Muscle Memory

It’s about the point in the song where Corey is screaming “I wanna slit your throat…” that I’m benching 275 for the third time. 275. Last summer it was 230. There’s something about putting up more than your own bodyweight that is so invigorating. By the fifth rep, I’m standing outside of my own body, not even feeling the exertion, just recognizing its existence and letting it wash through me, down from my forearms and into my chest.  My arms start shaking at 8. It doesn’t matter. I just keep pushing. My breath comes in and out in heaves; my heart pumps wildly, my spirit centers as I struggle to put it up the tenth time. It’s a rare release for me, all the stress, bad vibes, depression, loneliness, distractions, and disappointments in my life wash out of me. It’s difficult to hold in the tears.

I have to turn the music off. The song’s only half over. The rest of the day is coming, coming hard, and now I can say “Bring it on.”