As I wipe my sweaty hands on my t-shirt, my feet flying beneath me, I can’t help but watch him. I do not hear the music pounding into my ears, nor do I feel what should be pain flashing up my knees. My throats drier than normal and my breathings completely erratic as I sprint, unaware of the lines of people besides me, running and walking as well. I do not see the equipment and dozens of people working out in front of me, I’m just watching him. And with each pull up, each bead of sweat that rolls down his neck, as his hands grow red amongst the iron, and his veins seemingly try to escape from beneath his skin, I run faster. He doesn’t notice me, I know. Everyone’s so caught up in their own workouts; they seem to wash out everything around them. I know, because I do to... except for him. But he stops. And suddenly the music begins to blast into my ears, a noise so intolerable I yank the cords out of them. Now, I hear the man grunting with each stride besides me, the clanking of weights, the personal trainer screaming. I look down and see I’m coming onto my fifth mile, where did the time go? And when I look back up, gasping for air as if I haven’t been breathing this whole time, fists clenched as I try to bare the pain in my legs, he’s lifting the gallon of water to his perched lips. Our eyes meet for the first time and I instantly lower mine, but when I look back up he smiles. My right hand almost simultaneously beats the large red button, bringing me to a halt. My legs feel like noodles as I brace myself up against the machine and smile back. “See you tomorrow” I think to myself. Talk about a good work out.