Page 32 of Ellie Hayes and the Himbos
“Past training and exercise. How often someone’s training. And the diet component is huge. Your muscles don’t grow much unless you feed them. But a lot’s genetic. Some people are genetically inclined to put on muscle easily, some aren’t. You—”
“Have the back of a would-be beast,” I cut in, not missing—or minding—his smile. “How about long, lean muscles?” It was practically a refrain at a yoga studio I used to go to.
Bending to retrieve Diego’s ankles, Alistair drones, “Muscles have a point of origin—”
“Where they start,” Diego grunts.
“—and a point of insertion.”
“Where they attach.”
“At both of these points, tendons connect muscles to bones. They’re fixed points. They don’t get longer.”
“How about stretching?” I ask. “Like yoga or pilates?”
“That’s an increased range of motion,” Diego says, voice straining as he holds plank.
“What about the higher reps, lower weight thing?” I’ve heard that… somewhere.
Alistair shakes his head. “For real change, you gotta challenge the muscles. Overload them. Increase the weight, add more reps, slow the tempo, take shorter rests…”
“I never learned any of that,” I admit. “You guys knowyour stuff.” They legitimately thought the grout in the shower was ombre, but a crash course in kinesiology they can relay, no problem.
“The more muscle mass, the higher the calorie burn during exercise and recovery. That means that when combined with nutrient-dense foods, a caloric deficit, and quality sleep, the kind of training we do here can help reduce body fat, if you’re looking forlean. As far as anybulk…” Alistair starts rolling Diego away. “You’ll just have to live with it.”
I blink. It’s the most I’ve heard him say since meeting him.
“That’s the understanding we have. For now,” Ian amends. “Fitness theory is ever-evolving. Same with food science, which is why there’s some new trend every few years. But to put on muscle, you gotta eat.”
“I’m not afraid of putting on muscle,” I assure him. “Just so we’re clear.”
“Glad to hear it.” Ian sits forward in his chair, bringing the legs back to the floor as he looks over the form. “What would you like to accomplish here?”
“I want to get stronger,” I say firmly. “And I want to be able to do more of the movements as prescribed. Short term, get a handle on the general skills, then add more weight. Long term, master more complicated movements?” I nod toward the rig. “Toes-to-bar was pretty humbling.” They were a component in today’s cardio portion. It turns out, getting my toes to the pull-up bar while I’mdanglingfrom it requires strength I do not currently possess.
“You’re not too far off. It will come down to fine-tuning.” Ian makes a note on the form. “I recorded your final weight from the back squats, and you can test out other lifts in the next coupleof days. As you get comfortable with them, you’ll see some big jumps in weight, so we’ll track that and set longer-term goals.” He clicks his pen a few times. “Anything else?”
I let my attention wander across the facility. I probably should have waited on this; two days in, I don’t know enough to know what to shoot for. My eye lands on the trio of ropes attached to the I-beams between the pro shop and the gym floor. The ropes have been pulled aside and secured to a hook in the wall, like macho curtain swag. “I’ve never climbed a rope before.”
“It’s more about skill than strength to start.” He looks me over, and a wry smile snags on the corner of his mouth. “Come on.”
“What… now?”
“Unless you have other plans?” Ian leans to peer under the table. I self-consciously tense my legs, lifting them off the seat lest they appear unflatteringly splooty. “You left dominant or right?”
“Left?”
“You’ll probably wrap right, then,” he says, more to himself than me, and pushes away from the table. “Congratulations. You’re going to learn how to climb a rope.”
“Try leaning back when you pull,” Ian says. “Your feet will come up more, and the higher your feet are when you get purchase, the more rope you’ll get to bypass when you stand.”
“Makes sense,” I grunt. I have achieved little more than Ian’s standing height, so we’re basically at eye level. The lesson went better than I’d have anticipated, if I’d ever anticipated receiving a lesson on rope climbing. There’s a wrap-and-crimp maneuver that was a little hard to get my head around, partly because it wasso foreign, and partly because it required that I direct my focus perilously close to Ian’s groin. But once I got that, it was smooth sailing.
Before we started, Ian set me up with a bright blue neoprene sleeve to protect my right shin—which gets “wrapped”—from rope burn. I was assured it was a precautionary measure, though I’m on my own for making sure I don’t burn my hands during the descent. This was atouchdismaying, but I found myself chirping, “Noted!” Go with the Flow Yet Dedicated to Her Fitness Journey Ellie strikes again!
“Mind if I touch you?” he asks.
Every place on my body that has known his hands goes hot with recalled contact. Back, butt, boobs, outer thighs, and the back of my skull all flare so violently, I almost lose my grip on the rope. Some part of my brain not hijacked by my libido produces a “Sure.”
