Gemotions

The weight room felt different today, the heavy scent of iron and sweat suddenly cloying. Mark kept his head down, carefully avoiding eye contact. He felt as though every set of eyes were upon him. The coach’s absence from the session was unsettling. It was never a good sign.

He was replaying every mistake, every missed free throw, every fumble. He imagined the coach critiquing him, listing off his shortcomings, detailing all the ways he was inadequate. Each clang of a weight, each grunt, was a verdict against him.

He pushed himself harder, desperately trying to prove he deserved a place. He increased the weight, but his muscles trembled, and the bars seemed to grow heavier. He felt a throbbing in his temples. He was sure everyone was watching him, judging his efforts, waiting for him to fail.

The other players, normally friendly, seemed distant, their greetings hollow. Every word was an accusation. He felt the ground shifting beneath him, the floor tilting, preparing to swallow him. He wanted to run, to disappear.