Tuesday, March 10, 2015

a short story (fiction)

I decided to be more aware. I took time to listen to my senses and to Name the feelings I had when I had them:
-         The car seat feels cold under my butt. Why do I always try to wear as little as possible just to win time changing my clothes at the gym?
-         My hair keeps finding its way to my face and mouth and I feel like I could take more time with it but then the uselessness of having hair products for every different moment would make me hate our bathroom.
-         The road is black, the sky is black, the weather is shit and my mood is getting grumpy just by looking outside. Why do I still live here?
The car seat was now warmer and I straightened my neck to throw my hair back. “Almost there.” 

The gym was lit.
I left my shoes at the door and headed for the changing room.
With a quick glance I counted 3 guys. Nobody looked my way as I went in to the changing room and accidentally banged the door real loud.

Training clothes on, quick check in the mirror that everything is in its right place (nipples to the same direction, hair out of my face, make up somewhere other than on my cheeks and underwear complimenting my rear end), fill the bottle -that had my EAA's- with water and hit the weights.

What am I doing today... Legs.
I looked around and saw that one of the guys was hitting his biceps, the two other were owning the Smith machine. Why does one of them always wear those ugly swim shorts to the gym? And the guy with the glasses usually has a polo on. How weird.
I still had my shoelaces undone but I walked over to the squat rack and started warming up with a wooden stick. Up, down, rotate, jump, swing... I hate warm ups because by the time you’re done some-one has already taken over the place where you were going to do something... so I keep close, I integrate my warm ups to the first 4 sets and I leave my stuff lying around so no-one will think that I'm not serious.

One of my nipples pops out and I have to make extra motions with my other hand to rub the other one out too. Darn. At least they're looking in the same direction. I hate it when they're off set even the slightest.

“Fuck.” I put the wrong god damn pants on! I had soft, light grey pants that would show any and all sweating that I will be doing today. And of course I will look like I wet my pants. What was I thinking?! Maybe I could still change my work out for something else? Back maybe? No... I need that for tomorrow. Arms... I just did them. Shoulders? Shit. Nothing... I put the bar on my back and started squatting. I forgot about my pants. Who cares if I look like I've sat in a puddle by the time I'm done. It's not like skinny four-eyes or Hawaii-boys even give a shit.

1, 2, 3... 25, 26, 27... I always count. I hate that about me. It can't be that my reps mean nothing if I don't count them. I wish I could turn my mind off sometimes.
1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5... 8, 9, 11, 12... Shit. Sometimes I videotape my sets and even though I KNOW I did 12 reps, the set on the tape is only 10 reps long. So not only am I dyslectic in ways but I also can't count. Aaargh. I add more weight and start all over again. The warm ups are taking forever today.

I don't go as low as I could. I stop around 90 degrees. I tell myself that I do it to keep my knees safe but the truth is that if I actually warmed up correctly for this stuff I could not only lift more but I could get lower and use the most of my muscle tissue to help me get back up again.

5 sets later my back is pumped, my knees feel like bamboo and it's time to put on a belt.
More weight means my ring finger is starting to feel like it is getting peeled off by my engagement ring. I only wear it at the gym because I want to test how it feels to have rings and jewelry on while lifting. It's stupid, I know. But others do it (Pros) and they don't look like they mind?
(I’m so hopeless.)

Three more sets and I switch from shoulder width to wide stance.
“Great.”
My pants are hanging in there but I know I’m starting to sweat like a … hmmm, nothing nice comes to mind. Let’s just say that I’m starting to rush things and it’s only because of my wardrobe issues.

I only get 2 sets done and I have to quit. I know a dark spot is spreading and starting to look like the most interesting ink swab ever. I can’t take my eyes off my crotch. None of the guys seem to even see me but I’m too frustrated to lift anymore. I put the plates back to the nearest places and grab my stuff. I head over to the leg machines in the corner. They are all facing the windows so I don’t have to think about my pants anymore. And the windows are covered too.

I finish my water as I finish off my legs with long sets in the quad and hamstring machines. After some foam rolling and short stretches I go to the toilet before I get on the treadmill. All I do is 15 minutes of walking uphill. Nothing special about it but it works for me.
When I’m finally all done and free to drop my pants I spend a few more extra minutes in front of a mirror posing, smiling and taking it all in (the Feeling after).

I always ask myself if I have any regrets. I often do. This time it’s about my pants and rushing through some of the sets. Basically I didn't even do those sets since I wasn't concentrating on the feeling but in the numbers. “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 and out” is not the same as “5 hard reps, 2 super difficult ones and 1 failure.”


I drive home and throw my clothes in the wash. After my shower I dig my pants out of the washing machine and pit the in the trash bin. It’s time to grow harder. No more stupid excuses to hold back. 

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