These are similar but different to the exercises she'd done with Reinhardt, just more primitive, so Brigitte settles comfortably into the routine. Her feet squared away on the mat, shoulders low, and she starts pushing, leaning hard against the man's palms. It's like Sisyphus setting his shoulder against his boulder and trying to roll it up that hill; as expected, Maine doesn't move at all, but easily pushes back against the pressure and barely seems to flinch. Then she's trying to move his arms up and down; her face flickers with the effort and she readjusts her footing and tries harder, arms straining.

And Brigitte is strong; you can't swing a hammer at the forge all day without building up functional muscle. Holding a shield (even one comprised mostly of an energy barrier) steady against a rain of blows, too, means she's used to exerting steady pressure. Not as strong as what he's used to, but good enough.

"What do you do to stay in shape around here? Lift rocks?" Brig asks. It started off as a joke, but she realises a moment later that it might actually be the truth. The dojo isn't exactly well-stocked in barbells.