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A Hot Short Story

Featuring Jack Eyers, Paralympian

A Hot Short Story

Gym machines felt synthetic. I wanted back to the raw, to dance with the primitive, engage with the primary. Destination self. A human being, being human, hooked on the endorphins. Now Holiday meant no breaks. Summer meant working harder. No day off, Every day on. Packing for holiday meant filling my gym bag.

Muscle burn, not sunburn.

Summer heat. Summer Sweat. Total immersion. Heat of the sun. Burn of the body. Hot, measured in degrees of confidence.

I became my destination.

My training now meant something. Done on purpose, with purpose, for purpose. The fight was always with the enemy within. Quiet the Noise. Push harder. One more time. Do it again. Find pain, lean into it.

I showed myself no mercy. A lean clean fighting machine. Silent and complete. Lost in oblivion. Freedom found. The Wild Released. Sweat, proof I was alive.

Sweat the pain away. Drip from chin. Towel on dropped shoulders. Thousand-yard stare. Sweat. Glisten. Glow. Sweat more, shine harder.