Sometimes at the gym when there is line of people running of the treadmills I like to pretend I am in a Russian training camp like in the movie Rocky and everyone is being trained on machines.
"We're going to lose the fight," I think to myself.
Beyond the wall of glass seperating the runners from the outside I watch as a sweatshirt clad man runs by shadowboxing. From the corner of my eye I consider my silent and beefed up running partners.
"We've lost our heart."
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