The gym is becoming second nature to me. I miss it when I don’t go. Sometimes terrible things happen to people. They hold in the rage. They almost break. But they keep going. They are worse for the wear, battle-worn and weary, disheveled. You can barely recognize them. But that rage…it keeps the fire burning. When the wounds become scars and the days are brighter you can see them, they are living. The rage still simmers. Lots of times it erupted in violence when they didn’t know better. Now they do. But the rage…in the gym, they try to shed the years of fat accumulated by medicine, bad food, and a slow metabolism. The rage fuels them. Sometimes in the gym they want to pass out. But they remember the wrong. The remember the pain. The rage moves the parts, fuels the heartbeat, keeps the cogs in motion. The weight is shedding. The rage remains. And this is why I’ll find myself in the gym, lifting for life as their is nowhere to dump it, the rage. I will converse with the iron the rest of my days. It never lies or laughs. It is always true. I need the gym. This is my addiction. I guess it’s better than cigarettes, eh? ;-)

via From Fat Writer to Fit Writer, Tiffany White’s Fat Loss Journey


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