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The Mirror1,576 words
The Forge3,107 words
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The Shining Armor Effect2,690 words
Sink or Swim1,946 words
Diver2,924 words

The Forge

'Come on Anon.......just two more! You can do this!'

Too bad your body's saying otherwise though; your limbs feel like they're about to snap at any second and your entire body, your stomach especially feels like it's about to implode in on itself; every single muscle cell you have is screaming for you to stop as you descend for another push-up.

"Anon, what the heck are you doing up there?!" You hear your father shout above from the living room. "It's dinner time!"

"I told you Dad, just give me like five minutes and I'll be down!" You reply through a strained voice.

Against the will of your body, you descend again, feeling the oppressive pain building up along with it. You keep telling yourself that if Snips and Snails could do at least ten push-ups during gym class, then so can you. But your body's not buying your bullshit; it wants out. Now.

With a groan of pain and determination, you attempt to push yourself upwards only for you to collapse halfway between the push-up, and fall face first into the hardwood floor. You immediately roll to the side, gasping in as much air as you possibly can with your heart working overtime to keep up with the abuse you just put your body through.

The door to your room swings open, and you see your father, looking down at you with a look of complete shock on his face; probably because he was expecting to see you on your computer looking at porn, or something.

"......Anon?" He says slowly. "Were you just doing what I thought you were?"

"I swear to God, Dad..." You wheeze. "I wasn't fapp-"

"Were you just working out?!" He exclaims, bursting with excitement. "Those were push-ups you were doing, right?!"

"Yeah." You nod. Suddenly, your father rushes towards your limp and broken body, and props you up with one arm while patting your back with the other.

"I KNEW it!" He shouts with glee. "You really are my son, Anon!"

"Hey, honey!" He calls your mom over. "Guess what Anon was just doing in his room! He was doing push-ups! He was actually working out!"

"MY SON WAS DOING WHAT?!" She shouts.

You always forgot; in his youth, your father was the captain of the Canterlot High School basketball team; a six foot five monster who carried CHS all the way to States Championships, and scored the winning three-point shot in the last ten seconds of the game. He also graduated as the school's valedictorian who maintained straight A's, and ended up graduating from the Canterlot Institute of Technlogy, and started his own business as soon as he got out. A shining beacon of humanity that epitomizes strength, intelligence, and success all in one package.

And not to be outdone, your mother was also a mutant superhuman athlete who's just as crazy. In high school, she was a cross country superstar who ran and still does to this day, eight miles daily. She also goes to the Canterlot Marathon every year, and your living room has a wall completely covered with all the marathon and 5k number tags she has collected since she was fifteen. In fact, you think the only year she missed a marathon was when she was pregnant with you, and it took the convincing of your dad, her doctor, and your grandparents to make her not run while you were still inside her.

With this much going for you in the gene pool, it's no wonder that your parents have always been scratching their heads when they see you, their 140-pound, twig thin, C+ student son who still has no girlfriend, and can't even do a single pull-up. But today, you guess you've finally done something to make your father feel proud...

"So." He smiles. "How much did you do, champ?"

"......Four." You say slowly, avoiding eye contact with him. Surprisingly however, his smile doesn't waver one bit. Instead, it gets even bigger as he throws his head back and laughs heartily.

"Well, you gotta start somewhere I guess." He chuckles. "Come on, Anon. Your dinner's ready."

As you walk down the stairs with your dad, you can't help but get the feeling that he's seriously overreacting over what you just did; it was four push-ups for crying out loud, and he's treating you like a war hero. Or maybe are his standards for you just that low? If that really is so, then that makes you feel pretty damn depressed if your own father thinks that lowly of you...

You take your seat on the dinner table, and begin nibbling away at the pile of green beans and pork chops on your plate. On the other side of the table, your dad's talking with your mom about random adult stuff; business, work, taxes, mortgage, the things you have to worry about in twenty years or so, but for now, you couldn't give any less fucks about what an "insurance deductible" is.

"So, Anon..." Your mom says. "Your father told me you started working out..."

"Oh." Your head perks up. "I uhhh...yeah! I was just doing push-ups, that's all."

"Well you can easily be doing much more than those!" Your dad beams, pulling out his phone and showing you the website of some random workout gym. "I go here all the time! I could sign you up too!"

"Thanks Dad, but I dunno if I can fit it into school and-"

"Come on, you haven't even given it a shot yet." Your mom taps you on the shoulder. "Besides, you're a growing boy; now's the best time to build up muscle!"

"Your mother's right." Your dad nods. "Plus, they offer discounts for family relatives; the price you get in the 'Father and Son Deal' over there is a steal!"

"I don't know..." You shrug. "I don't even know how to lift, or anything!"

"Don't overreact, it's not that hard." He says dismissively. "Besides......your mother told me about how that farm girl you've had a thing for rejected you to the Fall Formal."

Wait...how did he-

"I wonder..." He nudges you smirking. "Will she have second thoughts when she sees you when you're huge? That's a bet I'm willing to take money on..."

******

You stick to your dad closely, as you follow him into the gym that he promised to show you after dinner. According to him, it's dead center in the middle of Downtown Canterlot; you could easily take the subway to here from school or even from your home, which is pretty convenient.

"Son..." Your dad says dramatically as he open his arms. "Welcome to The Forge."

You look up, and see an imposing black tower in front of your eyes. At the top very to of the building is a logo of an anvil, with an arm slamming down on it, sending neon sparks everywhere that spell: 'The Forge'.

"Twenty-four floors, with each level dedicated to one group of muscles." He says proudly. "And there's also the indoor swimming pool, the boxing ring, indoor track, and I hear they also just finished building this crazy 3-D virtual reality fighting simulator thing at the top floor; the kind of stuff that SWAT officers use to train, or something insane like that."

"And how much did this cost?" You look nervously at your dad.

"No cost is too expensive for a man with something to prove." He replies, patting your back. "Did you know that professional MMA fighters actually go here too? I'm telling you Anon, this is the place where men are made; where the small become huge; where the-"

"Okay, I get it Dad, I get it." You cut him off. "But could you at least stick around for a couple minutes, and show me the ropes? I don't even know how to hold a dumbell, Dad!"

"I'd love to, but I just got a call and they need me at the office ASAP." He says, looking over at his watch. "But don't worry though, this stuff isn't rocket science."

"Here, don't lose this." He hands you a membership card, and looks into your eyes. "You can do this, son. Hell, you can do anything if you set your mind to it."

And with those last words, your father walks off back to the parking lot, and takes off in his car, disappearing from your sight in a matter of seconds. You lose sight of his car, and turn your gaze back at the obsidian black tower.

"Twenty four floors......" You say to yourself, gritting your teeth.

You can't believe your dad would actually spend this much money on you; he never told you how much he spent, but this "Forge" place looks more like a five-star hotel rather than a gym, and you wouldn't be surprised if it costed just as much. You don't know if you should feel excited, or nervous; you want to feel excited, that you dad just gave you membership to a state-of-the-art gym that most dudes in your school would never even have the chance of seeing, but at the same time you have an overwhelming feeling of discomfort. This is unknown territory you're walking into; you're going into this gym, without a single clue of what the hell you're doing, and after Applejack's rejection, the last thing you want to do is feel like a complete idiot all over again.

But then again, the whole reason why you're even here is because you felt like a complete idiot after her rejection; you're here to change for the better, once and for all. Taking a deep breath, you clutch your membership card in one hand, and your bag full of spare clothes in the other, and walk to the entrance of The Forge. You take big, purposeful steps that quickly close the distance into the building, and open the door.

The second you walk into the gym, your nose is immediately filled with the smell of sweat; it's not bad-smelling or anything, but rather it's just there, and makes its presence very well known. You walk up to the front desk made of ornately polished granite stone that's reflecting so much light it's nearly blinding you, and you're greeted by an insanely buff, bodybuilder woman who's skin is literally the color of an orange. You'd make a joke about it, if she didn't look like she can shatter your spine just by flicking her wrist, so you just keep your mouth shut.

"Can I help you?" She asks in a deep, monotonous voice before gazing down on you.

"Hey uhhh..." You say nervously. "Can you let me in?"

"Where's your card?" The She-Hulk asks bluntly, raising an eyebrow with suspicion. Just the sight of the emotionless gaze that comes from her intense, hawk-like eyes makes you want crap your pants.

"H-h-here." You hand it to her, shaking.

She takes the card out of your hand, jabs a few numbers in on the cashier, and hangs your card on a shelf behind him. She then gives you a nod of approval, and extends her hand towards the entrance, welcoming you.

"Have a good workout, sir." She says, disappearing back behind the counter.

You walk past the bodybuilder woman, and officially enter the gym, where in front of you, lies twenty four floors of iron-pumping, muscle-building madness. Floor 1 is where the indoor track is, and you can see men and women sprinting across the track at speeds you thought weren't even possible for humans. Oh whatever, it's not like you're going to be doing any cardio anyways; you can't get huge off of that, right?

You spot an elevator, and right next to it is a map that lays out what workout machines each floor has; there's cardio and running stuff on floor one where you are right now, then the swimming pool's downstairs, and on the second floor is stuff for legs. You step away from the map and walk up to a mirror to look at your own body.

Well... your shoulders could definitely use some buffing up, so where can you find shoulder workouts? Floor four it is then. You press up on the elevator, and walk into it. In just a couple of seconds, the elevator takes you to your floor, and you walk out, taking in the vast, expansive gym.

Before you, is a literal maze of machines; each one looks more bizarre than the next as you walk around, and not to mention every single guy in the room looks like a WWE wrestler. You're so overwhelmed by the sheer......everything around you, that you're just standing there dumbfounded, staring like an idiot at all the equipment.

'What the hell is an Alternating Cable Shoulder Press?' You think to yourself as you walk up to a machine. Well, that's one machine you won't be touching; you shrug, and just walk away from the machine to try and find something else that doesn't require a PhD to use.

Reverse Flyes? Still sounds too complex.

Side Lateral Raise? Probably even worse.

Barbell Incline Shoulder Raise? Nope with a capital N.

Cuban Press? Sounds more like a sex move to you than a workout....

It's getting more and more hopeless as you wade through the machines with each one looking more complex than the other, but then you spot a relatively skinny (but still bulkier than you) guy doing something simple. If your memory serves you correct, the guy's doing bench presses; probably the most simple, iconic workout that any person could do in the gym, and the only one that you actually recognize without having to look it up.

"Yeah...that would be a good start." You say to yourself as you find an empty bench. You put your bag to the side, and look at the other guys doing the same workout, trying to see how they do it before you try it yourself. Doesn't look too hard to you; all he's doing is just lowering the bar to his chest, and raising it.

You turn back over to your bench, confident with what you have to do now, and start adding some weights onto the metal bar. Think you can handle 25? Nah, let's tone it down to 20 instead... You load two tens onto the bar, slide back down to your bench, and start taking deep breaths, preparing to lift the load. But hey, it's just twenty; you can do this easily. As you begin to tighten your grip around the bar, a guy in a red tank top passes by and gives you a confused look, but you take it with a grain of salt, and lift the bar.

Immediately, you begin feeling a disproportionate amount of weight on your left side, and you feel your whole body beginning to tilt towards that direction. The deafening sound of metal plates crashing down onto the ground then resonates through the entire gym as you tumble face-first into the floor of the gym. You hear random people shouting, and feel a hand tapping your back.

"Hey, you alright there bro?" You look up, seeing the same guy in the red tank top looking down at you, concerned. You respond only with a nod, and get back on your feet. The floor turned completely silent, as everybody on the floor just stopped whatever workouts they were doing and are now staring at you as if you're some serial murderer.

You already feel your face flushing with embarrassment, even as you try to hunch over on your bench to make yourself appear invisible. But who are you kidding? You know that memory is still fresh in everyone else's minds after that; man, you must have looked so stupid when you fell like that.

"You're new here, aren't you?" You turn, and see that same red tank top guy standing over your bench. Just now, you look at his face, and begin to recognize him.

Shoulder-length dark blue hair, a white complexion, and a body that could lift Jupiter with one arm, and all it's moons with the other; there's no mistaking it, it's Shining Armor.

Shining Armor, Twilight Sparkle's older brother. The Shining Armor. Shining Armor, the badass captain of the Canterlot High swim team who got a time that qualified him for the next Olympics. Shining Armor, the most popular guy in Canterlot High who every single girl (and some boys) has a crush on. Shining Armor, the pinnacle of physical condition, talking with you, the pinnacle of what a guy shouldn't look like.

"For starters, you put the weight on both ends of the bar, bro." He says, pointing at your bar as he picks up the weights you dropped during your little accident. "And plus, the bar itself weighs forty five pounds by itself, so do the math first before adding any extra weights on."

"I...I-I uhhh, thank you." You stutter awkwardly. "I'll remember that."

"I hope you do." He laughs, slapping your shoulder. "You made a pretty big racket there, I'll give you that!"

You feel your face flushing with embarrassment again, as you awkwardly laugh it off with Shining Armor, and you go back to your bench. However, you don't resume to your workout; you just sit there, trying to ask yourself why the heck you're here in the first place. You came here to undo the shame, to undo how dumb you looked when you got rejected by Applejack; not to look even dumber. If you're just coming here to get shit on all over again, then why are you even here?

'No...' You think to yourself, shaking your head. 'No, you're overthinking this, Anon. Everyone probably screws up just like you their first time.'

'Alright then.' You continue to talk with yourself mentally. 'How about you just go to the bathroom and chill for a couple of hours so all the people who just saw you mess up will leave, and then you go do your workout? That sounds like a smart idea. That should-'

"Hey, you still using that bench?" You hear an external voice interrupting your train of thought. You look up, seeing the bodybuilder woman you met at the desk, tapping her foot impatiently.

You don't respond with words; you just smile, and scurry away from the benches as fast as you can, not daring to look back until you're in the men's bathroom, and see your reflection in the mirror.

"Alright..." You say to your own reflection. "Two hours......two hours, and we'll go back to our bench, how does that sound, Anon?"

"Sounds like a deal."

Author's Note:

This actually happened to me on my first day of regularly going to the gym. It's something that my friends will never let me hear the end of, and now you know this too. Hope you don't mind my shameless, self-projecting.