'I was right; my suffering today is far from over.'
"Blerrgg..." It was the second time I had vomited that day. And only a few hours had passed.
At that moment, I had just performed the heaviest deadlift I knew of in all of history. Of course, considering I came from Earth and had no idea about this world's standards.
The deadlift sets started "light," with fifty-kilogram plates on each side. That was because Lesley was focused on teaching me the correct posture.
"Feet shoulder-width apart, that's it! Now retract your scapula," she said as her hands pressed against my back, adjusting my posture. "Now, explode with force using your quadriceps and calves, lift your toes, and avoid overloading your lower back."
I'm sure this shouldn't be an easy exercise to learn on Earth. It would take a lot of hard work, years of intense training, body awareness, and good equipment to avoid unwanted injuries. But there I was, executing a perfect deadlift as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
I have to acknowledge that the way the old Glenn treated his body was impeccable.
I'm sure my success wasn't just due to my high analytical and cognitive abilities. It was as if my body longed for this. It missed the effort, the routine, the stress.
Another thing I have to recognize is that from the moment my internal energy accelerated through my energy pathways, my logical reasoning became even sharper. It was as if I had consumed several liters of energy drinks, minus the side effects.
"Let's increase the weight," Lesley said, holding a one-hundred-kilogram plate in her hand as if it were a donut. "Alright, ten more reps."
The bar was a black metal, extremely rugged and sturdy. So far, there were two hundred kilograms on each side, and it didn't even bend.
"Count for me," Lesley ordered.
'I'm sure this is an anti-cheating measure. I've heard that personal trainers on Earth did the same.'
"Nine... Paft... Ten... Paft..." The metallic sound hitting the robust floor echoed through the training field.
Lesley added another hundred kilograms to each side, totaling six hundred kilograms plus the bar. But I wasn't too worried; I had just done ten reps with four hundred kilograms with relative ease.
I positioned myself in front of the bar, adjusted my posture, took a deep breath into my diaphragm, gripped the bar with all my strength, and lifted.
"One... Two... Three..." "...Ten... PAFT..." The bar dropped from my hand, crashing onto the ground with maximum force. A slight tremor spread across the area.
My face was red, my vision darkened, and the veins in my head bulged as if they were about to explode. I wobbled slightly, nearly losing my balance, but managed to stay on my feet. My stomach churned with a nauseating sensation.
I collapsed onto the ground, one hand on my forehead, breathing heavily as I tried to regain my equilibrium. The sound of more plates being added to the bar triggered desperate curses in my thoughts.
'Damn it, Lesley, at this rate, you'll want me to push the planet down with all this weight,' I muttered but didn't say out loud. Though I was sure she heard me.
Thirty seconds after I was sprawled on the ground, Lesley kicked my foot, indicating it was time to continue. Without complaining, I got up and took a deep breath. Now, eight hundred kilograms hung on the sides of the bar.
I moved slowly, took my place. I closed my eyes, visualizing the movement in my head, as if begging my body to follow. Inside me, my innate cores overflowed with energy, surging voraciously through my pathways. I applied intent, further accelerating the flow.
Power coursed through my body, and I immediately executed the movement.
With each repetition, my muscle fibers screamed, my ligaments creaked, my heart pounded at an insane rate, but I kept going.
"Ten... Paft... Blergggg..." And here we are again, ten reps followed by vomiting.
I had reached my limit.
After expelling the contents of my stomach, an overwhelming dizziness took over, the world spun, my vision darkened, and I collapsed onto the ground. Just in time to avoid falling where I had just vomited.
"Impressive," Lesley judged, noting all of Glenn's results on a clipboard.
"Deadlift between five to six times stronger than an average person."
In this case, an average person accustomed to physical exertion would be able to lift between one hundred and twenty to one hundred and eighty kilograms.
"Next," Lesley shouted, kicking Glenn's feet, who remained sprawled on the ground.
We were leaving block two of the training center, heading toward block one. Three hours had passed since I had entered the deepest hell of weightlifting. Lesley had pushed me to the limit in every exercise she proposed.
"Aren't we going to block three?" I asked, lethargic.
"Block three focuses on a training circuit aimed at cardiovascular and muscular endurance. It will alternate days with weightlifting training," she explained briefly.
"Block four will focus on training your 'footstep', it has a delicate and intricate course designed to hone your agility."
"And block five is where you'll go every day after training. It consists of meditation platforms that will help you absorb everything you practiced," she concluded, walking briskly toward block one.
The block where various martial weapons were on display.
Moving at a slow pace, my condition could only be described as dire. A little over three hours had passed since we arrived at the training field, and I already felt like ground meat.
And my meat grinder was named Lesley.
Run at over one hundred and eighty kilometers per hour and covered thirty kilometers.
Followed by an eight-hundred-kilogram deadlift.
Nine hundred and fifty kilograms in the barbell squat, where, once again, my stomach refused to keep what little food I had left.
And finally, six hundred kilograms on the bench press.
We walked side by side. My face betrayed that my late-night antics had taken their toll.
The dark circles under my eyes had deepened, the fibers in my legs and arms twitched involuntarily. And worst of all, the side effects of sleep deprivation had started to manifest.
Lesley's words began to sound slow in my ears, and my concentration and reasoning declined severely.
Noticing my miserable state, Lesley pulled a small bottle from the side pocket of her pants.
"Here, drink this!" Lesley handed me a bottle containing some kind of liquid.
Without question, I opened the cap and took a sip. It tasted like fruit juice. It was extremely cold, cooling my throat and esophagus as it reached my stomach.
A rejuvenating sensation spread through my body, numbing my fatigue and restoring my vitality.
"Wow!" I exclaimed. "What is this? It's amazing," I asked, bringing the bottle to my lips again and taking another big gulp.
"Dragon piss," Lesley responded neutrally.
"WHEEEEEEEEEEWWWWW..." I violently spat it out.