I carried my shorts and shoes into the locker room and stripped Ryan off my hips. Of course he remained a strap, since that was my desire.
After showering, I dressed in my T-shirt and jeans. That morning they'd been loose. Now they were tight, showing off my newly athletic body. I stowed my workout gear in my gym bag and headed back home through the twilight.
"You missed supper," Grandmama said as I walked in the door, "but you don't look like it hurt you any. Make a muscle for me." I gave her a single biceps pose, she caressed my arm, and nodded once in satisfaction. "Get some sleep; you'll need it for tomorrow."
The next day was Saturday. After a huge breakfast I pulled a Speedo on over Ryan and we did three hours straight in the municipal pool. Ryan had been on the swim team as well as playing football, so I knew just what to do and we both enjoyed the time.
It was a good thing my Speedo had a generous proportion of spandex; I gained over an inch in the waist while I put on two or three inches almost everywhere else, along with another vacation-week's worth of tan, partly from the swimming and partly from sunbathing afterwards. I was now two-tone, with the all-over tan I'd picked up the night before comparatively light under my Speedo. And of course my resting heart rate had become even lower.
For lunch I ate about a dozen packages of junk food, but the only visible effect was my 6-pack becoming an 8-pack.
That afternoon I called Coach and asked him to open the school gym for another weights workout. "After what you did last night, you've got to be too sore for that, aren't you?" he protested.
"Not a bit," I answered, with perfect truth. "I think your cooldown routine had something to do with it." I met him at the gym and the next two hours were pretty much a duplicate of the previous night's; my tan didn't deepen, but I gained several more inches (except in the waist).
After a Thanksgiving-sized dinner I ran a few more miles that evening, just enjoying the feel of the air on my mostly bare skin. I figured it was the last time my gym shorts would fit, and I was right; just as I got back to the house, they split up the back seam over my tightly muscled ass.
On Sunday morning I went to church with Grandmama and we thanked God together for her magic talent. The tanktop and sweat pants I wore used to be my loosest; now they were really too tight for church, but nobody seemed to mind.
Afterward I deepened my tan while finishing my homework and doing some yard work, wearing just my Speedo since I didn't want a three-tone. Grandmama insisted on a big well-balanced lunch and an even bigger dinner.
Come evening I called Coach and we did another two hours at the gym, with me still in my faithful Speedo instead of the ruined gym shorts. But by the end of the workout even it split, and Coach had to drive me home with me wearing just Ryan and my shoes. He did ask if I was getting my amazing tan out of a bottle and I said, no, it was natural, and he just nodded. When I got back to the house, I finished all the leftovers in the fridge, a gallon of milk, and a gallon of orange juice.
Monday morning I wore a towel around my waist to breakfast. Besides my shoes I didn't have a piece of clothing left that I could put on without splitting it. Grandmama set the first course of my breakfast on the table, then went and dug out an old pair of spandex bicycle pants from before she lost the weight. They were pretty snug, so she told me, "For these to last the day, you'll have to take the medal off before you do any more exercise." Then she added, "With a killer torso and tropical tan like that, who needs a shirt?"
So that's what I wore to school, with nothing but Ryan and shoes in my gym bag and nothing above the waist besides my medal.