We were approaching the five-minute mark in our mid-classplank contest, and I refused to drop first.
I was giving a huge fuck, tightening every muscle to hold out just a little longer.
Just until Garrett gave up.
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And then he did.
Lest I look like I cared, I refrained from gloating.
And Garrett, like a good classmate should, reached over and gave me a high five.
Here I am snapping a photo of my deadlift personal record, which is another thing I never would have imagined I’d be proud of.
I tried not to smile too wide.
I’m not a prideful or competitive person, except for when I’m both.
It’s rare, and it seems to happen when plank contests are involved.
Which is also rare, and weird, but apparently it’s a thing with me.
By the time the buzzer went off, only three of us were still up.
It felt so damn good.
It’s a circuit-training workout focused on barbells, dumbbells,kettlebells, and bodyweight work.
This class was the perfect solution.
I had been faithfully attendingMike DiJune’s Sunday-morning class for a few weeks when Garrett showed up.
He was jacked and gregarious and took Boomerangs of himself, which I found kind of annoying.
He was totally the teacher’s-pet throw in, making every exercise harder than it needed to be.
(Really, did you just do a handstand push-up?)
FYI, this is Garrett:
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Let’s see who can hold it the longest, he challenged us.
Then he started the timer.
I was on the end, Garrett to my left.
Everyone dropped but me and Garrett.
Knowing I could do at least three minutes, I held onbut not long enough.
Around 3:30, I gave up.
Mr. Instagram had won.
The next week, Coach Mike lined us up again.
I couldn’t believe how much I cared.
But I did care.
I cared so hard.
I wasn’t just planking to winI was planking for justice.
Four minutes passed and I noted my new personal record.
But that wasn’t enough.
He said he was calling it at five minutes and started counting down.
“No,” I thought, “this is not going to end in a fucking tie.”
I don’t know exactly what the timer said when Garrett finally gave in.
All I know is that I was still up.
Justice had been served.)
“We like to compete,” she tells me.
“It makes us push harder, go faster.”
“I think youthinkyou don’t like to compete, but you do,” she posits.
“Maybe you’re competitive, but losing is stressful for you so you’d rather not compete.
I am hopelessly outmatched by Garrett, but save face?
That’s exactly what I get out of our friendly competition.
The point wasn’t that I beat Garrett (once; no repeat victories for Manda).
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