Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Just a Bar on a Rack

The rack towers before me,
with intimidation on its mind
Mirror in front so that I can watch myself topple over
As I dip into a squat, and come back up
To place the three hundred fifteen pounds
Back in its rightful position
on the towering, sleek, black, rack.

And before me the bar stands
As I walk up to the rack,
I feel the dry sweat dripping off of my calloused hands.
I smell the determination of many other men before me
Who had taken similar challenges
To test and increase their own abilities.
With the death metal screaming behind me I know,
There is nobody watching me but myself,
And the only person who can beat me is me.

I violently grip the grid patterned bar and lift it off of the rack,
My legs already shaking from the tremendous strain
on the small of my back.
I bend my kjnees as the sweat drips; burning my legs
And the pressure of the bar
Weighs me down like a stake in my back.
Sweat obscures my vision
As I struggle to stand back up,
Place the bar back on the rack,
And smile as I taste victory
As stand back to admire my accomplishment.





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