The Sensations of Training Pleasure!

I feel the pulse run through me aggressive and angry just like the mad woman I am with the rage of the inner child at hand.  My hunger grows as the conquest for each and every quality rep.  In my brain I am Pennington Hall and I transform along with the mind/body/muscle connection I thrive on.  The expression on my face turn animal like I imagine the Hulk looked after he was blazed with gamma rays.  And in my head I think of a quote about the Green Mean Power Machine:  “The madder Hulk gets, the stronger Hulk gets!”   SAME AS ME!

Deep in each one of my fingers I sense the surge of the after grip trying to halt my next set with tight forearms of sick ferocity.  I shake them off in a 5-second mark looking down at my Polar Heart Rate Monitor keeping point.  I then go back in and finish strong and hard like my will… mind drifting to all those people who failed and disappointed me in Life.  I won’t be like them.  I’ll be my own Superhero.  And after I’m done with a slight pant it pushes my breasts up and down..probably a sigh of relief or laughter?  I make tight fists.  I open my palm and close them rapidly mimicking a beating bloody heart.  I get amp, amp, AMP!  I want to remember this sensation like every other food, sex, video and reading material addiction.

I eat up these sets like Pac Man to dots.  I rest again, this time between sets and go for 30 seconds or under as I suspend my hand in Training Air and I glance at the jittery nerves going at a speed I can’t fathom.  But it’s all natural.  All induced by the sheer love of lifting, adrenaline and pleasure.  Nothing matters at this moment!  I’m focused.  I no longer carry any worries of the present or of the future.  The ache in my rotator cuff and teres minor become mist until they finally disappear like a hallucination of the night.  And I feel no pain.

I start again on a different exercise and feel my heartbeat rise high.  It raises until my breath escapes my lips.  Or until  I place my lips inward and allow my teeth to rake along the interior of the mouth itself.  I can feel my body growing weary.  I can sense the abuse, the pure pleasure of physical pain.  And I won’t stop.  I won’t stop.  I’m addicted.  This is my orgasmic ride as I grit my teeth.  An “S” lisp-like sound slides out between my tongue and choppers slithering as keen as a snake itself.

Sometimes I wonder will this set go smooth?  Will it be ballistic in any way?  Will it be staggered?  And to flip it quick I tell myself:  There are a shit load of people Training harder than you.  So I go on.  I zone out.  I close my eyes and wash everything out:  The endless floating energy bodies in the gym, the steel in my hand, the mirrors reflecting I of myself, the lady a few feet away from me who obviously has mixed feelings about what I’m performing and who only dares to look at me with my eyes shut.



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