Working out at seven in the morning, a group of athletes,
almost every morning ready to push the iron, moan.
Some of them follow the same routines and do not talk much.
Sweaty men over in the corner talk about the football game
from the previous night or the night before.
Newsflash: the baseball coach retires after 17 years.
To them it is old news since they are connected
to the athletic department on campus via their buddies.
A wive rules over the coveted football tickets.
It is funny when they ask you what you know.
Near the mirrors some have water bottles stationed,
which they lift to their mouths often.
The liquid seems dyed to cover up hurting muscles.
Each lifter has their secrets to maximize performance,
and only reluctantly will they offer it up to you.
High intensity training is the formula they swear on.
After the last power-lift one goes down
to the locker room to get ready for work.
He must prefer the same shower stall every day.
Just like I do.
The fifth shower curtain on the right hangs languidly,
and to step inside I push it open and try to place my shower gel.
There it is, again: the protein bar wrapper.
For weeks I encounter these chocolate bar shells tossed
on the soap dish, torn along the back and ripped into two's.
But this time is quite different.
The PowerBar has been replaced with Ironman.
Three parts of the wrapping clutter the soap dish
while a heap of shaved hair assembles around the drainage.
