The sound of weights crashing on the rubber padded floor, your partner yelling at you to do just "one more", all in front of the eighties rock played from the speakers that look as if they haven't been removed since the sixties. You set down the pair of rusted blocks of iron from your last set and glance at the black and white mural of Arnold Schwarzenegger staring down at you, then back at yourself in the mirror. This may all seem like a perturbed place in the eyes of others, but to me it is a place where I can truly let go of the world around me. Break ups, broken friendships, loss of loved ones, or anything else imaginable, this is the place where I can dilute all the bad in the world while gaining confidence and growing as an individual. This place is a second home to me. I can still recall the day I purchased my membership to Steel City. I came in with a pair of shorts, a cutoff shirt, and a pair of gold Asics wrestling shoes. At first, it was tough to subject myself to such physical torture; I felt weak, inferior, and intimidated. But as I continued to develop as a weight lifter, I realized how great it is to break the discomfort which once intimidated me. I had no idea that such a place could grow on me, it changed the whole way I look at life and developed a new lifestyle that I could never give up. .
The appeal of lifting weights is as much mental as it is physical. To be able to progress in something even of the physical body can motivate one to see that things with the mind can also be overcome. It's not about long term goals; it's about not giving up. I always set small goals for myself and never once lifted to outshine others, but rather to shatter previous versions of myself. I strive to better myself, and ironically enough, it was through the failures and defeats in the gym that contributed more to my confidence rather than my triumphs. There is one thing that never seems to change all throughout my time spent in the gym and that is that the weights never get heavier, but I continue to get stronger.
