Gemotions

The weight room smelled of iron and exertion. Mark watched the other players, their grunts and groans punctuating the rhythm of their reps. He leaned against the wall, a detached observer. His own workout routine, usually a source of intense focus, felt like a chore, a necessary evil. He had already finished his exercises, but stayed behind, observing the others.

His coach approached, his face unreadable. “Mark, can I have a word?” The request was polite, but lacked the usual camaraderie. Mark simply nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor.

The coach led him to a quiet corner, the metallic clang of weights fading into a background hum. Mark listened, his shoulders slumped, as the news was delivered. He didn't argue. He didn't plead. He just nodded, the words washing over him like a gentle tide.