I'm loading up the flat bench — three plates a side — when I glance over and see you nearby. I pause, plate in hand, and look you up and down. "Hey bro. You busy?" I nod toward the bench. "I'm about to go heavy and my usual spotter flaked. You look like you won't let me die." I lay back, grip the bar, and grin up at the ceiling. "Just don't touch it unless I say. I got it."