Post by The Frumious Benderstretch on Dec 2, 2021 14:46:08 GMT -5
"The Weight"
Luis Carrillo slid open the van door with the solemnity of the executioner condemning a man with a pull of the electric chair’s switch. Immediately out stalked The Frumious Benderstretch. The maksed giant was dressed casually- a pair of black sweatpants and a grey ribbed wife beater.
Carrillo scurried to catch up with his client, with the hired film crew in their wake. Luis glanced back over his shoulder.
“Get the sign.”
The cameraman complied, showing the signage that served as a segment’s establishing shot:
Commonwealth Fitness
The troupe entered the gym and approached the reception desk. After talking with the manager on duty, they were allowed onto the gym floor. While walking Frum rolled his shoulders and neck to loosen them. Reaching their first destination, a large blackboard, he extended and curled his arms to stretch their biceps, triceps, and wrist flexors.
Written on the board were the weight-lifting records for the club. Only one was of interest to Carrillo.
“Third column. I want a close up, ok?”
The third column included members’ personal maxs for squats. A familiar name topped the list:
John Blade 610#
Next Frum, Luis, and accompaniment went to the free weight area. While his client finished his warm-ups by arching his back, bending forward, and hugging his knees, Luis addressed the patrons.
“Ladies and gentlemen: Commonwealth Fitness dictated if my client is to perform his display of prodigious strength and pwnage he must have spotters. Who will aid the Atlas of Agony in this endeavour?!”
Several volunteer. Luis picked two rando muscleheads. They moved to stand on either side of Frum at the squat rack.
Frumious spat on his hands and rubbed the green tinted saliva deep into their calluses; then got into position.
“Start with 285.”
The spotters put the appropriate weight to the barbell. Benderstretch gripped the bar, ducked under and then up; lifting it onto his shoulders . He performed ten flawless Rear Foot Elevated Split Squats and returned it to the rack.
“Now 310.”
The plates were added. Frum did five reps.
He rested briefly. The next round saw Benderstretch squat 465 pounds three times: a feat that drew attention. Several gym-rats ceased their own workouts to watch.
“Ready?” Luis asked his client under his breath. Big Frum nodded.
The requisite plates were slid into place on the bar. Frumious set himself. He pushed upward, straining against the heavy burden. The barbell rose. Filling his lungs with air he dipped down to a squat, and slowly stood, exhaling loudly when finished.
“Sonuvabitch,” one onlooker muttered.
There were murmurs of appreciation. Luis beamed, clapping Frumious on the back before shouting-
“Put it on the board!”
An instructor got up on a stepladder to make the appropriate change. She erased Blade’s name and number, then rewrote it in smaller script to make room for the gym’s new squat record :
Frumious Benderstretch 620#
“Just like that!” Carrillo snapped his fingers and spoke to the camera, “As easy as rolling out of bed, my client came into the Legend’s backyard and obliterated his personal best. At Turmoil, he will do the same to him! John Blade is famous for his ‘Never Give Up’ mantra! Well, sir, I am telling you, I am promising you, when you face the Frumious Benderstretch in the ring you will have no choice. Your iron resolve will break across Big Frum’s broad shoulders, and You. Will. Tap.”
The reaction to this vow was negative, given Luis and his client were deep in Blade Country. Carrillo good-naturedly bantered with the nay-sayers. Big Frum said nothing. His focus was on something else in the gym: a large collection of photographs hanging on a wall. Once he regained control of his breathing and he felt he could move without his knees giving out from under him he walked up to the display for a closer look.
Dozens of images of John Blade smiled back at himi. He was not alone; in each photo there was at least one child, many bed-ridden, or wheelchair bound, or generally looking frail and small, especially in comparison to the man beside them.
They were all smiling though; just as broadly as Blade was.
********
The next clip had Benderstretch alone in an ill-lit room. He sat in an old wooden chair, and fidgeted with something in his lap out of frame.
“At de gym I see pitchurs of you and dem sick kids, John Blade. Dey fill up a hole wall. Dem fotos yer real trofees, huh? All dem children who kin wish fer most anything, and whut dey aks fer is yew.”
“Dat nice.”
“Dose kids, dey dun care dat yew lose most yer fites. Dey dun care yer peers call yew stoopid or a joke fer de computah. Dey got a love fer yew dat uncondishunal. To dem, yew a heero.”
“Dem kids ain’t rong John Blade.”
Frum pulled a needle up; attached to which is a long, sinewy strand of thread. He was sewing… something.
“See, Ah figger yew out. Ah gitchu. Yew ‘Nevah Giv Up’ not ‘cuz yew stoopid or ‘cuz yew in on de gag. Yew won’t kwit ‘cuz dem kids can’t.”
“It to enspire dem. Yew git back up- smilin- no mattuh how many times yew eat de pin. An smilin is whut most important John Blade. Keepin yer posativ spirit dispite commun sense sayin’ jest pack it in an go make moovies or liddel John Blade joonurs.”
He continued his stitchwork.
“Dat de true weight yew carry.”
“Ah respek dat.”
“An I’m gon hep yew John Blade. It cum afta our fite dun; afta Ah git yew up an Jabbahrak yew. Wen we dun Ah gon take sum ov dat lode yew carry fer so long.”
“Ah hep eaz yer berden. It whut yew and dey deserve.”
Benderstretch at last revealed what he was working on to the camera: a primitive version of his own mask, but smaller-
-like something a child could wear.