“Two men almost seventy years old acting crazy. Interesting,” Ding Zhitong thought.
With two matters weighing on her mind, Ding Zhitong opened her laptop to work overtime but kept getting distracted. As the night deepened, she hadn’t accomplished much. Her head ached, yet sleep eluded her. Knowing this was how she behaved when stressed, she resolutely shut down her computer and got up to wash. As she emerged from the bathroom, she noticed her phone vibrating on the bedside table, displaying Gan Yang’s name.
Assuming it was about the meeting time with Dr. Chen, she answered. Before she could speak, she heard, “Ding Zhitong, come to the window for a moment.”
Confused, she walked to the window and raised the blinds. Across the street stood a man waving at her, just like last time.
She opened the window, letting in the damp night air and city noise. Unsure how to react, she asked, “Why are you here?”
“You called me,” came the reply through the phone.
“When did I call you?” Ding Zhitong countered.
“This afternoon,” he answered. “I could tell.”
At first, Ding Zhitong found it absurd, but then she remembered the past. Her twenty-something self standing alone on Broadway, calling him while looking at her reflection in a shop window. Back then, he had also immediately sensed something was wrong, asking what had happened and telling her, “Go home and wait. I’m coming to find you.”
“But I’m fine,” she didn’t tell him, thinking about that pattern and not wanting to fall back into old routines. Like before, when he had driven over 300 kilometers just to hug her and suggest she change jobs.
“Really?” Gan Yang didn’t believe her.
“Really,” she replied, then asked, “And what could you do even if you came?”
“Share a secret technique with you,” Gan Yang answered.
“What technique?” Ding Zhitong found it amusing, thinking to herself, “Still playing Superman?”
Gan Yang shook his head, paused, then said, “When I face a problem I can’t solve, I tell myself one thing.”
“What’s that?” Ding Zhitong asked.
“Given the situation, let’s eat first,” he looked up at her. “Or, given the situation, let’s go for a run first.”
Ding Zhitong smiled quietly, looking at him under the streetlight.
“After eating or running, I consider how to solve the problem,” Gan Yang continued. “Sometimes it’s strange. While still eating or running, without deliberately thinking about it, a solution presents itself.”
Ding Zhitong listened. These were ordinary words, yet they moved her deeply. In the years since their separation, she had faced countless difficulties, feeling helpless. She hadn’t told herself the same words, but she had done similar things—cooking a meal and eating it slowly, or running five kilometers without thinking about anything. Sometimes, it was that strange; while still eating or running, a solution would emerge on its own.
Years later, he was still the same as before, flying over 1,000 kilometers to her side just because of something she said. But now he could offer her more than just a hug.
“Okay, I understand,” Ding Zhitong nodded, a subtle motion, unsure if he could see it. She said, “I’ll treat you to lunch tomorrow.”
“No,” Gan Yang refused outright. “I want dinner.”
It was like a kindergarten-level conversation. Ding Zhitong was speechless. “What’s the difference between lunch and dinner?”
Gan Yang said, “Of course, there’s a difference.”
“But I have plans in the evening,” she pretended to be troubled.
“With whom?” he insisted on knowing.
“Someone you know,” she answered truthfully. “Wilson, whom we had dinner with in Shanghai.”
“Where are you meeting?”
“The CrossFit gym I often go to, then dinner. We planned it last time.”
“Which gym?” he asked again.
“Why do you need to know that?” she questioned back.
Gan Yang said, “Given the situation, of course, it’s to work out first, then have dinner.”
Ding Zhitong laughed again, turning to look at the empty streets in the city’s deep valley. After a while, she said, “Alright, let’s go together. I’ll send you the address tomorrow.” She waved at him and closed the window.
Behind the blinds, she watched him stand there for a moment, then lower his head, turn, and leave with big strides, jumping over the pool of light cast by the street lamp, just like before.
Perhaps due to the many foreigners working in Central, there were several CrossFit gyms near the financial district.
Unlike regular gyms, these places had no complex large equipment, swimming pools, or saunas. Instead, they were filled with barbells and rows of metal racks. Shirtless male members and equally unpretentious female members exposed their rugged bodies, performing brutally intense workouts to energetic background music.
The gym Ding Zhitong frequented was across from IFC. She had been a member there for four years.
Her first visit was after completing a full marathon. She booked a beginner’s session.
The coach asked her: “What kind of exercise do you usually do? How intense?”
She confidently replied: “I’m a regular long-distance runner with marathon experience.”
The coach said: “Let’s start with the entry-level workout then.”
Ding Zhitong felt a bit disdainful. The coach smiled without explaining.
Halfway through the class, she regretted her cockiness.
That hour remained vivid in her memory. Burpees, rowing, box jumps, kettlebell swings, sit-ups—just these few exercises on repeat nearly made her vomit on the spot. After it ended, she lay on the ground for a long time before recovering.
To prove she wasn’t too weak, it’s worth mentioning that the person training with her did vomit, twice.
The coach, unfazed, said this was common.
Strangely, she went back later.
The coach said this was also common.
Sharing this story, Wilson empathized, saying his first WOD (Workout of the Day) felt more like a “Workout of Death.” Fortunately, his background in triathlons and Spartan races helped him adapt. After about two months, the feeling gradually changed to “not wanting to die, but not wanting to live either,” yet somehow still wanting to go back.
After changing, Wilson emerged from the locker room wearing his old, dark blue M-logo T-shirt. As they were talking, Gan Yang arrived.
Ding Zhitong saw him, waved, then turned to find the coach.
For the next hour, the coach led her through a cycle training session, focusing on gymnastic movements that day.
The gym wasn’t very large to begin with, and recently there had been fewer people working out in the evenings. As she did hanging leg raises on the Smith machine, Gan Yang and Wilson were doing a drop-in WOD class with another coach on the opposite side.
The three stood in front of the whiteboard looking at the workout plan. Gan Yang asked for the same weight as Wilson.
The coach said, “But you’re several weight classes lighter than him.”
Gan Yang replied, “Then I’ll add another twenty pounds.”
Wilson looked at him and asked, “For time?”
“For a time,” Gan Yang readily agreed.
They shook hands and began.
“For time” meant timing the same set of movements to see who could finish first—a competition.
After warming up, they started with a one-mile run on the treadmill.
The background music was NEFFEX’s “Things Are Gonna Get Better,” with the chorus repeating, “Just keep pushing through, yeah what you got to lose?” It was quite motivational.
Gan Yang ran while looking at Ding Zhitong, who didn’t avoid his gaze, watching him run as she exercised. She noticed he still had the lean, graceful build of a track athlete, not deliberately bulked up, but visibly stronger than before.
She mused to herself, “Two men almost seventy years old acting crazy. Interesting.”
She continued this inner commentary until the two finished their mile run and began Olympic squats.
It wasn’t clear who started it, but in the blink of an eye, both had taken off their shirts, bare-chested. They used the most common shirt-removal method seen in gyms and sports fields—reaching behind to grab the collar and pulling it over the head in one motion, then tossing it to the side with one hand.
The coach reminded Ding Zhitong to focus, though he kept glancing over there himself. So did a woman nearby who was practicing with just a barbell for the first time, and the guy at the front desk responsible for the music.
Coincidentally, the BGM changed to Chase Holfelder’s “Animal,” with provocative lyrics and an even more suggestive singing style. For a moment, the line “I feel the chemicals kicking in” played in Ding Zhitong’s mind, making the atmosphere a bit inappropriate.