Sweat

The smell of sweat filled the air. The room was sticky and uncomfortable but no one noticed in this moment. The small crowd was silent. The only noise was the straining groans of both men above the slow-turning ceiling fan, which was doing nothing useful.

Wayne and John held the other’s right hand and were pushing as hard as they could. Their elbows sat on the table and Jess stood close, staring intently at the two arms locked in battle. Veins popped and muscles shook as both men fought to prove who was stronger. Was it Wayne? Was it John? The tension was so thick it could be cut with a butterknife.

John’s eyebrows moved by themselves as he strained against the immovable barrier that was Wayne’s arm. Wayne’s mouth contorted, unable to settle on a single shape. A little bit of spittle flew from the corners and landed on Jess, but she dared not look away. Her eyes were red as she refused to blink. Any second now, someone would give in. But would it be Wayne or would it be John?

The crowd’s breath was collectively held as they too stared, intensely focused on the forearms of the two men. Wayne’s arm started to falter ever so slightly as he fought to stay in the game. It shook as he used all his might to force John’s arm back upright, the odds starting to tilt in his favour. His forehead was red, sweat pouring from his brow. The salty secretion stung at his eyes but he was determined not to falter. No matter what happened, he would not lose this challenge.

Tick… … Tick… … Tick… … The second hand on Jess’ watch echoed throughout the silent room, every second feeling like an eternity for the two men locked in conflict. Tick… … Tick… … Tick… … it was almost torture hearing it make its way to a full revolution. John felt his arm slipping as Wayne slowly shifted from sideways momentum to downward force. His whole body was tense. His pecks were tight, his abs solid, and he barely breathed as he strained against the might of his opponent. John gritted his teeth, grinding at them as he focused all of his might on forcing Wayne’s arm back upright. Slowly, millimetre by millimetre, millisecond by millisecond, he made headway. Holding his breath, he used every ounce of his strength, focused entirely on his one arm. Gradually, eventually, after what felt like an eternity to him, but what was in reality probably only a few ticks of the watch, he forced Wayne’s arm back to an upright position, and they were back at neutral ground.

Both men were tiring. Both men were shaking. But both men refused to give up, their pride and ego on the line. After this, only one of them would be able to call themselves the strongest man in the gym. The other would have to be reminded every time he came back that he was only second best. And second best for both these men was not good enough.

Wayne was frothing at the mouth as his face turned purple. He was so focused he was forgetting to breathe. John felt something shift in his clenched abdomen that didn’t feel right. It was like a stinging, tearing feel, like something was pushing out of place inside him. Wayne made small noises as he tried to hold John’s arm back. But slowly, inevitably, after nearly a minute of intense concentration, someone had to break. John pushed down, now aided by gravity as he pushed his opponent lower and lower. Jess held her breath. Wayne struggled with all of his might.

But his struggles were in vain. John gave one final push and Wayne’s hand touched the table, marking the end of the battle. The small crowd cheered as Jess declared the winner and Wayne fell to the ground panting, exhausted from such a hard-fought contest. John threw his hands up in victory, only to quickly hold his stomach where he’d felt that tear. He did it. His ego was in tact and he could now officially claim to be the strongest man in the gym. And that’s all that mattered. The hernia was definitely worth it.