Remedy

“Mamaaaaaaaaa! OooooOooooOoooooo!” 

My muscles lifted and adjusted as I passionately mouthed the words.

“Sometimes I wish I’d never been born at aaaallll! Carry on, carry on!” 

Those dark lyrics, though laidened with dispair, filled me with glowing electricity as I finished my stretches. In the empty cold of my basement, I felt inspired to crank up Spotify as loud as I pleased, free from the annoyed repercussions of my family. Within the randomized selection, luck picked out for me one of my favorite choices.

“Anyway the wind bloooooowwwwwwss….”

The song was over, and so was my grace period. I put my back to the ground, allowed myself one final breath, and moved. Legs up, legs down. Stomach pulling, heaving, curling, realesing. Burning. Break. Thirty seconds. Breathe. Lift. Legs up, legs down.

“Can anybody find meeeeeeeeeeee?!”

I have a love-hate relationship with the pain. I love the gallop of red pulsing through my body, beating at every limb. I love the determination and power of it. I love the sense of crushing through it. But I do hate it.

“Ooooooo somebody–Ooooooh somebody–“

Done! My abdomine teared at the seams as it blew up and imploded with air. The chilled stone ground pressed into the back of my head. Dehydrated, gasping, and burnt, I pathetically attempted to sing.

”Can anybody find meeeeeeeeeeeee…somebody to loooooooooove?!” 

On to the next one. My legs, no longer lifting, we’re now folded in front of me, my feet firmly tucked underneath weights. I raised my back and slammed it on the ground. Lift, slam, lift, slam. But the pain was not located on my back–it was, again, applied to the weakened stomach. The burning continued. Temptation crept in. Then–

“All we hear is: radio gaga–radio googoo–“

I should have spent my thirty second break breathing; instead, I allowed myself to swing my raised arms in a simply silly dance.

”Radio gaga (clap clap)!”

I was energetic, but spent. Low on air, water, and food, I rolled back to my feet to start the final round. Stoopped down, my spine bent with the effort to reach relatively light weights. One in each fist, they paralleled my shoulders in position for the simple movements.

I calculated in my head. Maybe I would do less this time, I don’t want to hurt myself, it’s been awhile, why not just—

“Boom boom clap! Boom boom clap!”

A smirk slid into my lips.

“Buddy you’re a boy, make a big noise, playing in the street, gonna be a big man someday!”

Just what I needed: some cheesy old rock music.

HGR