You are racing away from your problems there is a world of hurt behind you just waiting for you to slip up and your ass is cooked. You are running 85 in a 55 hoping you get there before its too late and some unforeseen tragedy stops you dead in your tracks.
You made it, you grab your bug out bag and jog to the door and it closes behind you. Its too late for them now, you got away, you are free now. You smell the pain in the air mixed with the truth of steel and exhertion.
Now you are free. For the next hour nothing else matters, you made your escape, from what you can't even remember. Dress in and the headphones go on. There is no one else now. Just you and the adrenaline flowing through your veins with the trenbolone and ephedrine.
There is no one that gets to experience a painful peace like you are about to expend. Only another brother in iron could understand. You look in the mirror and see the bulges and veins that will soon explode and have people staring. You are disappointed for a minute with many parts but that to is going to change and thats why you are here.
By the second exercise you are sweaty and its just starting to turn on. You feel the pump now and the movements come slower and more deliberate.
At the end of the sixth exercise your success is becoming obvious to you and everyone around you. The burning sting in your muscles is getting louder as you drop into the final two exercises so you throw in drop sets to the final two exercises, without break between sets you are now drenched in sweat and shaky.
You have done it! You are at peace as you head for the showers! You walk past the wall mirror you see nothing short of a beast and you love the work that has found you. You want nothing more than to continue this art but you must heal now.
You shower and dress back out. Gather your shit and just sit in the peace for a second in the midst of your own defeat, which brought you this calm.
As you walk to the door your hand reaches for the doorhandle and you take a deep breath... Back to the shit that doesn't make sense. Back to the shit you don't control. A life of exes and child custody battles. A world full of regret and hate. Work contracts and things muscles hate. Felony charges and fuck off false accusers. Shit that pulls and pulls at you to try and seperate you from all passion and art that you love and create. There is lawyers to pay and big brother waiting for you at every turn. The eye in the sky is always watching. Everyone wants something from you and none of them appreciate the blood you give them like they should. They sure as hell don't understand what you are doing taking this time to sculpt your masterpiece.
As the door opens a beam of light spreads across the floor invading the gym and all your problems flow with it.
"Motherfuckers"...
Until tomorrow, back to hell.
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Originally Posted by RaginCajun
