"…Slow down, maintain the rhythm, slowly, yes, slowly."
"You can't just mechanically repeat the motions; you need to feel the changes in your back muscles, the tension, the release. Feel the muscles—you need to establish a connection between your body and mind. It's not just for recovery but also to get familiar with your body."
"Hold it, hold it."
"Remember to breathe, evenly and smoothly."
Beside him, the physical therapist was calmly guiding Anson through his rehabilitation.
What seemed like simple, steady movements actually required great control and absolute focus. Lying face down with his limbs off the ground in a 'superman' pose, Anson was sweating profusely, with large drops rolling down his cheeks. Despite trying his hardest to keep his breathing steady, he found it difficult.
Especially when the physical therapist kept asking him to "feel" his muscles—that made it even harder.
Feel? How exactly was he supposed to feel?
Pfft.
In the end, Anson couldn't hold it together and burst out laughing. His limbs gave way, and he collapsed onto the yoga mat, face down.
The physical therapist noticed Anson's lightly shaking shoulders and looked slightly concerned, wondering if they had pushed him too far.
Couldn't they see that Anson's muscles were trembling uncontrollably?
"Anson, are you okay?"
Pfft, hahaha.
Anson couldn't control it anymore and laughed out loud. Turning his head to the therapist, he said, "Sorry, forgive me."
"I know it's not polite, but I really don't know how to establish a connection between my body and mind. Have you studied Indian yoga?"
The therapist suddenly understood. "Anson, this is not the time for jokes."
After a pause, "You're not using jokes to sneak in a break, are you?"
Anson's eyes lit up. "Ah, my back, my back…"
He turned his head back down, laying flat with his hands neatly by his sides, obediently ready for more.
The therapist was used to this by now. "Rest for thirty seconds. There's one more set left."
Anson groaned, "You said the last set was the final one! We've repeated this 'last set' 333 times already. Is this Groundhog Day?"
The therapist replied, "This is really the last one. Afterward, you get a lollipop."
Anson scoffed, "A lollipop? Do you think I'm three years old?"
The therapist retorted, "Fine, no reward then."
Anson turned his head toward the therapist. "How about a bag of chips? But don't tell Luca."
The therapist responded, "One lollipop. Take it or leave it."
Anson protested, "A lollipop and chips are basically the same thing."
The therapist, "…A bag of chips. But you can't hide it from Lucas."
Anson suggested, "How about I finish the chips here, and then you tell Luca?"
The therapist: …
Anson noticed the therapist's faintly resigned expression and smiled. "Okay, I'm ready. You said one more set?"
Looking at the energetic Anson, who didn't seem tired at all, the therapist couldn't help but marvel, even after twenty days of the same routine—Anson was an actor, after all.
His flawless acting kept them on their toes every time. But more importantly, it wasn't irritating at all; it felt real.
Unlike the glamorous, fictional image seen on screens, he was a real person with flesh and blood.
In reality, Hollywood stars were just like anyone else.
Most people lose the allure once they realize that. But for the therapist, this was when actors regained a whole new kind of charm.
"Yes, the last set. But this time, we'll change the movements slightly, increasing the intensity a little."
Anson immediately grew cautious, "Just a little, right? Are you sure?"
The therapist's face remained serious. "Really."
Five minutes later, Anson lay on the yoga mat, drenched in sweat, like a lifeless fish, too exhausted even to speak—
It was just one set, indeed. But the intensity and quality had tripled.
The therapist remained calm, giving Anson's shoulder a light pat. "Very good, the last set is done. You've earned a star."
Anson: …
As the therapist prepared to leave, Anson suddenly remembered something important.
"My chips! Where are my chips?"
Before he could get up, a pair of pale yellow strappy high heels appeared in front of him. The delicate, fair skin seemed to glow, and a light, white chiffon dress swayed gently above. The person bent down and placed the chips in front of Anson.
He looked up in confusion, only to see Anne Hathaway trying hard to suppress her laughter, her mouth tightly pursed.
Anson lowered his head again, pressing his forehead against the yoga mat, silent.
Seeing this, Anne's eyes sparkled with laughter, but she controlled herself. "I didn't see anything, really."
Anson, however, had recovered quickly and jumped up. "That means you saw everything, right? Where do we start?"
Anson stood up and grabbed a towel to wipe his sweat.
Anne felt slightly relieved, "It seems like you still have some energy left. The therapist was right."
Anson turned quickly, "Shh! Don't let that guy hear you, or tomorrow he'll double the intensity. He hates it when people challenge his authority. If I say I can handle it, he'll definitely push me further."
Anne had never seen this side of Anson before and burst into a full smile. "Does this mean you've mostly recovered?"
Anson wiped his sweat, took the chips from her hand, and opened the bag skillfully, offering it to her.
Anne waved her hand, "You worked so hard for those chips, you should enjoy them."
Anson teased, "Uh-oh, you saw me slacking off earlier, didn't you? Should I be considering covering up this evidence?"
Anne burst out laughing.
Anson's eyebrows raised in amusement. "Since I worked so hard for these, it's only right to share with a friend. Happiness doubles when shared, right?"
Anson looked at Anne.
"Wait, or are you on a diet and can't eat chips? Look at me, I forgot how strict Hollywood is on actresses."
Anne waved her hand and took a small handful of chips, "No, I do need to watch my diet, but I'm not always that well-behaved."
"A little candy, or maybe a small beer—shh, it's a secret."
Anne teased back.
"Besides, Hollywood is just as tough on male actors. Where are your six-pack abs?"
"I bet 'Spider-Man 2' has a scene where you randomly take off your shirt, right?"
Anson replied seriously, "So, are you looking forward to it?"
Caught off guard, Anne blushed, unsure of how to respond.
Anson noticed. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean that. Really, I was just…" joking around, "Or are you really looking forward to it?"
Anne almost choked on her drink, "I didn't expect you to be like this, Anson!"
Anson raised his hands in surrender, "This proves again I'm a great actor. Being just a pretty face is such a waste of my talent. Remember, all men are wolves in different disguises."
Anne burst into laughter, "Haha, hahaha!" Looking at Anson, her smile beamed wide.