I want a breakfast burrito with eggs and sausage and cheese.

Lift.

With every exhale, every lift of the barbell, some of that stress escapes.

Lift.

Every stretch of the band is an ounce of regret expelled into the world like carbon dioxide vapor.

Lift.

There goes that slice of pizza from Sunday. That chocolate covered blueberry you snuck and didn't log.

Lift.

The harsh words you had for the old woman who tried to lay some guilt on you for applying for the house she was applying for. The joke that may have gone too far. The girl you didn't approach. And then the one you did.

Lift.

You feel tension disappearing. Like the disappointment you feel in that friend who acted like a total lecherous ass last time you saw him drunk. Like the pain of being somewhere you don't want to be.

Lift.

Like knowing that dropping that class will keep you here another six months - that's gone. The frustration of knowing that you might not get home for Christmas this year. Not getting to watch the nephews and niece grow up. Your dwindling bank account. Your obviously faltering braking system on the car that you've already spent twice its worth repairing. Not knowing what you're going to do when you grow up, or where you're going to be. All gone.

Lift.

Each drop of sweat is infested with pain and suffering and regret and remorse, and as your shoulders burn and your abs cramp and your lungs fail you see each drop fall, knowing that you will not be able to lift your books today because you just couldn't stop manufacturing catharsis. Arms shaking, you take a breath. You think of your body 15 years ago and how you couldn't find its threshold for exertion. You think about all the things you did to get to this point, and all the years off your life each cigarette and gravy boat took. You think about how you were told you were brave for posting the side shot, as though there was something wrong with it that you had to hide. And then you feel guilty for thinking that way, because the comment was meant as a compliment and came from someone who is quite obviously rooting for you in every way. Your breath returns and while the sweat is still dripping, it is now somehow void of all the filth and ugliness you are trying to purge. You move on to the next machine.

Lift.