I sit composing my frame and body, allowing breathing to steady and heartbeat to settle. The heat is turned up in the gym, and I wait for it to warm while water simmers. Black coffee first. I’ll also empty by bowels.
There is a dark ritual that allows me to enter a physical resource state for exercise. Focus has to be precise. Any lapse or break in concentration can make me depart from a good workout. Building muscle isn’t my goal, yet it remains a welcomed by-product.
Instead, it is about movement. The improvement in function of my body.
In many ways the gym is a torture chamber. It is my haven, a cleansed space only for my use. My creation. Patiently it awaits my entrance.