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.