rep my first time working out with James and the guys. I transition to a set of cleans next—I notice a dry erase board on the wall by the rack of weights with today’s workout written out on it—5×5 squats, one set of 25 cleans, 3×10 bench, and an overhead press/pull-up drip set. Challenging as hell, and I enjoy it. The guys make it easy to rotate in with them, and I never feel judged or rushed. I end up leaving the set of bench presses for last, because I need a spotter for that lift and everyone else is busy; I showed up after their first set, so they’re all done by the time I’m ready to do those.
