It was a small box that barely fit my name. I took my time carefully scribing the 21-letters neatly with the mini golf type pencil. The fitness center sign in sheet was only a quarter filled with teenage boy scrawl. Rows of machines that looked similar to medieval torturing devices lined the walls. I walked in suddenly doubting my decision to workout. Yet, I continued feeling like I had been dropped into a foreign country where no one spoke English. Even with my friend by my side there still nervous giggling, a few what-the-hell-am-I-doing looks, and a shared determination. A couple familiar faces meandered around what I call the “boy side” of the gym. The loud clanks of metal against the rubber mats rang through the thick, sweaty air. Electronic
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One day after another I’d be in the gym. My entire body felt like it was being reconstructed. Some days I didn’t want to go but I did anyway. Other days I wanted to go but I couldn’t. I began to recognize the flow of people who came and went throughout the year. The best times were during the heart of the sports seasons when it was just me and a couple other kids who would half-heartedly pick up a few weights before calling it a day after 20 minutes. The gym seemed to be the cure all for my problems. Bad day? Hit a new PR. Feeling tired? Crank out some burpees. Having anxiety about your entire life? Just do some lunges until you can’t feel your …show more content…
I know exactly where every weight, barbell, and clip is. I could tell you if your knees are too far forward when lunging, and if your hands are too close together when benching. I’ve been recruited for track approximately five times, and Barry Haley complains every time he sees me about my lack of affiliation to a sport. I just smile and nod. The same kind of smile and nod I give my parents when they lecture me about not putting my dishes in the dishwasher. Friday’s are now my favorite days. Not for the “normal” reason, but because Friday’s are leg day. I rush down to the locker room ensuring that I’ll be the first one to the gym. I stuff my headphones in, choosing one of fifteen workout playlists to be my soundtrack for the day. I cruise through the door engulfed by the familiar smell of rubber and sweat. Picking up the 99-cent dollar store pen, I now scrawl 5 simple letters across two of the tiny boxes, before entering my second
One day after another I’d be in the gym. My entire body felt like it was being reconstructed. Some days I didn’t want to go but I did anyway. Other days I wanted to go but I couldn’t. I began to recognize the flow of people who came and went throughout the year. The best times were during the heart of the sports seasons when it was just me and a couple other kids who would half-heartedly pick up a few weights before calling it a day after 20 minutes. The gym seemed to be the cure all for my problems. Bad day? Hit a new PR. Feeling tired? Crank out some burpees. Having anxiety about your entire life? Just do some lunges until you can’t feel your …show more content…
I know exactly where every weight, barbell, and clip is. I could tell you if your knees are too far forward when lunging, and if your hands are too close together when benching. I’ve been recruited for track approximately five times, and Barry Haley complains every time he sees me about my lack of affiliation to a sport. I just smile and nod. The same kind of smile and nod I give my parents when they lecture me about not putting my dishes in the dishwasher. Friday’s are now my favorite days. Not for the “normal” reason, but because Friday’s are leg day. I rush down to the locker room ensuring that I’ll be the first one to the gym. I stuff my headphones in, choosing one of fifteen workout playlists to be my soundtrack for the day. I cruise through the door engulfed by the familiar smell of rubber and sweat. Picking up the 99-cent dollar store pen, I now scrawl 5 simple letters across two of the tiny boxes, before entering my second