The ATP Top 5 Have a Pull-Up Competition

Disclaimer: This never happened (as far as I know)

Roger gazed dully at the picture on TV screen in the locker room.  Some jaunty woman was pointing at a satellite map of...well...presumably London, but since the entire region was covered in blue, who could be sure?

"I'm bored," he whined.  "I hate rain delays."

Rafa looked over from where he was jumping up and down on the spot, but said nothing.

Irritated, Roger turned to him and said:

"Why do you do that?  You won't be playing for hours yet, you're wasting energy.  Stop jumping!"

Rafa pulled a face.

"You moody Milka today."

"I eat Lindt, not Milka."

"So go stick one in your mouth, and let me jump."

Andy looked up from his fascinating perusal of the latest fantasy football results.

"I have an idea - why don't the 5 of us have a competition?"

Roger glanced at him.

"I'm not playing PlayStation."

"Of course not - you'd lose - I rule.  Anyway, that's not what I meant."

Rafa piped up:

"Coming second means ruling in English, Andy?"

Andy scowled.

"ANYWAY, see that pull-up bar over there?"  He pointed over the locker-room where there was a smattering of gym equipment that players used to warm up with before their matches.  A pull-up bar hung from the ceiling above their heads.

"So?"  Roger said.

"I challenge you all to do 20 pull-ups on that bar.  Time them.  Fastest one to do 20 wins."

Roger sneered.  

"That's boring."

"Is that you talking or your left bicep?"

Nole looked up from his Facebook page and giggled, raising a hand to high-five Andy for the burn.

"Okay!" Roger said.  "I'm in!"

"Me too," said Rafa.

"Go on then," agreed Nole.

"Good," said Andy.  He paused, and looked at David expectantly.

"I don't know..."

"Come on....please....?"

David sighed.  "Okay.  I do it."

"Okay, " said Andy, as they gathered around the bar looming above them, each perhaps contemplating the uncomfortable experience ahead, "now my phone has a stopwatch, so we'll use that.  Roger, you go first."

"Fine.  Oh, and Andy, I know it's Wimbledon but when you lose, try not to cry this time."

Rafa butted in before Andy could angrily respond: 

"You can talk, Mr 'it's killing me'...."

Andy, Nole and David creased over laughing while Roger glared at his friend and rival.

Without another word, Roger positioned himself under the bar and held up his hands.  

And waited.

Nothing happened.

"You may have to jump," advised Andy sarcastically.

"YOU may..." said Roger.

He continued to stand under the bar, arms outstretched...and then, slowly, smoothly, his feet rose off the floor, levitating him, lifting him higher, higher, until his open hands clutched the bar.

The other four below gaped at him in astonishment.

He winked.

"GOAT.  Now start timing me."

Andy dutifully pressed the button on his phone, and Roger levitated himself up and down in a mockery of the pull-up motion, until he had completed 20 with ease.  As Roger gently floated back to the ground, Andy pressed Stop and said:

"36 seconds but that's cheating.  Levitation is not allowed!"

"Nobody said that beforehand," said Roger smugly.

"I will next time," said Andy sulkily.  "Rafa, you're up."

Rafa walked away from the bar.

"What are you doing?" asked Andy, puzzled.  "Oh...Rafa...you don't need to RUN at the bar...."

With a leap and a lunge, Rafa grabbed onto the bar and began noisily pulling himself up.  1...2...3...each pull-up accompanied by a noisy grunt of physical exertion and strength.  Completing his 20, he dropped to the floor.

"No fistpump?" asked Roger.

Rafa scowled.

"41 seconds," said Andy.

"I'm surprised he didn't need to pick his shorts after each one," muttered Nole, which set Andy off laughing again.  David maintained a stony face in solidarity with his comrade.

"You're up Nole," said Rafa. "Do you need a ball to bounce 27 times beforehand?"

Nole shot Rafa an 'I'm pretending to be amused by that but really I'm not' smile and positioned himself under the bar.

"3...2...1...go!" said Andy.

Nole reached up and stretched his legs...but instead of going on tip-toes and reaching the limit of the stretch, he just kept on stretching up, up, up, the arms grew longer, the legs grew longer, and he was holding the bar with his feet still on the ground.  Smirking, he mimicked the motion of a pull-up 20 times while his feet remained planted on the ground, then contracted his body to normal length and stood in front of the others, who looked gobsmacked.

"Amazing what yoga can do.  You should try it," he deadpanned.

"That little trick is also cheating," Andy whined.

"Time?"

"31 seconds.  As if it matters."

"He probably needs a medical timeout now," Roger said sotto voce.  

Nole shot him a poisonous look, and took the phone from Andy.

"Your turn, Braveheart."

Andy stood under the bar, looked up, and jumped.  He grabbed the bar with both hands but yelped in pain and let go with his left to grab at his knee.

"Some things never change," said David. 

Roger giggled.

Andy continued his pull-ups one-handed, alternately switching hands to grab his left knee and his right hip.  Halfway through he started shouting and swearing.

"Why are you shouting at the corner of the locker room, Andy?"  asked Roger.

"Habit..." Andy grunted in exertion.  "Can't....help....(F**KING SO PATHETIC WHY CAN'T YOU FOCUS FOR FIVE MINUTES?!?!?? SO POOR!!!!!)...it...bad...habit....19....20...."

He dropped down and bent over, panting, trying to work out what was most sore.

"47 seconds," said Nole.

"Yes, but one-handed," said Andy, breathing hard.

"Only cos you're a hypochondriac," said Roger.

"A hypochondriac who has a winning Head to Head against you."

"Who won the bigger matches, answer that?"

"Guys, guys," Nole cut in.  "Save it, it's boring."

Andy took back his phone from Nole and looked at David, and said, shaking his head at how his nice little idea had unravelled:

"Your turn, let's get this farce over with."

"I do it, I do it...but..."

"But what?"

"But...it's high...can one of you give me a boost?"