the gym.

metal plates clunk against each other. more, heavier, push. men speak in gruff voices. gruff topics. this is a place for men. but, some women come here, into a place saturated with testosterone. sweat. a fixed energy.

most people say hello, how are you? a usual greeting, no care for the answer. others just smile. some say nothing. what’s so hard about hello?

string singlets hang off bodies built for battle. but, there are no physical battles inside this place. just: fitter, stronger, leaner.

push, pull, grunt. veins protruding, looking to burst. all in an attempt to grow, become better. beat something – that something pushing them toward an edge they didn’t know existed. an edge they won’t know until they cross it – which, for the most part, they never will.

today, the gym smells like garlic. rancid garlic mixed with sweat, escaping, squeezing itself out through tiny pores. leaving it’s stale stench in the air. it’s busy tonight. men, women, protein, creatine. tattooed, red head, african, european, bearded. health/fitness/size/muscle – the common thread.


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