Weighted Walls, White and Weary

Weighted Walls, White and Weary

By Andrea Cladis

 

Racked weights.

Empty Benches.

Hungry Solitude.

 

Shadows silhouette the corner bench that waits.

Flickering light a halo down like the temptress who lost her gown

The halogen glow irritates eyes and skin patches, it discolors

Grit is all you need in the mind swarms of anticipation for

The first set to begin.

 

Belligerent recourse.

The aim for speed.

The force of sinewy strength.

 

Stable body.

Secure frame.

Braced core.

 

Rest time is the enemy’s gain.

 

Run. Lift. Rush. Swell. Repeat.

Hours staring at the white wall lifting heavy

because a look into the mirror was too much

for me.

 

A reflection leads to narcissist’s sin.

White walls.

Empty benches.

Solitude captured in.

 

Four corners.

Two stops.

Ropes and hurls.

 

5 burpees.

10 jacks.

Stripped resistance curls.

 

White walls

Brandished thoughts.

Envision the enemy.

 

In competition –

Self is first

Ego is destiny.

 

Sweat trickles.

Pain pleads.

Progress not yet known.

 

Strong is

not the

person of me.

 

White is not

a color

we see.

 

Win is not

in chance

of loss

 

Victory is

all but certain

its cost.

 

The outside world is

Smiling,

Laughing,

Indulging in effortless ways.

 

I taste the freedom of walking away,

But the metal cylinders won’t let me,

The walls still call my name –

 

White and watching.

Wanting and winning.

 

Lifting up, lifting down, right, then left

in compulsion to win –

Vainglorious, the giant’s game.

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