Heartprints in the Void
I can’t afford to lose myself in wishful thinking, not when I’ve worked so hard to piece myself back together.
With my knee sleeves on, I secure my wrist wraps and belt, the familiar ritual grounding me in the present. I approach the bar, loaded with three 25 kilo plates and a collar on each side. It’s always a little nerve-wracking, but it isn’t weight I haven't touched more than a handful of times before.
Amelia and Anna, ever the supportive friends, move to my sides, ready to spot me. Their presence is a familiar comfort, a silent reassurance that if I fail, they’re there to help.
Bab Populer