Page 28 of The Write Midlife

"That's why I'm here, isn't it? For your sage advice?"

"No, you're here because your coping mechanisms needed an upgrade from single malt scotch." Alex checked his monitor. "Also, your stroke rate is terrible."

They transitioned to kettlebell swings, which felt like some medieval form of torture. Between sets, Nate continued pouring out his heart while trying not to throw out his back.

"I want to support her vision," he grunted, hoisting the weight. "Fight for her book the way she wants it written. But my goddamned father..."

"Forget your father for a minute," Alex said, making the movement look effortless. "What does Nate want?"

"Besides for my shoulders to stop burning?"

"Besides that."

Nate set down his kettlebell, taking a moment to catch his breath. Around them, other class members—most younger, some their age—moved through their own workouts, each fighting their own battles with gravity and self-doubt.

"I want her," he admitted finally. "Not just physically, though God knows that's part of it. I want her passion, her fire, hercomplete refusal to compromise what matters to her. I want to be worthy of that kind of conviction."

"Now we're getting somewhere." Alex checked his fitness tracker. "Also, your heart rate's concerningly high. You might want to scale back the emotional revelations during kettlebell swings."

They moved to wall balls, which felt like punishment for sins Nate didn't remember committing. The rhythmic thud of medicine balls hitting targets provided a backdrop for Alex's next round of wisdom.

"You know what your problem is?" Alex launched his ball with perfect accuracy. "You're so busy trying to be the perfect son, the perfect executive, that you've forgotten how to just be Nate."

"And who's that?" Nate's ball barely grazed the target.

"The guy who used to believe in changing the world through stories. The guy who'd risk everything for something he believed in." Alex's ball hit the center with a satisfying thump. "The guy Melody seems to bring out in you."

Nate let Alex's words sink in along with the growing certainty that he would never be able to raise his arms above his head again.

The final part of the workout was the promised "death by air squats." Between sets of increasingly wobbly squats, Alex continued his counseling session.

"So you've got two options," he said, somehow maintaining perfect form. "You can play it safe, do what Daddy Dearest wants, and probably lose both Melody and your self-respect. Or..."

"Or?" Nate paused, his quads screaming.

"Or you can grow a pair, stand up for what you believe in, and maybe end up with something worth more than quarterly profits."

The timer finally—mercifully—beeped to end the workout. They collapsed onto their mats for the cool-down stretch, Nate's body feeling simultaneously destroyed and oddly energized.

"When did you become the ginger-haired Dr. Phil?” Nate asked, groaning as he tried to touch his toes.

"Around the same time you got so damn dense about matters of the heart." Alex checked his watch. "Also, I think I might be dying, so I figured I should dispense my wisdom while I still can."

They lay there for a moment, catching their breath and letting the endorphins do their work. The gym was starting to fill with the early morning crowd—other professionals trying to fit in their workouts before facing the day.

"You know what else is nice about exercising instead of drinking?" Alex said as they gathered their bags. "You can actually drive yourself home afterward. Also, your liver thanks you."

"My everything else hates me, though."

"Small price to pay for clarity." Alex clapped him on the shoulder. "Speaking of which, what's the plan with Melody?"

“This might sound crazy…” Nate winced, both from the shoulder pat and the question. "I need to talk to my mother first. If I'm going to take on my father and the board, I'll need allies."

"Taking on the family business for love." Alex grinned. "It's like one of your romance novels but with more joint pain."

They headed to the gym's smoothie bar, their muscles already protesting every movement. The morning crowd was picking up—other professionals trying to fit in their workouts before facing the corporate world.

"You know," Alex said as they waited for their protein shakes, "ten years ago we would have handled this crisis with scotch and bad decisions."