An animal gym session, that session where you tear through the weights like a wild animal, that session where you leave shaking violently, barely walking, and sweating through your clothes, that’s how you express yourself. That’s art. That’s physical expression of the highest form.
That ain’t no fucking workout, that’s you baring your soul for the whole world to see.
When people see you attacking the weights they see you as you really are. We can see your soul when we see you train.
We can see the animal you really are. We can see if you’re a Lion or a timid little Lamb.
We can see inside the soul of the fat-bellies with spaghetti arms on the treadmills, we can see inside the soul of the lazy light-weight lifters, and we can see inside the soul of the motherfucker tearing through the weights, giving off like he doesn’t have a care in the world except for killing that weight.
That motherfucker shaking after a set, that motherfucker drenched in sweat, that motherfucker with the insane look in his eyes is an artist. You know that person because you don’t dare talk to that person in the gym. He’s busy. You know that person because the whole gym is watching from a safe distance but that artist can’t even see them.
The watchers are invisible and mute to an artist.
Heart, Soul, Blood, Guts, Perspiration, Pain and Pride – It’s all on display at the gym.
Get your game face on, war is coming to your local gym.