Muscles strain and burn as she lifts the bar. Music pounds in her ears, white headphones keep her hair out of her face. Her back tightens and she feels the burn in her shoulders, threatening to pull out of their sockets. She stands for a minute, feeling the burn as she triumphs over her pain. Her triceps are powerful, straining against gravity. She goes back down. weights clattering, no matter how gently she places the bar. She walks over to the weight rack, adding on the weight. She is lifting the equivalent of her weight now. Hands close themselves around the heavy bar, and she breathes out, muscles straining against the threat of gravity. Sweat fall on the matted floor. The infectious dance beat pounds her eardrums. She is angry. Angry at the weights. Angry at the people in her life. Angry at the bar. Angry at him. She stands, a growl echoing from deep within her. The weights leave the ground, and she stands, Sweat drips into her eyes, her cheeks red from pure power. Her arms shake. She remains for a minute. The beat begs her to set the weights down. She reracks the weights, and walks away. The people around her don’t notice her triumph, and she doesn’t care.