Commitment Collection 2- Ignition; Turbo Charged; Pole Position, page 12
part #4 of Commitment Series
We spend weekends chopping wood, slicing holes into the trees on our land and learning to clamber up anything that even closely resembles a ninety-foot trunk with no more than a rope and padded shin guards for safety.
“It’s not fair. You’re so much smaller than me. It’s easier for you,” Kyle moans after losing against me again.
“Yeah, but you’re naturally stronger. You excel in different areas.” I’m being nice, and he knows it. I’ve whipped his ass every step of the way since we started training seriously for this event.
“Who do you think will win?”
I laugh, “Neither of us, unless there are prizes for the most heart, then I’m sure we’ll come out on top.”
He shakes his head. “Not the championship. Even with all this work we’ve been putting in, we’re never going to come close to the professionals.”
“We have to try. You know how I hate to lose.” I wink, and he continues shaking his head while his mouth is overtaken by a wide smile.
“Well, we have one week left and I’m nabbing Florian. I’m not going to lose this without a fight, so I’m bringing him in-house at Judd Racing. It won’t harm to have him close by.” I haven’t planned this. I haven’t even spoken to Florian about it, but the time is right. I’ve had the chance now to assess where our strengths and weaknesses are, and I’ve made the staff changes accordingly. I now have the core strengths we need in place, so now it’s time to fine-tune them, just as we fine-tune the performance of our cars.
“That’s cheating.” Kyle shoves me, then pauses, a look I don’t recognize flashing through his eyes. “I can’t believe we’re fighting over Florian. Look how far we’ve come.”
I think back to just a few months ago, and Kyle is right. We’ve come a long way without even realizing it. And Florian has walked that path with us. Sure, we had our little hiccup (that’s how I choose to refer to it) but that wasn’t Florian. He was just the catalyst. Kyle and I had a weakness in our relationship, although we didn’t realize it was lying dormant, would have reared its ugly head regardless of who else was involved. It just happened to be Florian who triggered it.
And, much as I hate to admit it, Kyle was right. By taking the next stages slow and being disciplined with ourselves we, as a couple, have come out on the other side more solid than we appreciated we could be.
Kyle is clearing up our tools. “Come on, we need to change. We’ve got a dinner in an hour.”
I look at my watch. He’s right. The press has taken whatever pictures they need of us putting the final touches to the log house we’ve built for the charity. They immediately zipped off and are no doubt already knee deep in the free bar.
We stand back, arm in arm and survey the results of our hard labor. Sure, we’ve not built all of it, but we have had a big hand in supplying the logs, which we’ve cut down and trimmed up during our event training.
“I’m proud of us. We’ve achieved something great here,” Kyle says as his hand snakes around my shoulders.
I lean into him, sealing our sweaty bodies together in the dying embers of the summer heat.
“Come on then, let’s get back and changed before the reporters are too drunk to hear our key points.”
Kyle
“Shit, Elliott, have you seen all these people?”
He stops walking and nods. Spectators are banked up in stadiums at least twenty deep. “I did not realize this event had such a huge following. I’m going to kill Florian.”
“Bet you regret getting the press in now as well,” I jibe, still not having forgiven him.
“It’s one thing having the media. They can be controlled with a press release and free stuff, but shit, this crowd.” I’m speaking slowly, concentrating more on the sheer number of fans than on the words my mouth is forming. I’m not about to admit it, but I was nervous before seeing this happy bunch. I wipe my palms down my shorts.
“You know, there’s still three hours to go, and people are here already. They’re here before us, for fuck’s sake.”
“Yes, Kyle, I got that.”
He shoves me. He was strong before, but the power behind that quick dig tells me that he is more explosive now. His muscles flex, just from the mere act of walking. If Kyle Beaumont-Judd was hot before, he’s on fire now, and I take a second, just one, to cast an eye over his finely tuned abs. Fuck, he’s hot as sin.
Now is not the time to get going, though. I need to concentrate, so in a bid to stop the bulge in my pants from stiffening further, I snap my head away and give it a quick shake.
Back to the job at hand. I ignore the image of what could be in my hand that floats through my imagination and focus. Focus, damn it!
There are twenty pods lined up on a floating deck. Each pod is separated from the other by a mesh divider. The deck is floating because it’s on the edge of a lake, one that later on we’ll have to fight against a competitor while standing on a log and seeing who can roll it fastest to the other side. The idea of that particular challenge is that one fight to balance on the log while simultaneously doing everything in our power to destabilize the other competitor, resulting in dumping one person in the lake. The remaining challenger will be the winner of that bout.
“What have I done, Kyle?”
He looks at me, widens his eyes and pulls his mouth in that way that tells me he’s at a loss. “I don’t know, El, but you dragged me into it as well.”
“Come on, let’s go find where we need to be and stop panicking over this.”
Ten minutes later, we’re in a baking hot gazebo with a bunch of other guys. None of them look massive, which worries me because I’ve seen them perform. Bile rises in my gut.
“I never felt this nervous before a race,” I hiss.
“You and me both. Look at them. They're not built. Most of them are flabby. I hope Florian has had us training for the right events.” He widens his eyes and I just nod. I have nothing to add.
We sign in and collect our competitors’ vests. Mine is numbered with a ‘6’ and Kyle an ‘9’.
“I should have thought about this, asked if I couldn’t get mine to be the same number as my car,” I mutter, holding up the back of my shirt.
Kyle’s head swivels round and he stares at me, one hand on his hip. “I think the fewer people who can connect us with this whole fiasco, the better” he replies. “Besides which, have you missed Florian’s little joke with us here.”
Elliott
“Here we go then. There’s no turning back now.”
Kyle draws me in for a hug. “We’re here now. Let’s just get on with it and do our best. I know how you excel under pressure. Hopefully it’ll help.”
“I’m sorry.” I smile, and his face lights up as he smiles back. Oh, how I love this man.
“It’s fine. It’ll be a memory if nothing else.”
And we laugh. Because what else is there to do?
It starts out OK.
Our first challenge is to saw through logs of about seventy-five centimeters deep. It's not an issue. We've practiced 'til we're blue in the face. We have power and speed and as we predicted, it’s not a problem. We sail through to the next round which is more of the same in that we’re chopping again. This time we're presented with slimmer logs, and we have to hack at them with our ax within a marked area. Again, not an issue. We both pass through without breaking a sweat.
Then it starts to get a little more competitive.
The chainsaws come out, and I have to admit I feel a twinge in my belly. But we both nail it, sawing off slivers to produce three disks within twenty seconds. I worried I’d be all fingers and thumbs when it came to using the machinery, but I guess our jobs both involve us working at speed in a high-pressure environment, and so when it comes to it, Kyle was right. Again, we have no issues.
Now we’re onto the lake and, when I see the draw, adrenaline courses through my body.
Bloody Jessie, she kept this quiet.
She’s only set it up so that Kyle and I will compete against each other. Forget that we’re totally different sizes and he will sink while I’m left bobbing around in the air. I can just hear her! "Ooh, that'll be a great photo op."
Ugh, why did I get her involved? Now whatever happens, one of us will be knocked out in this stage.
I see Kyle’s face, and I know he’s thinking the same.
“Here we go, smile for the cameras,” I whisper through gritted teeth while shaking his hand as photos are snapped.
“Come on then, we can’t put this off any longer.” He slaps my back and we head off toward the lake with dread weighing down both our bellies.
The logs twirl under our feet. “Crap, it’s hard enough getting on this darn thing,” I mutter, while maintaining my smile for the press.
“Roll it out,” The guy shouts over the loudspeaker once we’re kind of settled.
“I could kill you right now,” Kyle hisses.
“I think I may just end up doing that to myself. This is all well and good when it’s just the two of us on our lake at home, but in front of all these people, with my heart jack hammering, my legs are like lead.”
“At least you’ve got your legs. Think about the end game.” Kyle says the one thing that he knows will motivate me.
At that point the buzzer sounds and we’re off. My competitive streak lights up my reactions, and I’m not only performing for the crowd cheering us on from the bank, but I’m trying my damnedest to unbalance Kyle. I thought it would bother me that it’s him who will lose if I win, but no, not when it comes down to it.
And for his part, he’s laughing. We’re laughing.
We’re splashing each other, dipping feet into the water and kicking water at feet, at eyes, at anything we can hit, all the while laughing. I catch him in the mouth with a glug, and he chokes, then bounces, using his weight to throw me off balance.
But, I’m a lithe racing driver, and my reactions are lightning fast. I hop up onto one leg as the log twists under his force, landing light, and steadying myself with my arms like I’m riding a surfboard rather than a slippery, twisting log with my 6 ft plus husband on the other end.
I speed up my feet, rolling the log faster underfoot, hoping that my superior speed will make Kyle’s legs work faster than he has the capacity for. And it works. He comes crashing down into the water with an unceremonious splosh and I stand on that log, waving my arms while my feet continue to peddle. I feel like I’m on the top of the podium, having won the world driver championship.
It’s time.
Kyle
That was fun. Not something I’ll be looking to do again in a rush, but I enjoyed competing way more than I expected.
“Jessie, you nailed it.” Having been knocked out, I’ve now joined the rest of the onlookers, watching the show play out with Florian and Jessie.
“I did, didn’t I? No one can ever say that I don’t know how you and Elliott work.”
“Yeah, you judged it just right,” Florian agrees. “Setting them against one another was a class act. It brought out the most competitive side of them both.”
I can’t prevent the grin from plastering itself over my face. “I’ve had a ball. Thanks for pushing us, Florian.” I nudge him.
What I don’t admit is that I am secretly pleased that I was knocked out. Clambering up a ninety-foot pole is more suited to Elliott’s daredevil side. At my weight and with how that thing sways around, it was never going to be my forte. With me out of the way, Elliott will be eager to show off, and at least have a chance of progressing further through the competition.
He has to get there first, though, and that means he's legging it from one side of the lake to the other via a series of floating logs. His balance is spot on, and he’s as fast as a whippet, so I’m quietly confident that he’s going to nail this. My good humor makes me see the funny side of nailing it with it being a lumber-jacking championship, and I allow myself a private laugh. Neither Florian nor Jessie notices. They’re busy cheering as Elliott appears.
“And now, please give a hand for Elliott Beaumont-Judd,” the guy announces over the megaphone.
Elliott is waving his arms like he owns the crown, and I inwardly berate him. Having kicked my butt, he’s now overflowing with overzealous confidence. His eyes flash with a fire I’ve not seen since he was racing. While I had expected him beating me would buoy him up, this is something more.
“Go, Elliott!” I scream like a groupie, cupping my hands to my mouth to ensure he hears.
He turns, waves at me, and I swell with pride.
My Elliott is back. The guy I fell in love with, who has been battling court cases and health issues has had those fears and stresses washed away when we both landed in that freezing cold lake earlier.
The person who remains is my man, one brimming with purpose, but also with fun. The light-hearted guy who teases and laughs and competes is now presented to the crowd right in front of me, waving his arms like the confident competitor he is to his core. And just when I didn’t think it was possible to love him any more, a piece of my heart previously hidden in the depths of its protective walls surfaces.
My Elliott is back.
Elliott turns and readies himself in a standing-start position. One other guy is lined up on either side of him, and each adopts the same stance.
“I’m excited. Elliott should nail this with the way he’s been performing,” Florian mutters.
The horn goes, interrupting any chance of us replying as we focus on what’s happening. Elliott is behind.
“GO!” I cheer.
“Come on, Elliott! Push! You can do this.”
Florian’s Irish twang rings out above the pack, and Elliott responds. He digs deep into his reserves and almost jumps the whole length of a log to arrive at the halfway point at the far end of the lake. He twists in mid-air, landing with a graceful agility I will never possess no matter how hard Florian works with me, and he is off.
He powers forward, and his competitor is left trailing in his wake. In no time he’s cheering on the edge of the bank, having won his heat.
Elliott
Don’t ask me how I did it, as I’m positive it was sheer bloody mindedness rather than any kind of skill, but I’m in the final. I’m waiting at the bottom of the towering log with a short piece of rope looped around my waist and some padding on my shins.
I have practiced this, and I hated every second. Plus, I’ve not trained enough, as I didn’t expect to get this far. Not ever. A few moments ago, my legs started shaking, and it was crunch point. I could decide to give in to fear and roll out an average performance, happy to just have come this far.
Or.
I can use every ounce of knowledge that I’ve learned over the years and harness those nerves, using them to fuel the adrenaline that will enhance my effectiveness.
‘And, we all know that Elliott Beaumont-Judd is a competitor!’
I bite down my anxiety, close out any thoughts of failing and against a backdrop of muffled cheers, I focus on the task at hand. I stare at the log I will conquer, and I decide how to attack my challenge. I plan my journey, imagine how the bark will feel under my touch, tighten the tendons in my quads to understand how they will grip as I grasp with my legs while flicking the lasso up a notch and hauling myself up another level.
I repeat the imagery in my mind, focusing on the burn in my legs, the ache in my chest and the pain in my shoulders. I prepare my body for the shock that scaling the pole ahead of me will bear.
By the time the horn goes, I know I can do this. I’m fired up and nothing will stop me.
Except I haven’t factored in the slip.
I’m so eager to get off to a good start that I lose my footing and wobble over on my ankle before I’ve even taken my first hop up that colossal tower.
But I don’t feel the throb. My internal system knows what it needs to do and blocks out the pain, concentrating instead on diverting all my energies to the parts that need them.
Fear and injury do not factor in my success.
I ignore the giant next to me, the so-called expert. I don’t look at him; rather, I concentrate on getting my performance right. I count the beat that will drive me to the summit first, and my body moves according to the drum beating in my head. It is the only thing I hear.
I maintain the rhythm, pass the sixty-foot mark, but I don’t recognize it, other than to know I must force my body to work harder, to speed up where others will slow. The final push.
When I hit the top, I have no time to judge who was there first; instead I stretch to reach the black mark with my rope before clinging on with every muscle fiber in my body and allowing the rope to slip down the log and take me back to earth at breakneck speed. My body batters against the log as I twist and twirl, the only control being gravity drawing me back down. My elbows knock as my legs swing out, but I grip tighter with my hands, clenching my biceps to ensure I don’t let go.
The stark blue of the crash mat is approaching fast. While I want to hit it first and win this championship, and my natural instinct is to strike out with my feet, Florian taught me to bend my knees and await the impact with flexibility to avoid crushing my legs again.
I tense my glutes, raising my legs and bend my knees, waiting. As my feet slam back to earth, my core braces and I cling on to the rope even tighter, steadying my balance against the shock.
When I whip my head around to see where the other guy is, he's also there.
“Who won?” I say to no one, searching for Kyle in the midst of the cheering throng.
I don’t see him. He’s not there, because he body slams me from behind. “You did it, you odd fucking man. You only went and won.” His words are loud, rattling around my brain without fully registering there. But, nothing else is important as he grabs me around my waist and screams the words into my ear.
