He nodded. “I just want to see you succeed at this.”
“I will.” I met his eyes. “I got no choice, you know? I ducked the hand of Death twice. I won’t get a third chance.”
He let out a breath, nodded, and then shot a grin at Bax. “All yours, cuz.”
Bax eyed the equipment Roman had used for our session: the tire, a pair of thick ropes, some big weights shaped like balls with flat bottoms and a wide handle, and a small but heavy leather ball.
“Rome was on the right track,” Bax said, nodding. “But let’s get some basics down. First, I don’t give a shit what you weigh. It’s just a number. You want to cut the fat and build muscle, get back to being the big bad beefcake you used to be. Yeah?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
He dug a tape measure out of the pocket of his athletic shorts. “We’re going to do a few things, okay? One, measure the girth of your arms, shoulders, waist, and thighs.” From the same pocket he took something like a pair tongs or pincers. “This is a body fat caliper. There are some calculations involved, and I’ll spare you that, but it measures your body fat, and that’s what we need to know.” He pulled a phone from his other pocket. “Third, we’re going to take pictures—side and front.”
I winced. “First two, fine. Third? Nuh-uh.”
Bax lifted his chin. “Yes. You’re doing it.” He arched an eyebrow, hardened his jaw. “Like your kid said, it’s a metric. It’s a marker of where you are now, and when you get frustrated with your lack of progress—or rather, your perceived lack of progress, you look at the progress pics and realize, damn, Iamgetting somewhere. My experience as a trainer has proven that your shape changes before the numbers do.”
I sighed. “I guess I gotta face myself so I can change myself, huh?
Bax nodded. “Truer words have never been spoken, Uncle Lucas.”
So, we spent the next half an hour taking measurements with the tape measure and then using the calipers to pinch my fat in various places, after which Bax would type things into his phone and do calculations, and then, finally, I posed for front-facing and profile photos.
Bax set the calipers and tape measure on the ground, tapping his phone against his palm. “You wanna know?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Your body fat is just over forty percent.”
I winced. “That’s…not good.”
He scoffed. “No, Uncle Lucas, that’s not good. At all. And I’m not gonna sugarcoat it for you.”
I wiped my face with both hands. “Where should I be at?”
“Well, that’s a relative and subjective question. Better question for you to ask is what’s your goal?”
“Okay, then…what’s my goal?”
He laughed, shrugging. “That’s up to you.” He slapped his belly—or rather, the twenty-four pack abs. “This is around eight to ten percent—I’m pretty good at maintaining at this point, so I don’t measure it too frequently. I think for now, a good and reasonable goal—meaning attainable if you stay committed and consistent—would be around fifteen to twenty percent.”
I scoffed. “So I just need to drop twenty percent of my body weight in fat.”
He shrugged. “It sure as fuck was never gonna be easy. Hell, I do this for a living and it’s not easy maintaining this body. What you’ve got to do, now? Shit, man. It’s gonna be really fuckin’ hard.” His dark eyes bored into mine. “You gotta want it. You gottaneedit. You gotta be a million, billion percent committed to it.”
“I almost fuckin’ died from not caring what happened to me, or what I looked like.” I swallowed hard. “I didn’t give a shit. I didn’t even know I had nephews. Now I’ve got you, your brothers, all those women you fellas have snagged. And all of you fuckers look like Olympians and Greek gods, and here I am, fat a fuckin’ walrus. But more’n that, I…shit. I just…Icarenow. I care if I live. I care if I look like shit. So yeah, Bax. I don’t just want it, I really do honestlyneedit.”
“Heard you may have another motivation on your mind, too.” His eyes twinkled, a grin on his lips. “Of the variety which comes with curves and a sweet smile.”
“Ain’t none of your fuckin’ business, Baxter.”
“Sure it is. You want to stay alive, great. You want to be healthy to stick around for your boys and for the rest of us, great. But you want to look good for a lady love? Uncle o’ mine, that there is a hell of a powerful motivator to do more than just live…that’s where you get the motivation to get shredded.”
I laughed. “At the moment, I just want to be able to go on a hike with her and not be red-faced and out of breath, huffing and puffing like a tub of lard.”
“That’s where it starts. Then you want to feel comfortable with your shirt off around her. And then you want to be irresistible to her because you’re such a jacked old man.”
I laughed. “I’ll start with not dying.”
