Hand over hand, I pulled the cable up. Two hundred feet at least, probably more. One part was at least four hundred feet, but I can't remember if I pulled it all up in one go.

~

"The railing stinks like armpit," my coworker said with distaste. "Can you smell it?"

I sniffed.

"Yeah," said. It was her, but I didn't want to say anything.

"Who the hell would rub their armpit on a railing?"

~

The cable was heavy.

Like, really fucking heavy.

This was not pansy-ass momma's cable.

Did I drop the phrase 'four hundred feet'?

I was always pulling up at least a hundred feet.

My arms feel like lead and fire, alternatively.

During some of the heavier bits, I had to brace my leg on the lower railing, like I was tightening a Victorian corset, and haul as fast as I could.

It's always easier when it's faster.

~

"Here, let me help," my coworker offered, so I spaced my hands to let her get in on it.

She put her hands on the rope, but barely made a difference.

"I'm not going to lie," she huffed, even though the rope was barely shifting, "you're doing most of the work. I'm not exactly a beefcake here."

It was still nice to have someone else pulling, even if I couldn't tell.

~

We compared biceps. It was not really a competition. I have at least four to six inches of height on her to start.

"I've been working on my muscles!" she says proudly, and flexes a bicep. I pinch it, and can almost circle it with a thumb and forefinger.

Her lip sticks out.

"I have too," I lie cheerfully, and flex a bicep. She pinches it, barely gripping it with her hand, and her lip sticks out farther.

"Shut up, you," she tells me.

I couldn't help but laugh.

.

Rosie.

Before&After