“Second set, 12, 12, 12, I’m going to get 12!” I already know that I can achieve my goal. Doubt, however, tries to creep into my head, maybe the weight is too heavy; maybe I will have to concede and allow the weight to drop and crash down onto the rack. But doubt, that fiend, is the very emotion that drives me toward adding even more weight; surpassing nine or ten repetitions and achieving eleven, or even twelve. Large breathe in through my mouth, slow drawn out breath through my nose. The room gets quiet; I focus looking straight into the mirror and into my eyes. My bare feet clothed in white socks are firmly planted flat on the floor. My left foot hangs over the ground, swinging left to right, letting my thighs and then the same with my right foot. Blood is surging into my muscles, I can feel my heart beating faster. The thick leather weight belt tightens across my abdomen. Angst, then courage, and the feeling of butterflies in my stomach, precede a rush of adrenalin into my body. In front of me lies a solid steel chrome plated bar. It’s shiny with a diamond hatched knurl for a firm grip and two smooth rings indicate where to place my hands. My callused hands grip the bar. My head swings under and I seat the bar between the nap of my neck and my shoulder muscles. Then, with an explosive push, I extend my knees to lift the bar off the rack.
I take one step back; I look into the mirror and then up to the ceiling. The exposed ceiling reveals large circular air conditioning ducts, metal trusses, electrical conduit, and bright fluorescent light fixtures. My perspiring hands are clenching the bar as if I am on a mountain and holding on for my life. My back is straight and the bar bell tilts slightly from side to side on my back. Slowly, I bend my knees and begin to squat towards the floor. The muscles in my legs immediately begin to tighten and they protest their disapproval with a faint, but very familiar burn. I breathe in slowly as I move down towards the floor. Despite the intense fluorescent lights blaring into my eyes, I keep my head up, focusing on my goal. Just after my knees reach 90 degrees, I push the heavy weight back up again. My legs strain to stop my body’s downward motion and for a moment I am motionless. I am fighting the weight, and I know that if I can do this one rep I will have the confidence to break through the pain barrier. As my feet push against the ground I can feel my body slowly change direction. I’m still moving up, summoning every bit of strength from my legs. “That’s one,” I say to myself. Daringly, I start another rep.
The weight is crushing and sweat begins to pour down my face and into my eyes where it stings. With every repetition I release a bellowing grunt, and mixed within that grunt is the faint counting of numbers which get louder and clearer as the set goes on. “Hun, tooh, tree…” My body is not used to this kind of self-induced pain. My legs are scorching as I use every bit of strength left in my body. Within every muscle fiber there is deep agonizing burn. My body is demanding that I stop; but I force myself to go on. One last rep, it is the hardest and most fearful repetition of all, yet at the same time it seems to be the easiest. Doubt is what makes me want to work harder. I know the last rep is the one that counts; it’s what will make me a champion. I rise up, It’s over, I did it! I fall forward slamming the metal bar onto the rack with a thunderous crash of the metal hammering against the frame. I let the bar loose from my grip and take a few steps back. As I bend over to stretch, I take a look out of the long front window. I see the street with cars and people passing by. The glass blocks the world out while still allowing its soft rays of light into the building. It illuminates the shiny chrome metal and is much more welcoming than the bright fluorescent lights that hang overhead. I look back at the massive weight rack. It’s made of heavy gauge steel and is powder coated with a shiny grey paint. There are multiple gun rack style liftoffs to accommodate people of different heights. It’s also bolted to the floor, but there’s no reason for it. The rack is so large and so heavy, that even without bolts it’s not going to move anywhere. On both sides of the rack an array of cast iron plates with sleeves in the center hang on the arms of the rack. There are small plates on top and daunting 45 pound plates on bottom. Each plate is coated in black rubber with crimson numbers painted along the inside edge to indicate their weight, but I know them by their size. I gaze at the barbell I was just using. It is loaded with a 45 pound and a thirty five pound plate on each side and I consider adding some more. I take a glance across the room and look at the clock.
After my fifth set I am finished. I tightly pull the end of my thick black leather weight belt to release the double prong stainless steel buckle and unlatch the belt. I instantly feel relief from the belt’s hold across my abdomen. My legs throb and I can barely stand, but that doesn’t matter. All the pain that I have experienced is well worth it. In fact, all the stress of the day, all of my worries seem to melt away and pour out of me like the beads of sweat pouring off of my face. For the next few moments I notice that the room is filled with people. I hear the slamming of weights and if I closed my eyes I could imagine a busy railway station. I unload the bar by squeezing and sliding off the metal spring clips that keep the weights snuggly in place on the barbell. I take the weights off one by one. The small plates come off first, they seem insignificant in the palm of my hand, yet they are sometimes the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Then with two hands I take off the forty five pound plates and I allow them to drop and then swing them into place at the bottom of the rack. My legs are no longer beset with pain, but my muscles are enervated from the long and exhausting workout. As I look around, I notice the people in the gym. They are focused, in their own world, paying little or no attention to the other people around them. I too seem to be in my own microcosm when I am lifting. I go in with a goal, and I have the courage to know that I will achieve that goal, no matter what happens. The gym is where the weight of the day’s stress is lifted off my shoulders.