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Hollow-Holler

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2004-04-13 - 11:02 p.m.

I purchased a punch pass from a local gym when I fit into the age bracket of youth ages 12-17. There are 20 uses, and there are only nine punched out. That means, over the course of three years at the least (could be more depending on age I purchased it), I have worked out on average, three times a year. This is just deplorable. But I exercised with my mother tonight. It hurt the arches of my feet, but stretching afterwards was a blessing.

I saw a body builder straddling a bench, and watching his reflection curling massive free weights in front of him. At one point, he set the weights down, closed his eyes and bowed his head, and clasped his hands like praying. Maybe he was praying? But then he broke into a sob. He looked very hopeless and wretched, and I wanted to pat his bald head, and tell him it would be alright. Whatever it was, it must have been bad. Body builders have a reputation for steel souls. But maybe steroids make a man over-emotional? Like how it gives a man a breast, and ups his estrogen?

I was very mean to my mom and my brother this evening, though. I yelled at Noah for wearing, at school, the gold cuff that Grandma Nana gave to me from her costume collection. He didn't deserve that. I used his walkman the other day. And my mother, she doesn't deserve any of the guff she gets from me. Oh, Rachael. You're going to hate yourself in 3 months, treat them like you really mean to!

The rowing machine was my favorite.