James took his shirt off, his pants hanging lazily low on his hips as he looked around the 'track'. It was a good place. Reasonably long. Not too dangerous. Too bad. He liked the more dangerous ones. That meant that he was going to have to push himself, and maybe even use his power a bit, to be able to make it out unscathed. Well, unscathed was such a demanding term. He would always end up scraped, bruised, and bleeding somewhere, no matter how good he was. His hands always got the brunt of the badness, but that was okay. He placed his shirt on a ledge, hanging there, and with an easy jump, his hands latched to a crossbar with a powerful grip. He clenched his jaw a bit, his biceps and back working, lifting his muscular muscular frame up until he was able to place his chin over the bar, and then back down again, all the way down, until his arms were straight, muscles taut, and his legs wrapped up beneath him. With a grunt, he pulled himself back up again, and repeated the move many, many times until his back and arms burned, and sweat dripped over his half-naked body.<br/><br/>He was tall for his age. And very developed too, according to his doctor and well, just about anybody he knew. His muscles were defined almost perfectly, his hands were already rough and calloused from the kind of fun that he had, and his face... well his face portrayed the eyes of a guy his age, but the rest told of someone a tad older. Overall, from a distance, he looked to be around 18 or 20, instead of 16. He looked around, seeing the other competitors arrive. He shook his head, falling almost face down onto the ground before quickly working as many pushups as he could stand. Once he was done, he didn't get back up just yet, sitting down on the dirty ground, breathing heavily, the sweat on his chest catching some of the gleam in the afternoon sunlight. He eventually pushed himself to his feet again, one his was able to, and walked over.<br/><br/>"Hey Mike. Jake. Frank," He walked over to the guys, his friends, and the ones that were here to give their friend some moral support. The other guy had arrived, some punk from the other side of town called Al. He didn't care what the rest of the name was. They had something resembling teams, although it was a loose definition of the word, and competed against each other on occasion. It was all good fun, unless you pinned two of the best together, namely James and Al. Then you had the equivalent. James just hoped it wouldn't turn nasty when he won.<br/><br/>For Al's sake, of course.<br/><br/>He looked over to see two girls walk in close, sitting nearby to watch the show. He smiled and waved to them, moving over to collect his shirt. well, an audience, a female audience no less, wasn't going to help things at all. But James, the teenager that he was, didn't think of that. And now, he wanted to win even more just to impress the two spectators. He flexed his powerful muscles, for their benefit of course, and put his shirt back on, as well as his gloves. His parents would be out tonight, since Mick was going to a sleepover, so he would have time to engage in his secret, and honestly, favorite, hobby.