The Bar

Weeks ago the bar would excite her, give her life. She would stare at the bar, feeling the steel wrapped in her hands, the power radiating within her. Even when she didn't want to lift, it made her feel strong.

Her calloused hands gripping the bar made everything in that moment go away. She was focused only on the bar.

Lifting was more mental for her, an escape from the world. The tunnel vision she had when lifting, the focus was a high. The world was closed to everything except what was on the bar.

Now she looks at the bar like a stranger, afraid feeling lost. There isn't any power, only weakness is felt. She feels vulnerable gripping the bar, the weight of her loss coursing through every fiber, every muscle...there is no focus only deep pain.

The mental break is replaced by a storm raging within her mind, swirling around every minute of the day, never stopping except for the few hours she manages to sleep.

Exhaustion replaces focus, yet she walks up to the bar gripping tighter than ever begging it to just give her a moment of quiet in her swirling mind...a minute of power.

As she wraps her calloused hands around the bar now all she remembers is what she has lost in one minute...her love, her best friend...Their future.