Everybody Wants To Rule The World

You touch your left toes. You touch your right toes. You twist. You turn. You're a million excited fans waiting on the show your body is about to put on. You're scared, and saying words of inspiration. And if you're not, you should be. 

You lip synch lyrics that pull you into the black hole of readiness. The volume increases on your iPod, effluxes through the corridor of headphones and reverberates through the passageway of your ears and you appropriate it accordingly. To this muscle or that, you prepare for battle. Your eyes are closed, focusing on the moves ahead. You quiver, but only for a second. You're now steady with resolve. The beat in your body, now assimilating to the one in your ears.

You leap, grasp and pull. You jerk this with poise and the polish of an action conducted thousands of times before. You've trained up to this point, and you're not going to let yourself down. The muscles, they began to fight back, stinging and burning you where you exhaust them. They're a car engine losing coolant. You keep going, feeling a pounding from inside your chest. You can hear your breathing over the noise of distraction. You push, harder now as you combat a third villain in your lungs. 

The cavalry flanks you unsuspecting, as the bar now cuts into your fingers, your palms ripping open leaving their mark on where they can. You dismount, change the exercise. The new battleground is refreshing for the moment, and then you're on to the next thing. You pant. You pant harder. You pick up the bar, battle new parts of your body. Your back, your legs flank aggressively on your mind with painful calls that sever your concentration. You almost submit, but pride holds your lines together. You counterattack while you still have the mental strength left to do so. You finish set one, two, three in this way, unwavering from the goal of victory. You're strengthened by accomplishment through the hard work. Victory, once only a spec on the horizon, now a mocking child in the backseat of the car in front of you. Hit the gas, crush the kid. You forge your mental toughness through the beats of physical pain.

The last set nearly kills you, knocking you off your feat from the word go. You tell yourself you can't breath any harder, you can't sweat anymore, you can't go on. You fight the battle of body and mind with a brave heart, but you find yourself failing. You nearly stop, you want to quit. The body has won, defeated the mind in a battle of spirit vs.  You take a deep breath in, sweat trickles and falls from all spots on your face. You're smoked, almost done. Courage sounds the horn, you rally for one last charge. To fail, you're a robot not programmed with the subroutine. You're a workout nerd, the option; simply not available. To succeed, once again, rule the world.

Just one more.

welcome to your life, there's no turning back