"I'm a master at slipping out the proverbial side door. But with Tom, I've met my match. He has an annoyingly astute ability to know exactly how hard to make it, to keep you working hard, but without losing form.
Previously, I'd use an exercise that was too hard, as a perfectly reasonable excuse to lie on the floor and take a well deserved break from the gym class. Except, Tom seems to go out of his way to adjust the exercise for me, so that it’s more achievable.
"No, no, I'm fine napping on the floor", I'd plead.
"Do this instead", he instructs.
With a disgruntled, screwed up face, I seemingly rise from the floor and continue with the exercise, wondering to myself how it is that I've forgone my free-pass rest and am now exercising again.
On the (rare) occasion that I find the exercise easy, I do my best to pull a facial expression that looks as though I’m finding it difficult, so as to enjoy a few moments of relative ease. But oh no, Tom's there again, adjusting the exercise just enough to make it hard again.
"Urgh, now it's hard", I'd fake cry.
"I know, it's supposed to be", he'd respond flatly.
I roll my eyes, as the sweat begins to bead again on my forehead, and I puff out a few more reps.
Somehow, between my woeful pleas for an easy life (gym class), I appear to have become addicted to Tom’s method of working hard in a gym session, his playful sarcasm, and his inability to count to ten in any sort of reasonable length of time. I trust that he’ll pitch it just right, to keep me working hard, but without it being impossible.
His method appears to work. One day, seemingly out of nowhere (after oh-so-many sessions), I’d somehow managed to get strong enough for this to happen (er, see pic):
...It was a miracle. I instantly realized that Tom does in fact possess magical powers. I've offered to give him all my money, in return for him bestowing on me more physical strength and party tricks. He says I have to keep coming and working hard. Pfft."
-- Amy Merrick, Lawyer