Morning Workout

by **Stye** on March 13th, 2015, 9:44 pm

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The 11th of Spring 515 A.V.
Riverfall

Scene 1: Morning Stretch

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Stye rose on the wings of a strong ridge lift. Ridge lifts were common here, occurring when the oft times violent winds roiling through the deep and wide gorge known as the Middle Suvan collide with the unmoving face of the three thousand foot cliff that forms its eastern boundary, where, having nowhere else to go, they climb those unscalable heights until they spill out of the vast canyon, continuing even then upward for thousands of feet before exhausting themselves and assuming a quieter journey eastward over a sea of a different sort, a sea of grass.

The great horned owl was “riding the slope” in deep shadow, drawing lazy circles along the ridge of rising air, letting it carry him almost effortlessly up the side of the great wall, until he broke clear of the chasm, to be greeted by the blinding light of the rising sun welcoming him to Cyphrus. Below him, as he soared out of the ridge of still-rising air and on to the plateau, was what he was looking for.

He had spotted the place a few days earlier. It was a couple miles north of the city and it was perfect: a few short, wind blown trees; lots of boulders large and small scattered along its two-mile length; dips and hillocks; and a grand view of the Middle Suvan three thousand feet below. It was perfect for a morning run. He came to ground at the south end of the stretch of cliff-side land, and in a variegated swirl of light replaced his owl form with a human one.

There is nothing poetic about stretching exercises. Weight lifting, perhaps, can be seen as poetic in its demonstration of raw power. Running can perhaps be poetic in its rhythmic grace. But stretches? There is nothing remotely poetic about stretches. They are entirely prosaic, even boring. Nonetheless, Stye knew better than to take on the uneven, rocky, boulder-strewn, ankle-twisting, back-wrenching terrain before him without first doing his stretches.

With one foot braced against a half-buried boulder, and the other leg stretched out behind him like a lizard’s tail, he tried to press the back foot flat against the ground, applying pressure against the complaining hamstring muscles, until he reached that point of exquisite pain where he knew he dare not press it any further. He allowed the straining leg muscles a few moments to relax, and then gently pushed the heel down some more, holding it there for a slow count to twenty. This he repeated, first one foot and then the other, three more times, each time bringing his heels closer to the ground, but not quite reaching it.

The back stretch proved even less interesting than the calf stretch albeit simpler in the execution. Stye let the top half of his body hang down, so that his fingers caressed the pebbled ground in front of his toes. He took in a deep breath of morning mountain air, held it for a moment, and let it out slowly, inviting the muscles of his lower back let their tension out with it. His fingers now rested solidly on the ground, having come an inch nearer. He repeated this several more times, each time dropping another inch or two, until both palms were flat on the ground in front of his feet. There he remained for awhile, until a dust devil scooted between his legs, spouting dirt in his face as it raced gleefully away. At least, it seemed gleeful to Stye. He finished warming up with a set of arm and upper body stretching exercises. He was ready to run.

by **Stye** on March 13th, 2015, 9:46 pm

Scene 2: Morning Run

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Stye ran. Legs pounding, arms pumping, the feeling of air inhaled and exhaled, Syna’s heat caressing him, sweat quickly forming and soon pouring off his body. The thing Stye liked about running was the way it engaged his whole body in a symphony of movement. It was freeing. It was exhilarating. It made him feel alive, almost as alive as flight.

The course he had chosen was well away from the cliff, relatively free of large rocks and boulders. He would tackle the boulders on the way back; a different kind of running, that. A morning mist rose from the ground to meet him; the night’s dew evaporating in the brightness of the day. There was a mysterious, magical quality about it, reflecting and refracting Syna’s beams. Stye ran on gloriously.

Too soon came the thicket he had targeted as his end point, about a one-mile run. He stopped running but did not stop moving, walking around in circles, hands on hips, pulling in great gulps air to satisfy his lungs’ demands. Eventually he flopped to the ground on a piece of grass, and let Syna’s kisses dry his salt-water soaked body.

The return run was of a different sort. It was the rocky, boulder-infested stretch closer to the edge of cliff, the stretch that presented more of an obstacle course than a running track, the stretch that had attracted his attention in the first place.

No steady, rhythmic, meditative pace here. This was all about agility and balance. One leg would reach to find purchase on a boulder, then push off so the other leg could find level but rocky ground. Two, three steps, and up on to a fallen tree trunk. Two short steps and another reach, another push but this time to leap over an intervening space to another boulder. Up a small hillock, leaping, hopping, long strides, short strides, twisting left and then right. Down the other side and across a shallow ravine in two or three giant steps. Leaps to the left, shuffles to the right; then leaps to the right and shuffles to the left. Whatever the ever-changing, ever-challenging terrain demanded.

He wasn’t very good at it. Sometimes his foot failed to find the right patch of ground, and he found himself thrown unexpectedly one way or another as his foot twisted this way and that, resulting in a decidedly ungraceful staggering effect. He was glad nobody was watching. Sometimes he hit a boulder only to slide off on its other side, which usually resulted in him abruptly assaulting the ground with his naked butt. He would have bruises when he got done. He stubbed his toes multiple times.

Not a moment too soon came the place where he had started. He walked around again, hands on hips, then on knees. His head was buzzing, his heart was pounding, his lungs were bursting. His toes were bleeding. His bum hurt. He was happy.

by **Stye** on March 13th, 2015, 9:49 pm

Scene 3: Morning Workout

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On the way home, Stye stopped by the Blue Gem for a swim to cool off, although calling it a swim would be generous. He had never learned how to swim properly, so he mostly splashed around trying to keep his head above water. He thought maybe he was getting better with practice, and even wondered if it would be worth his while to get swimming lessons from somebody.

By the time he got back to his room and dressed, he was famished. Fortunately, the market place was almost next door to The Windswept Condos, and they usually had a few enterprising vendors cooking up meals on demand. A few minutes later he was devouring an omelette served on a broad leaf has a plate. Two eggs, cut up potatoes, onions, and — surprise — some asparagus. It was so good, he ordered a second one, which disappeared nearly as fast as the first.

He walked to Gideon’s Glory where he paid in advance for three days a week for the remainder of the season. He had visited shortly after he arrived in the city, and was satisfied with what he saw. He intended to use all his purchased days; if he was going to make a living being a tough guy, he was going to have to keep his body in shape.

It was mid-morning and the gym was busy. Mostly blue skinned Akalaks, but a few other species as well. He inhaled the smell of fresh sweat, and paused to sort the sounds of men practiced various feats of strength and skill: the sharp slapping of mats as men broke their falls when thrown to the ground by their adversaries; the shouts and clacks of staves as pairs practiced combat with quarterstaffs; the clanking and grunts of men lifting weights in a room off the central area.

He went through his stretching routine again, although with fewer reps since he was already pretty well limbered up, and used the opportunity to note what equipment was available and who is in the room. He put a relatively light load of weight on a barbell, located himself against a wall, and did a quick set of leg presses. This involved putting the barbell across his shoulders, and bending at the knees until his thighs were parallel with the floor and then straightening them. As he expected, an Akalak wandered over to watch. Stye added some more weight and repeaters the set. The Akalak spoke up:

“If you’re trying to build muscle — and from the look of you, you need to — do it slowly. Down real slow, hold, up real slow.”

Stye looked up at the seven foot giant: “Thanks friend. I haven’t had much experience with weights.”

The blue man grunted and walked off. Stye was a little taken aback by the implication that he wasn’t sufficiently muscled. But then, compared to the Akalak working out in the room, he was deficient. Stye hoped he had won points with the man by readily accepting his instruction. He really did need instruction if he was going to get good at this. He finished the leg press set more slowly as the Akalak suggested. After two more sets, he had to stop because his thighs were trembling from the effort, and the “burn” felt like the real thing. The Akalak had been right: Slow was better.

Stye replaced weights and barbell and picked up two dumbbells. With one in each hand, he let his arms hang loose at his sides and stepped forward with one foot, bending the front leg to a 90 degree angle and then lowering his body until his back knee touched the floor. He repeated this, excruciatingly slowly, five more times for a set of six reps. Then he switched legs and did a set with the other leg. He didn’t try anymore; his legs felt like rubber.

He replaced the dumbbells and assembled another set of weights on a barbell. His sat on a weight lifting bench, and pondered how he was going to get into position to do bench presses. The questions was answered a moment later by the Akalak who had helped him earlier.

“Need a spotter?” he asked.

Stye probably looked sheepish. “Uh, yeah. I guess I do. Thanks.”

The Akalak took the barbell and held it while Stye laid back on the bench, with his arms extended above his shoulders. The barbell was placed in his hands. He brought it down to his chest, and pushed it back to full extension. After a half dozen, his arms were getting shaky. Finally the Akalak took the barbell.

“Looks like you’ve done enough on that for the day.”

“Yeah,” said Stye. “I think you’re right. There’s always another day.”

“Indeed,” said the blue man. “Little steps for a little man.” He laughed at his own joke as he returned the bar and weights to their proper place.

“Well,” said Stye to himself. “I think that went pretty well.”

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