Hands shoulder-width apart. Back arched. Eyes level with the bar. Shoulder blades touching. The weight plummets as I struggle to manage the load. Just as the bar hovers over my chest, muscles fire like a well-rehearsed symphony across my upper body, providing the force necessary to wrestle with gravity. The tides turn as the weight retires back to its stand while I let out an unearthly grunt fueled by adrenaline and euphoria. As I collapse on the ground, gasping and heaving, my lungs take in the stale smell of sweat and rust - and I love it. No where else do I find the contentment felt when I push my limits through weightlifting. As a scrawny Indian male, my physique had no place in a gym. [insert sentence] The moment I entered, my eyes were
