Run a Lepre-con game?

Three jumping jacks exhaust your legs completely, and the tiger's regimen of pull-ups turns your arms to jelly... about half a second before the bar breaks in two. "It doesn't matter", he snaps, throwing the two pieces of steel tubing aside. "I'm going to get you in shape if it kills me!"

What if it kills me?, you wonder anxiously. You can barely stand, you're so exhausted... and the tiger shows no signs of letting up. It's like he's Adolf Hitler and Richard Simmons in one!

Suddenly, an idea comes to you... if this is the leprechaun's game, and he's having so much fun... he's watching, right? Maybe, just maybe, you can get some help out of the little sadist. "Listen", you gasp underneath what little breath you have, "I know... you're listening. If you... don't... get me outa this... I'm gonna... be doing this... for a year. You think... you wanna watch... me do... this... that long?"

"What was that?" Apparently you caught the tiger in the middle of a song break. He looks at you suspiciously, whiskers a-bristle.

"No-... nothing", you wheeze, stumbling to a halt as his question grants you a brief rest. "Just... " You grab an idea from thin air. "Just... glad you... take... such an interest... in oth-... in others' health."

The tiger nods in satisfaction. "Good. Not many people appreciate how much time and effort it takes to keep people from digging their graves with their teeth. Why, with the amount of food you eat alone, tubby, we could probably feed Africa." He pokes you sharply in the gut at that. Not particularly painful, but even the extra muscle you're carrying doesn't keep you from needing your diaphragm. An extra-long wheeze punctuates the impact. "Now give me sit-ups, pigwolf, and don't stop until I say. I'll hold your feet... you remember what they look like, right?"

You growl under your breath... you're fit enough, able to turn a pirouette with all this extra mass hanging off you. But the exercises he's picked require you to heft and fold your weight in ways you normally wouldn't. Just give me a distance run, you grumble inside yourself, and we'll see who's the fitness expert around here.

Then, as if in answer to your subvocalised plea...

Written by Wanderer

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