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Sweatshirt-clad, we dribble into the cold room.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Weights slide onto bars. We shuffle to our favorite spots. I like to be in front of the window — trees and cars beat even the most toned lady asses.
Thud. Thud. Thud. I’d turn the station if this music was on the radio, but somehow, here, I like it.
Tipping, lifting, hefting to the beat. I wonder what aliens would think if they saw this strange ritual. Twenty-five of us, in unison, dancing with a heavy bar. The room isn’t cold anymore.
Today I’m in the zone. For 50 minutes, I know nothing but this music, this struggle, this pain. It feels good. It’s going to be a good day.