She steps up to it. It lies there at her feet, motionless and seemingly attached to the floor. An unmoveable object.
The metallic glint of the the bar has an obnoxious purpose—to reflect every bit of light back into the cold and desnse black rubber of the plates. Nothing escapes their gravity. Nothing defies it.

Until she comes along.

There are many ways to prove to ourselves what we are capable of. These are instances of discovery and of accomplishment.

I watched her set up. Her hands are solid on the bar and her heels are hard set on the ground beneath her. Breathe. I watch her eyes, they are focused but slightly timid. A hint of worry and fear, but her body says “kill”. Three consecutive and perfect Deadlifts. Next, a hang clean. She has failed twice already, but it’s to no affect. Her body says “kill”. Breathe. The weight rests at her thighs. This structure of metal and rubber would dwarf any other being but she commanded it and it obeyed her. She starts the lift. I see the bar come up, but I pay attention to her eyes. The fear is still there, but they say “fight” with no mention of “flee”. She gets it up. And towards the final obstacle. A push press. she has defeated one beast only to have it replaced by something even more foreboding. And it rests on her chest. Her body says “kill”. Breathe. She stands there with the weight of progress, of self doubt, of anger, and of pride pinning her to that spot. I look in her eyes. She looks in mine. I tell her “You can do this”. And then I scream “Go!”. And she does. And within seconds, the weight is off.
As the bar hovers above us for those few short moments, I look in her eyes. The fear is gone, replaced only by discovery and accomplishment. That look is impossible to replicate and impossible to describe. But it is absolutely apparent when you see it. Her gaze left me breathless, it contained the secrets of her being. But alas, her gaze was fleeting. The weight crashes to the floor. Breathe.