The Bench Pressers Poem by:"Newt"

Its time to get ready, its almost time to go,
Its my turn to put up , shut up and put on a freak show.
Concentrate.
You have endured eight weeks of torture to be here today,
Concentrate.
You want respect and you want it in the worst way.
Concentrate.

The judge yells " bars loaded"
the adrenalin inside feels like it exploded.
Concentrate.
Get the wrist straps on and make them tight, no even tighter.
You are not losing to the iron cuz your a fighter.
Concentrate.

"lets do this " says the trainer " time to get what we worked for,
the look on his face makes me want it even more.
Set up good.
Concentrate.
Get mad make yourself an animal inside,
This isnt about a trophy its all about pride.

"lets go" the trainer yells " this is what you wanted" The sound of a loud slap and a sting is felt.
The pressure is building with excitement and the echoing of the words just yelled.
Its time.
The crowd roars with support as i approach the bench.
In a moment i will be pinned to it crushed in like a trench.
Set up good.
Get a good arch
Pinch your traps, come on you have done this a million times.

The set up is final and the hand off is given,
My body is tight to handle the force that will be driven.
Locked out at arms length is weight most people fear,
I begin the descent, i draw the weight near.
Keep contraol.
Steady.
The weight touches and all my muscles strain,
This is my sport this is my life this is my pain.
Pause, dont beat the call.

PRESS! is yelled from the judge behind,
My heels are down instantly as i begin the drive.
To push the weight high up above,
In seconds the load is back where it came from.

The excitement the completion the pride,
These are just a few of the feelings inside