By Kat Ricker
I do not understand anger in lifting.
There is no room for emotion in my work.
There is form, fiber direction, aligning the angle of resistance to the fibers. There is blood and oxygen filling the muscle. Core. Nerve activation, full muscular contraction…
Full range of motion, partial range, full contraction. Core. Eccentric work, the weight of the load as the muscle belly stretches out. Core. Soft knees, core stability, neutral spine, spinal stability – head, chest up, spinal alignment. Breathing. More air.
My awareness is inside, coursing through my blood like nutrients. If there is someone beside me, I do not know it. No other thoughts can survive. Emotion is out of the equation.
I release. Blood and lactic acid swell my limbs. My muscles thrum electric. Rush of elation, taste of bliss, sure fire of victory. Over and over.
As I leave the floor, the warm flood of victory envelopes me, peaked with the pump of my muscles. I am who I want to be. I am my best. My muscles reflect my hard-earned pride. I am not concerned whether anyone else sees my body, engorged and glowing. I am whole again.
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