One- two- three- warming up. Four-five six-I can do it. Seven-eight-nine and I slam the weight down, my muscles burning. I just finished a nine rep set of bench press. My chest is burning because blood has flooded to my chest to feed it oxygen. I rest for 90 seconds; heart pounding, knowing I have to go for four more sets; it is a pyramid so I add 10 pounds but only need to do seven reps for the next set. The weight is added; time to go for seven reps. I turn my I-pod up and lie down; Twist the bar and throw it up.

One-two- three easy. Four- five- six no problem. I throw the seventh up like I own it. Light weight; 215 for seven. Now my chest is on fire. My muscles are beyond full of blood. I am only 2/5 done. Nest set is 225 for 5 reps. Crap. It’s not possible. I am already tired. The weight is loaded. I turn my I-pod up and lie down; Twist the bar and throw it up. One- two- three no sweat; by the fourth rep, the bar feels as though it is stuck in time; unwavering. It refuses to move. It is eventually thrown up with a grunt. The last rep is 100% determination. I have nothing left yet I still muster push out of some miss-placed sense of pain. With a bang the bar is racked.

I want to go home. Is there any point in the last two sets after that excruciating pain? Do I want more? Of course. The weights slide onto the bar with a metallic cling. 235 for three reps. I turn my music up, duck my head and muster my courage. Time to go. One-two-three easy. I pushed myself through it; only one more. At this point it feels like there are softballs in my chest and arms. The “pump” is in full effect; your blood is racing nutrients to your depleted chest and arm muscles; my veins are bulging with nutrient rich blood. I slide the weight on; 245 for one rep. Only one rep. Is it necessary? Of course.

I have nothing left. I am thinking about why I put myself through this. Is there any point? Of course there is. I turn my I-pod up and lie down; Twist the bar and throw it up. The way down is easy. On the push up, my muscles scream at me like an incoming train. It’s halfway up now; sheer courage. The music is the only thing pushing me through it. Finally I push it the last inch and rack it. I strip the weight, grab my bag and walk away.

One- two- three as I count the stairs and leave the weight room.