An+Average+Saturday's+Torture+by+Michael+Usewick

Figurative Language Syntactical Inversions

It all starts at home, pack my towel, a suit, some gym clothes, and of course the water, Arrive five minutes late because a tree decided to fall in the road, apologize to please my coach Hot as an oven, is the deck for dryland workout Time check: 10:00 reads the clock across the way, Jake arrives, and pain is about to show its face Today will be different, Jake explains, as today is the day of the filthy fifty, AKA incarnate pain, Solemnly, all remember the last time this set was attempted, and look for the start to the clock.

As the seconds turn to minutes, and I give it all I’ve got, the only thing keeping me sane, is the clock, Fifty times, six exercises, doubled lunges and Russian twists, just keep going, and always drink water As I drag through squat jumps and burpees, I think of nothing but the end, forget the pain, The last thing I want to hear is what comes next, “NO REP” shouts my coach, To begin again? After coming so far? Frustration is all that is seen, upon my teammates' faces, We all ask ourselves, for the billionth time perhaps, what’s the need for this workout?

I push myself hard, to the point of failure, but interminable seems this workout, I rush to the end, sweat pooling on the tiles, shout “TIME” and desperately look to the clock, I’ve finished second, in a great time, satisfied I collapse, only to get up with a look to Jake’s face, Teammates around me toil through and eventually all finish, we thank Jake, and head to the water. Joking and trash talking in the locker room are cut short when time runs short and in comes coach, A normally pretty loose man himself, his stoic appearance foreshadows a practice rich with pain.

As nothing about the set is to be revealed, we warm up in anticipation, 1000 meters, fearing more pain Finally, coach takes his post at the head of the pool, and reveals unto us our next workout, As he reads, swimmers turn to each other in shock, with nothing but angry words toward our coach, SVY Saturday practice is no joking matter, but this particular day dragged, as 11:00 read the clock. We all thank our lucky stars for the freezing temperature of the water, And begin “at the top” (the start of a new minute), determination, or fear, on everyone’s face

As I begin to feel through the set, I focus on the feel of the goggles pressing onto my face, Funny, I think, that from all that food on Thanksgiving, on Saturday comes all this pain, Feeling broken already, as the infinite 100’s pass by, desperately to live, from my bottle I gulp water , As the minutes turn to hours, my mind can’t help but wander, straying from the path of the workout, Thousands of songs flowed through my consciousness like all those waves we make, only 12:00 on the clock The man at the end of the pool is the one we all tirelessly try to impress, Eric, my swimming coach.

“THE END IS IN SIGHT,” from the end of the pool theatrically shouts coach, These few words, spoken just in time, bring a grim smile to my face, Grim as I know “in sight” only means there is less than 10 minutes left on the clock, However, these 10 will bring to me and my teammates oh, so much glorious pain, Glorious, as we know these 10 will bring an end the monstrosity of this workout, As my body overheats, I attempt to warm down, wanting nothing more but to be shut of this place, of the water

As the clock mercifully strikes 1:00 and the 3-hour marathon workout draws to a close, I bid farewell to my coaches, and swallow down any remaining water, Exiting the pool with pain in my physical body, but with a much stronger character, and a smile on my face.