Brandon Jennings quietly let himself into the Knicks’ practice facility. It was two in the morning, and he was the only one there. Not able to ignore the slightly creeped-out feeling he was getting from the deserted place, he navigated the dark hallways until he got to a room that, until now, he had never visited.
The weight room.
Using his phone’s flashlight as an aid, he eventually found the bank of light switches along the wall. Flipping just one of them on, lest any of the neighbors see the early-morning visitor and call the police, Brandon looked around in the dim light at the various machines and weights around him.
It was all very overwhelming, the amount of equipment there, and Brandon almost gave up his mission right then. But there was another desire in his mind, a stronger one yet more secret: the desire to learn how to lift weights. It was this desire that spurred him to set down his bag and walk over to the rack of dumbbells.
Brandon only had a vague idea of what one was supposed to do with dumbbells. He knew that the number on the side was how much the thing weighed, so he picked one of the heavier ones, a fifty, and tried to pick it up. It didn’t budge, no matter how much he yanked with both arms. He moved a few down the row until he got to one that read 25, but this one he also couldn’t pick up with two arms, much less one arm.
Already feeling like this had been a stupid plan that should have never been attempted, Brandon grabbed a five-pound weight. This one, he could lift with his arm, just barely. He grabbed the other one in the matched set and stood with them hanging limply by his sides. Searching the vast reserves of his memory, Brandon tried to remember what kind of exercises he should be doing. He had always staunchly avoided the weight room of every organization he had played for, and had never even observed another player doing any kind of weight training. Eventually, he recalled a vague idea of a “bicep curl”, and tried to replicate the movement he thought he remembered.
The weights didn’t move. Brandon strained and strained, but the weights would not lift themselves even two inches away from their resting position. After all that exertion, he was sweaty and exhausted, but he was determined to try again.
“Brandon? What’re you doing here?” asked a familiar voice.
Brandon dropped the weights to the floor and turned around. “Nothing. What’re YOU doing here?” he asked his teammate Kristaps Porzingis.
“I thought I would have the place to myself,” Kristaps said sadly. “I was going to start trying to lift weights like all the other guys do.”
“That’s stupid,” Brandon scoffed. “You must really suck if you don’t even know how to lift weights. Wow, I didn’t know somebody could be so dumb.”
Kristaps’ sad expression grew sadder. “Yeah, it’s really embarrassing. But maybe you can help me, since you are so dedicated to it that you come in at two in the morning.” Kristaps expression had become hopeful.
“No way, I don’t work with beginners,” Brandon said dismissively. “I’m gonna put these back on the rack and leave you to it.” But he was so tired from his failed bicep curls that when he bent down to pick up one of the dumbbells, he couldn’t get it off the ground. Hoping that Kristaps hadn’t noticed anything, he said, “Actually, I’ll just leave those there for you. See you around.” He grabbed his bag and annoyedly bustled past his teammate, back into the dark corridors of the facility.
As he walked back to his car, he wondered if any of the local gyms ever had people in them so early in the morning.