See me...

Most people see me
and say "nice pecs,"
or, "what do you bench?"

I want that you will see more...
look deeper.
Do you know iron,
or speak the language of cardio?

When you see the striation in my hamstrings,
or the network of blood vessels
just under my skin
pulsing with my heartbeat...

When you pass me
and say "freak"
behind my back and
under your breath…

How can you possibly know?
How can you understand me,
my life of choice,
or the lengths to which I will go?

Imagine the effort of thirty five years...
Ten thousand miles of breathless roadwork,
hear the clang of tons of iron moved,
or feel the heat... of an endless fire?

Look into my eyes.
See the lines on my face,
and the angular precision of the
abdominal tie in to the hip flexors...

Triceps and biceps...
and the Latin names you don’t even know,
for all the muscles you forgot,
long ago, in middle-school gym class.

See the calloused hands and feet,
the strands of muscle in my neck.
See the time spent under a load.
See me.

See past the twisting muscle and look deeper still.
Don't be like everyone else...
Don't ask me the same crap everyone does.
Ask me... 'Why."