“Man up!” I tell myself every other day as I enter the dimly lit basement of a nearby supermarket. The plastic doors and cheap gray tile stairs scream “ex-Soviet country” back at the American pop blasting through my headphones. I descend further, mentally preparing myself for the routine. A mix of anxiety, determination, and lack of air circulation push out a faint greeting out of my lips as I reach the front desk. It never feels like I sound confident enough. I take a quick look around to see how many people are already working out in this would-be industrial space — the fewer, the better.
Gripping mass
Gripping mass
Gripping mass
“Man up!” I tell myself every other day as I enter the dimly lit basement of a nearby supermarket. The plastic doors and cheap gray tile stairs scream “ex-Soviet country” back at the American pop blasting through my headphones. I descend further, mentally preparing myself for the routine. A mix of anxiety, determination, and lack of air circulation push out a faint greeting out of my lips as I reach the front desk. It never feels like I sound confident enough. I take a quick look around to see how many people are already working out in this would-be industrial space — the fewer, the better.