"It is not the critic who counts. Not the man who points out how the strong
man stumbled or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit
belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by
dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short
again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions;
who spends himself in a worthy cause. Who, at the best, knows in the end
the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, at least fails while
daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those timid souls who
know neither victory nor defeat."

- Theodore Roosevelt

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Sunday 110313

Rest day

Tough torn hands,
dripping drops of burgundy blood.

Suffocating skin,
releases rolling, slippery sweat.

Despite all desires and doubts,
heads remain up and eyes on site
of the goals and dreams ahead,
ready to never give up this fight.

white creamy chalk,
coats a haggard but heavy barbell.

However, heavier than the bar,
is your heart beating furiously in your chest,
and whilst your mind is saying stop,
your heavy heart will take no rest.

No matter what the pain or discomfort,
and no matter how deep you've fallen into hell,
remember nothing can be as peaceful as after you conquer
the blood, sweat, and barbell

-Kevin Bowles 03/11
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