Boot Camp

18: Old Version

"You do push-ups like a girl," Axel remarks, scrutinizing me through his hypnotizing hazel eyes. I let out a groan and drop onto the yoga mat on my back, the backs of my hands positioned on the ground beside my head. Who invented this exercise, and how can I get a word with them?

"Isn't it surprising that I, Whitney Carmichael, a biological female, do push-ups like wait, what? A girl?" The sarcasm in my voice is as thick as fresh maple syrup.

Axel rolls his eyes. "That's not what I meant," he replies, kneeling down onto the cold, firm sand. "Let me demonstrate again."

After a few seconds he glances back at me with a frown. "Are you even watching?" he asks, waving a hand in my face to get my attention.

"Yes, of course," I lie. He nods and gets on his hands, kicking his feet back into the proper push-up position. He does about seven in a matter of seconds, the muscles in his arms flexing expertly.

"There," he says, standing up and brushing his hands together to remove all the sand. "You try it."

I place my hands firmly onto the mat again and kick my legs back behind me. I shift my feet and move my arms closer together, making sure my hands are directly underneath my shoulders. I hear him let out a breath behind me.

"You're still doing it wrong," he remarks. I drop to my forearms, my body exhausted from holding itself up.

"Then help me," I reply bluntly, staring up at him.

He walks over and gets down on the ground next to me, his arms reaching towards mine. "Well first, Whitney, your arms are too close together." His hands wrap around my forearms, making me widen the distance between them. "And your back needs to be completely straight."

A strange feeling runs through my body as his hand reaches onto my stomach and straightens my back out. It lingers there for longer than necessary, his fingers barely brushing my sides, and I hold my breath in, enjoying the moment.

"There. Pretty sure you're capable of the rest."

I bend my arms down and back up again, feeling the strain on my chest. I look over and Axel gives a rare smile. I lose track of how many push-ups I've done waiting for him to tell me to stop.

"Alright, get up," he orders and then asks, "Do you know what a burpee is?" I stifle a snicker at the name.

"A burpee?" I question. "Who thought of that name?"

"Oh yes, because I totally made it up," he responds. "Look, this is how it's done."

He jumps up and does a complicated series of motions that consist of some half push-up and an awkward jumping squat before landing on his feet again. I just stare at him wide-eyed in the dim light of the evening.

"You expect me to do that?" I question, pointing at myself and then him.

"I'll break it down for you, if you didn't get the hang of it from my fabulous demonstration."

He shows it to me step by step and I attempt to follow along, already not liking this burpee thing. I'll admit he looks incredibly fit doing them, but I'll probably flop over like a seal.

"Now drop on the ground back into the push-up position we covered for ten whole minutes and do an actual push-up. Then crouch down and extend back up again."

I keep a vivid mental image of how he did this "burpee" and attempt it myself. Surprisingly, I maintain fall over on my face. Except only a few in, my thighs are already burning, and I am functioning at a slower pace.