‘Okay, have fun.’ Ashley slung the towel over her shoulder and picked up her water bottle. She headed to the exit.
Finn lay his towel across the bench and started loading up the bar. In the mirror, he saw Ashley watching him from the doorway and caught her eye.
‘Call me next time you’re coming in,’ she said. ‘It’s more fun to work out with a partner.’
Finn smiled and lied: ‘Sure thing.’
When she was gone, he let out a long sigh, expelling all the insincerity. He was empty again and it was time to punish and rebuild. To feel pain and ecstasy, exhaustion and power. To feel something, at least. Something to cast off this inner death that had overwhelmed him. This bleakness that had settled on his soul.
Finn lay down on the bench, sucked in as much air as he could and gripped the barbell. He adjusted his hands until they were shoulder-width apart then curled his fingers around the cool metal. The first movement was a sharp push to lift the bar off the rack, then he settled and brought it slowly down to his chest, counting backwards from five. He held it just above his sternum for the count of two then pushed it back up, up, up, breathing out slowly and holding again at the top. By the tenth repetition, Finn’s arms and chest were aching and blood was pounding in his temples.
He rested for sixty seconds then started again. Slowly down, hold, slowly up, hold. At the end of the second set, his arms were shaking and his chest felt like it was being torn apart. This was the danger time: weakened muscles, same weight, nobody to save him.
Finn sat at the edge of the bench, staring blankly at himself in the mirror. His gym shorts and tank top revealed powerfully muscled arms and legs, but all he focused on was his eyes. He stared deeply into their vacant depths until his smartwatch beeped and vibrated, indicating the end of his rest time. He tapped it into silence, lay back down and took hold of his salvation once more.
When he lifted the bar this time, he knew he was close to the end. Before he had even begun the repetition, his arms and chest seemed to have given up. The strength, so ready and willing on the first set, was now almost completely gone. But he persisted. Because this was where the line between life and death blurred so convincingly you could cross over in an instant.
Finn lowered the bar. His chest burned and ached and shuddered. His arms shook and strained and tore apart. He held. Breathed out. Pushed with everything he had to raise it again. Sparks flashed behind his eyes. A shooting pain hammered the side of his head. The bar went up slowly and Finn cried out, willing it to the end of the repetition.
He made it. His arms held, his elbows locked.
‘One,’ he panted.
And then he lowered the bar again.
At the sixth repetition, he knew, with all certainty, that this one would kill him. Tears streamed out of the sides of his eyes and sweat poured from his forehead and shoulders, drenching his singlet and the towel beneath him. The lowered bar sat just above his body. He was tempted to rest it on his chest, but he knew he’d never be able to get it off again.
How much, Finn? he asked himself. How much do you want to live?
He drove the bar hard into the air, but it barely moved. He drove harder, his whole body shuddering. His back arched, his feet came off the floor and he roared like a wounded lion just to get the weight halfway back to the rack.
How much, Finn? How much do you want to live?
His chest was obliterated and his arms exploded.
How much, Finn? How much do you want to live?
The sparks behind his eyes became pinwheels in front of him. Galaxies of stars swirled and collided, and a brilliant white light filled the room. There was the click of metal on metal before Finn felt himself falling. Then there was nothing but darkness.
***
He awoke to the smell of rubber and feet. Looked up to see the barbell was secure in the rack, but his towel was lying on the floor next to him. He’d gone too far. Passed out. That had never happened before. If he’d lost consciousness during the lift, he could be dead by now, asphyxiated by the weight. Fresh sweat still poured down his flanks, though, so he couldn’t have been out for long.
Finn placed his palm on the floor and tried to lift his upper body. His arm gave way and he landed with a dull thud on the padded mats. He took a few deep breaths and tried again. This time, there was just enough strength left to get his torso up. He used his stomach and leg muscles to do the rest.
He picked up his towel and looked at the bench. You could have killed yourself, he thought. You were so tantalisingly close to death.
He moved to the next exercise.
***
Finn was on all fours in the lift. He had pushed as hard with his leg workout as he had with his upper body, and now he couldn’t walk. It wasn’t because of pain. He literally couldn’t walk; his muscles had been exhausted of all power.
The lift doors opened and he stuck his head out, hoping the corridor would be empty. Mercifully, nobody was waiting and he could hear no voices or movement. He crawled slowly towards his apartment door, his arms and shoulders only able to hold him up because he’d worked them first and they’d recovered slightly. His stomach felt as though he was being disembowelled and his head hung with the weight of purgatory between his shoulders.
One hand, one knee. One hand, one knee. He made steady progress, despite dragging both a water bottle and towel, then looked up to see how far he had to go. There was somebody at his door, but his vision was blurred from the sweat in his eyes so he couldn’t make them out clearly.
Finn blinked rapidly and the shape came into focus. It was a woman, but she wasn’t standing there waiting like a normal person. She was sitting on the floor with her back resting on the door and her shoulders hunched. Her knees were drawn up and she hugged her legs with her arms. Her head was cradled between her knees.
