It was a bit after 5:00pm and the evening rush started to come in. Leaning on my elbows against the stationary bike, they quivered, my arms too weak to support myself upright. My shoe laces whipped my screamingly sore legs with each pedal, untied from an innumerable amount of calf raises, as I watched the gym floor become flooded with its after-work patrons. They shuffled in one by one, in pairs, or in groups; some coming across familiar faces and other seeking solitude to venture solo. Pedaling on, nobody dilly dallied, everybody was doing something. Footsteps fell heavy in the aerobics room, cables ran smoothly across pulleys, barbells and dumbbells came crashing down to the ground, and sweat fell onto the belts of the treadmills. Split tank tops, yoga pants, heavy hoodies, running shoes, straps, wraps, and belts; we were all equipped to go to work. There is something deeper than the face value.
The test wasn't good enough, my classmates and I had been shut down saying our grades were not perfect enough and would have to retake out Kanji test. The day before was a letdown as my marketing test was not as stupendous as it was hoped. The day before that I was trembling in my shoes proposing an argument of an essay to a leader in the field of modern Chinese history that may have been swatted down.
But it didn't matter.
I had 250lbs on the bar and another 200lbs in bands attached sitting my my back as I was going down for the tenth rep, and damned if it wasn't coming back up. I had 500lbs on the floor, the bar and my palms dusted in magnesium carbonate, belt snugged, and only focused on ripping the weight off the face of the floor. I had 280lbs in my hands over my neck, lowering the bar, and making its only objective to come back up or face otherwise. There is only ever one focus.
This world is full of everything from the bad luck, the accidental, the unfortunate, and the dreadful. The small things build in the form of annoyances, turning into stress, adding to the tragedy we may call our lives and it's never ideal.
The car you fixed came back broken down, your boss gave you shit for not making that sale, your teacher hated your thesis, your dog shit on the carpet, you package didn't get delivered on time, you woke up late and started your day off wrong, spouse is fighting with you, death in the family, missed a bill. There's a lot in life we cannot control.
Maybe an hour or maybe two hours there is complete control and clear objectives. There is no failure because there is always success in even trying. Everything is something to be proud of whether it be five more pounds to your max lift, another rep with a weight you've been working at, a faster mile run, another centimeter to your arms, that extra pound lost; there is no failure in even the smallest accomplishment regardless of me being the biggest or the baddest or not.
It's a "lift life", a "swole life", the "fit life"; all the same.
Humans all have a desire to better themselves in one way or another and
this has never let me down. Everything I do is in my control whether
it's moving a max weight, or making sure my inner traps come to meet my
rear delts, it's all the same.
There's sweat, tears, and sometimes blood and pain, but there's is always an improvement and solitude. There's always satisfaction in knowing that although sometimes I can't give my all, I came in and tried. The shaking in my arms, the swelling in my legs, and the nagging shoe laces whipping against my ankles were a sign of something greater and reaffirm me of a feeling, a feeling nobody wouldn't want even if they tried to ignore it.
-Pq
