Saul woke early in the morning. This wasn’t really different from any other day. Mornings were Saul’s time of the day. With the move to the new city though, Saul had lost any motivation to continue his old routine. Not to mention, the injury to his back after only a season in Syliras had made working out nearly impossible. He had been lucky to even be able to work. But now, with the new season beginning, Saul was ready to start again. It had nothing to do with day. Saul didn’t believe that there was any significance to a date. He was not so naïve to believe that. His back had merely managed to knit itself together well enough, and today was the first day he felt prepared to begin again.
A new beginning was needed. While his work at the docks had helped him maintain his physique, his muscles didn’t have near the amount of power they used to. Before, they had been hard as a rock. With his recent lack of effort, they had become soft, pudgy. Saul enjoyed being a big man, but he wanted that size to be powerful, not a hindrance.
He looked over at Brat. For being as small as she was, she took up a lot of space. She weighed less than half of what Saul did, but she took up at least three quarters of the bed. Every morning when Saul woke up, he was on a sliver of the bed nearly ready to fall off, and Brat had all the sheets and blankets. As long as it wasn’t winter, that wasn’t so bad. He’d have to get her her own bed soon. Then, he would be able to sleep a little better.
Rolling over slowly, Saul stepped out of bed as gently as he could, so as not to wake Brat. It was difficult being stealthy being a man of Saul’s size. When he stood, the bed rose several inches rapidly as it was suddenly freed from the weight that had been holding it down. Saul cursed so silently the sound barely made it to his own ears.
He was worried the motion would have woken Brat, but she was used to sleeping in. She stirred beneath all the sheets on the bed, then went still again. Unbroken, the steady rhythm of her breathing told Saul she hadn’t woken up. He breathed a sigh of relief. She deserved any comfort she could get. Brat was one of the few people Saul truly felt that way about. Most people deserved the shit life dealt them.
Keeping his steps as light as he could, he made his way to the table and pulled two of the chairs out. He placed them a foot and a half apart, each one facing the other, and readied himself. His shirt was off; he never slept with one on. Crossing his arms in front of him, he reached each arm as far as he could toward the opposite wall. He could feel the fibers of the muscles in his shoulders and back pulling against one another creating the gentle burn of stretching. Next, he stretched his arms backward, driving his elbows down behind him, and felt the muscles of his chest stretch. He let his arms fall to his sides, and as they did, the muscles of his arms, chest, and back released and relaxed.
The first thing he did was breathe. It was what he focused on first. Air was life. Without it, one had no power, and all ones physical strength was useless. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath through his nose, filling his lungs with the essence of life, power, and fortitude. His chest expanded until it could do so no more. He could feel the ribs pulling away from each other, trying to create more space between themselves and more room for air.
This was his time, his time to focus on nothing but himself. Brat had dabbled in meditation and had tried to teach Saul. Despite her best efforts, Saul had found no use for it. All the talk of letting go of one’s corporeal self had turned Saul off of it immediately. But there had been parts of what Brat told him that he had adopted and distorted to fit his own means.
It was a meditation of sorts, just not one for the mind. Rather, the focus was the body. The object was to hold on to one’s physical self as much as possible, to notice the body more than one normally did. Saul called it his reverse meditation.
After several minutes of breathing, he began his work out. Placing one hand on the seat of each chair, he began to do pushups between them. His focus was on two things now: air and his body. As his next deep inhale began, he slowly lowered himself between the two chairs, striving to make his shoulder blades touch over his spine. His nose almost touched the floor when his lungs could fill no more and his shoulders would let his body drop no further. He paused a moment, reveling in the steady stretch of the muscles across his chest. Then, he focused his mind wholly on those muscles and, as he exhaled, contracted them powerfully, lifting his body until his elbows straightened.
Pausing at the top, he took another deep breath in and out, letting the muscles in his arms and chest support the weight of his body. Then, he continued, his mind always focused on his body. Deep breath in with the slow descent toward the floor. Then the powerful exhale as his chest returned him to the where he had begun. Again and again and again.
As he progressed, he found his muscles objecting to the work more and more. On his twentieth repetition, his muscles shook from their previous effort as he descended toward the floor. This would be his last one for this set. The trick was to push one’s self to a tired state without overdoing it. Mild fatigue built one up; exhaustion was detrimental. Immersing his mind entirely in the muscles involved, Saul pushed them hard one last time, driving his body up.
A groan came from the bed. “Gods. You’re into that shit again?” |
|