Beat pounding in his ears, a surge of adrenalin courses through him, the arms go up, the bar rises, almost stops, an explosive roar, rises again, stops.
"Six."
Two hundred and twenty-five pounds, six repetitions. Swollen, standing veins, body flushed. Hard rock, hormones, and The Pump. He sits up from the bench, eyes glinting, his own third person. Alone in the garage.
His mind rolls out, slowly, upwards and outwards, now the outside the tiny building, a light among the many lights of the city, the world a dot, the universe expanding all around, and then suddenly back again into himself.
He puts more iron on the bar, scenes flash through his mind: running up a mountain, red and blue lights, sitting alone in the high school lunch room, an outsider looking in, a paper in the mail, mom and dad in the kitchen, discussing in low tones the score, 1420, wondering what university he would choose.
A sudden mounting frustration bursts through him, from where he does not know, does not stop to consider. He turns up the music louder, slams another plate on the bar. He lays back down, his hands grip the bar, release, grip again, tighter, he inhales, lifts the weight off the rack, down to his chest, explodes upwards, once, twice, racks the bar. Excited, he sits upright again, stands. Two hundred seventy-five pounds, two repetitions, complete concentration for a moment blocking out all pain, all doubt, everything but the moment, the glorious golden moment – past behind, future irrelevant.
A sudden flash from early childhood, pain, more weight slammed on the bar, music louder, sweat running down his chest, roaring rage, seeking to become... something. His chest heaves, breath ragged, unable to lift his arms, unable to clench a fist. He feels lost, the only feeling he has ever known.
"Six."
Two hundred and twenty-five pounds, six repetitions. Swollen, standing veins, body flushed. Hard rock, hormones, and The Pump. He sits up from the bench, eyes glinting, his own third person. Alone in the garage.
His mind rolls out, slowly, upwards and outwards, now the outside the tiny building, a light among the many lights of the city, the world a dot, the universe expanding all around, and then suddenly back again into himself.
He puts more iron on the bar, scenes flash through his mind: running up a mountain, red and blue lights, sitting alone in the high school lunch room, an outsider looking in, a paper in the mail, mom and dad in the kitchen, discussing in low tones the score, 1420, wondering what university he would choose.
A sudden mounting frustration bursts through him, from where he does not know, does not stop to consider. He turns up the music louder, slams another plate on the bar. He lays back down, his hands grip the bar, release, grip again, tighter, he inhales, lifts the weight off the rack, down to his chest, explodes upwards, once, twice, racks the bar. Excited, he sits upright again, stands. Two hundred seventy-five pounds, two repetitions, complete concentration for a moment blocking out all pain, all doubt, everything but the moment, the glorious golden moment – past behind, future irrelevant.
A sudden flash from early childhood, pain, more weight slammed on the bar, music louder, sweat running down his chest, roaring rage, seeking to become... something. His chest heaves, breath ragged, unable to lift his arms, unable to clench a fist. He feels lost, the only feeling he has ever known.
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