Psyching up to return to the gym. Pledging to write more often.

In an attempt to become a better writer, I am going to attempt to write something new every day. It won't always be a long rant or essay, but I will practice with the written word as I have practiced with other skills. Practice makes perfect, right?

So for today, I'm writing about lifting weights. Part of the reason I'm writing about this subject is to remind myself of what exercise means to me. I've been away from the gym since September (school and personal stuff interfered - check previous entries to see why) and am gearing up to go back.

He ritualistically loads the plates onto the bar. He stands staring at himself in the mirror, music blasting in his headphones, hyping himself up. His heart rate speeds up just a little and he starts to breathe a little faster. He steps forward and shrugs under the bar, driving his neck backwards against the cold steel. He takes a second to pull everything together tightly. He grabs the bar with a death grip, pulling his hands downwards, trying to bend the bar over his shoulders.

He takes a deep breath and stands up. The bar leaves the safety of the hooks and he lets the weight settle onto his body. Gravity, normally a friend, has just become a bitter enemy. He steels himself under the weight, takes a deep breath, and starts his descent. Keeping his head up, he breaks at the hips as if sitting far back onto a chair. He descends further than most observers think that he should, pressing his hamstrings against his calves. He is in the hole.

Momentum briefly stops and he screams internally at himself to stand. Driving through his heels, he starts grinding upwards, head up, chest up. Coming out of the hole is always tough. He feels the knurling on the bar digging into his traps as he keeps trying to bend the bar over his shoulders while he explodes upwards. He moves his body carefully but forcefully through the reverse of the motion that got him to the bottom. The last couple of inches to lockout are tough. His body is complaining, but he isn't listening. "Body, shut up!", he says internally. He finishes the squat and stands there for a second.

All is right in the world at that instant. That feeling is what Zen is about. The gym is a temple, and the preparation and the lift are meditation serving to keep him balanced and even when the world goes wonky. The iron gives him a mental focus and spiritual strength that many lack. It takes more than muscle to lift.