It was about me. My state of mind, my attitudes, my outlook on life.
I didn’t keep a pad of paper like Rusty suggested. I couldn’t keep track of things like that. Instead, I kept a file on my phone. I was a twenty-first-century alcoholic, after all.
Today, I listed workouts. By that, I meant both my sparring workout with Brag’mok and my gym training with Jag. In both situations, I had felt like a dwarf, but today wasn’t like yesterday. I wasn’t resentful. I didn’t hate my sessions. If anything, I felt invigorated by them. I started to think that maybe, just maybe, Layla’s plan to get me into shape wasn’t so misguided after all.
I was actually looking forward to another yoga session at the apartment. I didn’t have the time for the full hour and a half routine I usually did, but the streaming service I used to get my yoga routines had several other options.
One of them looked like it was set in Hawaii. Likewise, the title of the routine was something I couldn’t pronounce. But it had Tony Horton in it, looking quite a bit younger than I was accustomed to. I figured I’d give it a go. After all, I was all about cross-cultural engagement. Yoga in Hawaii? Why the heck not?
I laid out my yoga mat and set my blocks beside me. They were helpful. With some of the poses, like half-moon, I didn’t have the flexibility to reach the ground. Provided I maintained balance, that is. One foot firmly on the mat, the other in the sky, and my palm to the floor or the yoga block.
The first time I tried it, I don’t think I lasted a half-second before tumbling over. But today, I was in a flow, calm of body, calm of mind. Sure, I had anxieties. I was still worried as hell about Layla. But with my attitude shift, thanks to the fairy who’d been harassing me, I felt like I could handle it.
The serenity to accept the things I could not change.
Agnus came up and nuzzled the leg that was on the floor.
“Dude, what the hell?” I asked. “I’m trying to balance here.”
“And I demand love,” Agnus said. “Give me love!”
I chuckled a little as I lowered my back leg, grabbed the remote, and paused the routine.
I picked up Agnus and scratched him behind the ears.
“How was your day, buddy?” I asked. “Didn’t see you when I got back.”
“Found a nice patch of sunlight shining through the curtains. I couldn’t resist.”
It was bound to be another night of more of the same, and by that, I mean my usual routine. I’d work my afternoon shift at the pub, and then, since the soup kitchen wasn’t open tonight—eventually, this would be our night to run it—I’d try to catch an AA meeting. Like I said, more of the same.
Not a night from hell, like the night before. Ideally, Brag’mok’s plan had worked, and I’d sufficiently pacified the trickster fairy who’d been harassing me.
So far, so good.
Part of me was irked that the little bugger had won. He hadn’t liked the way I’d used my magic recklessly, and he’d succeeded in causing me to think twice the next time I was inclined to use magic for anything that wasn’t necessary.
Knock, knock, knock.
I sprang to my feet. Layla had a key, but maybe she’d left it like she left her phone. I reached for the doorknob and swung open the door just in time to see a young woman with purple hair making her way back down the stairs.
I looked down. Amazon Prime.
I hadn’t ordered anything. I bent over and picked up the box.
It had a little weight to it. Not a ton, but enough that it was noticeable. I didn’t shake it. The box didn’t say it was fragile, but why risk it? I didn’t know what was in the box or who’d ordered it.
I looked at the label. It had my name on it.
Of course, I’d let Layla access my Amazon account. She must’ve ordered this before she left.
I closed my door and took the package over to the kitchen counter.
I sliced it open with a steak knife. There was a bag inside the box. I pulled it out.
It had a glass on the front and was filled with a green liquid. The type said something about more than a hundred superfoods in a single serving.
“Fantastic,” I said. “Now she’s ordered me supplements.”
The bag indicated it was a flavor called Greenberry, whatever the hell that was.
I mean, usually, green berries are the ones that aren’t ripe yet. Gooseberries were green, but who would make a gooseberry shake, and if they did, why not just call it “gooseberry?” Not to mention, I’d never had a gooseberry that wasn’t in a pie. I suspected they were sour.
I looked at the directions. Replace one meal per day with this shake. Mix one scoop with eight ounces of water or almond milk.
How the hell does someone milk almonds, anyway? Last I checked, they didn’t have nipples.
I’d have to check the grocery store for that. For now, I’d try it with water.
I pulled my blender out from under the counter and plugged it in. I filled the pitcher to the eight-ounce marker with water from the sink. I ripped open the top of the bag carefully. It was one of those zipper bags, and I had a lousy track record of accidentally ripping through the zipper portion.
It didn’t smell bad. A little sweet. Yes, it was green, but I wasn’t prejudiced. Kermit the Frog taught me that it’s not easy being green, and I liked Kermit just fine.
I turned on the blender.
Agnus leaped to his feet and took off into the bedroom, presumably to hide under the bed.
He did the same thing for the vacuum.
“Just a blender, Agnus,” I called.
He hissed in response. “The blender from hell!”
I shook my head. “I didn’t buy it from Satan, Agnus. I got it from Walmart. The blender won’t hurt you.”
“Tell that to the frog!” Agnus protested.
I sighed. “No one puts frogs in blenders, either.”
“Then what the hell is that?” Agnus said, his head poking out of the doorway of my bedroom.
“It’s a health shake,” I said. “It says Greenberry.”
“Frogberry, more like it!”
I laughed. “I don’t think there are any frogs in this shake mix. It just says it's full of superfoods.”
“Superfoods? Like, vegetables from Krypton?” Agnus asked.
“You’ve been watching too much television,” I said. “Krypton doesn’t exist.”
I took a sip from the blender.
I gagged, nearly spitting it out, but I forced myself to swallow it.
“Delicious?” Agnus asked.
I nodded, but I was sure the contorted look on my face told a different story. “Sure, if you enjoy the taste of a freshly mowed lawn.”
“You have to drink it,” Agnus said.
I cocked my head. “No, I don’t. Layla bought this for me, and she’s not here.”
“That’s why you have to drink it. It would be disrespectful, and therefore bad luck if you didn’t.”
I rolled my eyes. “Since when has refusing a health shake been a sign of bad luck?”
“Don’t tempt fate!” Agnus said. “Drink! Drink! Drink!”
I took a deep breath. I stared down the green sludge that filled the bottom half of my blender.
I grabbed the handle.
I tipped it back and choked it down. Then, I slammed the blender down on the table and released a man-roar.
Agnus stared at me blankly. “Moron.”
“What?” I asked.
“You fell for the bad luck con,” Agnus said.
I sighed. “Well, at least it’s good for me. Hopefully, it will give me extra energy for my workouts.”
Something churned in my gut. Then I heard a squeak like someone was slowly letting air out of a balloon from somewhere in my intestines.
“To the bathroom!” Agnus shouted.
I nodded and took off, slamming the door behind me.
Chapter Twenty
It was a good week.
Training with Brag’mok went well. We m
oved from evasive measures to follow-up strikes. We’d add magic back to the equation once we knew I had my other maneuvers mastered. We moved beyond dodging punches to ducking and pivoting away from blades.
No more magic, not unless there was an emergency. Magic was like fine wine, Brag’mok told me. It was great when you used it in the right setting and savored it, but nothing would give you a worse headache than if you binged it. I knew that last part well enough, although not from experience. While I’d never been fortunate enough to drink wine properly, I understood the metaphor. And when it came to magic, at least at this point, I wasn’t addicted to it.
Moderation was key, and I was determined to make sure I handled it responsibly.
Instead, Brag’mok and I sparred like two Spartan warriors in the middle of Forest Park. It had to be quite the sight.
I half-wondered if anyone would call the cops if they saw us. I mean, I was sparring with a dude who was at a bare minimum the size of Andre the Giant. We tried to stay in remote areas of the park, but there were trails nearby, and we’d garnered the stares of more than a few passersby during our morning sessions.
Now that he was swinging a broad sword at me, I was anxious about the training. I liked having my head where it belonged, firmly affixed to my shoulders, and I was also uneasy about the unwanted attention our activities might attract.
I was crushing it in the gym, too. So much about it was mindset. Once I moved beyond the “this sucks, I don’t want to be here” sentiment I’d had before I’d embraced the process, I found I’d started to enjoy my workouts. Jag was still a douche, but he was a likable douche. He also had a lot of good knowledge as long as he was limited to issues related to working out.
We only discussed his membership in the Order of the Elven Gate a couple of times, mainly because we were focused on my workouts but also because there wasn’t a lot to talk about.
Fred, the Order’s leader, was at a loss as to what direction they should go in since things had changed once I appeared, after the incident with the Blade of Echoes. Should the Order still prepare for an elven invasion as they had before? Originally, they’d hoped to be prepared to serve the new regime once they took over and rise to positions of prominence among whatever humans remained. But now I’d appeared, and half the order had helped Layla. At least one member had spilled the beans about our former plans to Hector before (we thought) he’d died.
Now, Jag said, they weren’t sure what to do. Support Layla and me and hopefully help prevent the elven invasion? Or accept the invasion as inevitable as they had before and continue to prepare to kiss elven ass? As far as I knew, they weren’t aware of the latest developments in elven politics, and I didn’t tell Jag about them, either. Who knew what Layla had told him before she left? I imagined he suspected something was up, but I also doubted that he had any more insight into what was happening than I did. Even Brag’mok, who had connections to intelligence operatives on New Albion, wasn’t sure.
So, we focused on what we could control.
My training.
Always be the hardest-working motherfucker in the place.
That was my goal. I wasn’t going to be one of those meatheads who lifted a set, then sat there on his phone for three minutes.
I wasn’t supposed to compete with anyone else, but be my own competition.
The way I saw it, if my fitness might have something to do with whether I could save the world, I needed to push myself harder than anyone else.
“Light weight, baby!” I shouted, re-racking the Olympic bar on the bench press. I wasn’t anywhere near where Jag was in terms of his bench, but it didn’t matter. I was rocking two tens on each side of the bar now, and for me, that was progress. I probably could have lifted it before, but now that my mind was right and I wasn’t shying away from the pain, I felt stronger. I accepted the challenge.
Next chest day, I’d try three. Then maybe I’d get bold and try a forty-five plate on each side. One workout at a time.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Jag shouted back. “You’re a beast!”
I roared at him. I had no idea where it came from, but if I was a beast, I figured that was the appropriate response.
“I’ve got more juice,” I said. “Let’s do a drop set.”
Jag nodded, removed one of the tens from each side, and resumed his spotter’s position behind me. I gripped the bar and slaughtered the set, fifteen good reps, my pectoral muscles burning.
“Damn, that felt good,” I said as I re-racked the bar. “What’s next?”
“That’s the workout,” Jag said.
“Come on,” I said. “Maybe some flies. Let’s do some with the cable crossover machine.”
“We’re out of time,” Jag said. “You’re only paying for one hour at a time.”
I shrugged. “What’s my credit score matter if the world ends? Add another thirty minutes.”
Jag smiled. “All right, if you insist.”
There were a lot of people who could lift more weight on a single rep than I could, but no one was sweating more than me. No one in that gym was pushing him- or herself harder than I was. We spent half the extra thirty minutes on more chest work and the other half on abs.
I hated planks. They hurt so good.
Finishing the workout, I grabbed my shaker cup, refilled it from the water fountain, and added a scoop of whey, a scoop of creatine, and a scoop of glutamine, all shit I’d charged to my card and picked up at the closest supplement store. Jag said I needed to fuel my body, make sure I was getting a complete protein with all the amino acids necessary to maximize my muscle development, so I took the word of the guy at the store. He was wearing a polo shirt and seemed to know what he was talking about, and since polo shirts convey authority, I was confident I had the right concoction. Jag agreed.
I’d had my Greenberry shake earlier that morning. No mindset would change its nastiness, but I was getting used to it. Oddly, this whey was rather delicious—a smooth vanilla flavor.
Maybe a little chalky, but I didn’t notice. I would have before, but everything seemed different now. After a hard workout, knowing that my body needed protein, I craved it.
It was funny how much a shifted outlook could change one’s day.
I was engaging everything I did with new vigor.
And it wasn’t just so I could avoid the wrath of the trickster fairy. I didn’t know for sure what I should attribute it to, but I was looking forward to my sparring sessions, even if they usually meant a giant fist or foot to my head or mid-section once or twice.
I was eagerly anticipating every workout with Jag. I even embraced my yoga videos. I still hadn’t figured out crane pose, but I was trying. One foot down to maintain my balance as I shifted my body weight over my arms. I couldn’t do it yet, but I could lift my toe from the ground for a split second.
Eventually, it would be a full second, then two. Before long, I’d be doing it like the great Tony Horton himself.
I’d also made some progress with Evelyn in organizing our evenings at the soup kitchen. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I’d assist her to learn the ropes.
In a month or so, presuming we recruited enough volunteers, we’d take over Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.
Eventually, Evelyn and I hoped we’d be able to convince the council to allow us to work together to cover Sundays. That would be an uphill battle, but maybe once we got involved, once they saw that we were able to make a difference, I’d be able to convince them to relax a little.
The week went so well that before I knew it, we’d gotten to the weekend, and I still hadn’t prepared my Sunday sermon.
Thankfully, I didn’t work the pub on weekends. I devoted my Saturday night to sermon prep.
This week, I knew what I was going to preach about.
Jesus said more than once that he who has eyes will see the truth. What does it take to have the proper perspective? I know I wasn’t faithful to the original context of Jesus’ speech, but I’d lear
ned over the last week that much of life is about how you look at it. It was a lesson I’d learned getting sober, but somehow I’d forgotten it when it came to tackling all this fitness and saving the world stuff.
I was going to preach on the attitude of gratitude.
Jag and Layla were right. I was a sucker for clichés.
But there was a reason something became a cliché. It had to be meaningful to enough people that it was often repeated before people began to relegate it to the realm of overused platitudes.
The problem with clichés wasn’t that they weren’t insightful; it was the opposite. It was that we’d heard them so often that we’d forgotten why they were worth remembering.
Chapter Twenty-One
Usually, I’d park the Mitsubishi around back and sneak in through the back door of the church, but I still hadn’t gotten my tires fixed. If I’d only had one flat, that would have been one thing. I’d have put on the spare and taken it somewhere. But with four flats, I needed a tow truck, and I needed the funds to buy four new tires. I suppose, since I was running up my credit card bills with personal training and supplements, a new set of tires might make sense. But then again, since I was already running up my credit card bills, maybe not.
Not to mention, while I didn’t like riding the Metro, it was a quick trip, just a few blocks. On nice days, I could walk it if I gave myself enough time. I’d done it many times. Technically speaking, there wasn’t a pressing need to replace my tires.
It was a nice enough day. I would have walked, but the bus was there waiting, and I hadn’t left myself enough time.
That was the thing about working out; your body needed more rest than usual. Jag said I needed to make sure I got my full eight hours. Most muscle recovery happened when you were sleeping. Therefore, I set my alarm a little later than usual. I suppose if I were a responsible human being, I’d have just gone to bed sooner.
Blame Netflix.
As I got off the bus in front of the church, I was surprised by how many people were getting off at the same stop.
And even more surprised by the small crowd that had gathered outside Holy Cross.
Old Dogma New Tricks (The Elven Prophecy Book 2) Page 12
