"Two… three… f-f-four..."

Sweat dripped down Sportacus' face. He had never worked so hard before to push his muscles past their limit. But this was Robbie's body, and four pushups were too much. With a grunt Sportacus' arms gave out and he slumped to the ground. The grass tickled his twitchy nose until he sneezed.

The gentlest exercises and lightest calisthenics had Sportacus wheezing for breath but he did it all with a smile, as strained as it was. Sportacus knew that deep, deep down Robbie possessed a hidden reserve of strength. How else could Robbie run around setting traps and cause trouble all the time? Sportacus had been able to run in Robbie's body the last time they had switched places, even if it had been at great expense.

All Sportacus had to do was train Robbie— or his body— to more readily access that resource. Robbie would never try to do it on his own. It was up to Sportacus to find it for him. At this rate he would need to convince Robbie to use the Mind-Me-Matic a few more times if there was any hope to accomplish anything. He would be satisfied if he could manage a full set of sit-ups without giving himself a hernia by the end of the day.

Sportacus rolled over and fought through creaky joints and tight muscles to get on his feet. Robbie had already left his body in a sorry state when they changed places this morning, and Sportacus' attempts at exercise had his throat parched and his head pounding. His feet dragged as he trudged out of the park, his legs like lead. It was as good a time as any to take a break. A glass of cold water and some fruit or vegetables ought to be refreshing… but Sportacus knew they wouldn't be.

Even if Sportacus ate every last carrot in the garden, it wouldn't do a thing to revitalize this body. He couldn't understand how it was possible for Robbie to live like this but it was undeniable. There was only one thing that could give him the energy he needed.

"No," Sportacus mumbled. "I can't."

He made himself eat a red bell pepper and a cucumber, among the sweetest vegetables available to him. They weren't nearly sweet enough. Sportacus sighed. If he kept forcing down sportscandy all he would get was a stomachache.

"I shouldn't."

His weary steps carried him to the ice cream truck. Sportacus stared at the unattended station. Of all the beautification projects around LazyTown that the mayor had undertaken at Bessie's behest, refurbishing the ice cream stand was not something that Sportacus had ever particularly approved of.

He drew closer, glancing sidelong in either direction. With no one around he ventured to lean over the front counter. The truck thrummed with fans keeping the ice cream cold in the cooler. A sweet, cloying atmosphere filled the space.

Sportacus slipped inside and opened the cooler. His fingers tingled against the cold plastic. A rainbow of options presented itself: lemon and strawberry Italian ices, chocolate cookie sandwiches, fudge bars and popsicles, and quarts of ice cream in several flavors.

"I..."

"I don't know what, but he's up to something."

Sportacus froze at the sound of another voice. His voice. Robbie was heading this way.

"He must be around here somewhere."

Sportacus spun frantic circles inside the ice cream truck. There was no time to run and nowhere to hide! All that was available to him was a white paper hat and matching apron. He tied the apron on and jammed the hat over his head just as Robbie walked by.

Robbie stopped in front of the stand. He itched under his blue cap as he looked around, a puzzled frown etched on his face. His eyes found Sportacus and held there, staring.

"Hello," Sportacus said in a small voice.

A silent second stretched between them as the perplexity deepened in Robbie's expression. "Hello," he said back.

"I was just about to… serve some ice cream."

"All right," Robbie said, almost in question. They both went silent again. Sportacus was so hot under the collar he could have melted everything in the cooler behind him. Robbie had caught him red-handed, yet there was something strangely lacking in his reaction.

"Would you like something?" Sportacus asked, his voice squeaking.

"Oh," Robbie said. "I shouldn't— I mean I can't. No thank you, sir." He looked at Sportacus a moment longer. "I've got to go, so, good luck, or… whatever." He offered a small, jerky wave, and walked away.

Sportacus didn't breathe until Robbie was out of sight. He let out a sharp gasp once he realized he was in the clear. But how? It wasn't as though Robbie hadn't recognized him. Hadn't he?

Sportacus took the paper hat off his head and scrutinized it long and hard. It was a simple uniform that left his face completely visible, it could hardly be called a disguise. There was no reason for Robbie to have fallen for this. If Robbie knew he was Sportacus, though, he would never have passed up the opportunity to accuse and taunt Sportacus for getting found with his hand in the cookie jar like this.

There was no other explanation. Robbie had been fooled. Sportacus wondered if the kids would be tricked the same way and smiled at the thought. It was no wonder Robbie had a habit of putting on costumes to manage his mischief around town. Maybe he was on to something.