Metaphorically Speaking

When the announcers calls my name confirming that I'm on deck,
My breath gets heavier as if bricks were pressed against my chest.

The buzzer goes off and lets me know it my turn to go,
like my 5:30 alarm clock telling me its time to begin my day.

I tighten my wrist wraps, as if I was a heroin user,
anticipating the high I've been waiting for all day.

These nerves feel familiar, as I walk onto the 8 x 8 wooden platform.
It feels like I'm on a roller coaster approaching the first huge drop.

I look down at the bar, close my eyes, and just listen,
as if I were a Buddhist sitting in a full lotus, focusing on my breath.

I open my eyes and grip the bar tightly with both hands,
 as if  my hand were thirsty, begging for a drink given by the metal.

I look up and see the bright lights shining down on me.
Black dots cover my vision, as if they were trying to hide the crowd.

So nervous that my body feels as if was shrinking,
wanting to shrink out of sight.

I can feel the platform squeezed against my feet,
 as if my shoes were a beggar and the wood a warm blanket.

All the emotions sprint to the front of my head,
like if someone pulled the trigger and the race was on.

I look back down at the bar and remember
everything I've practiced and been taught by my coaches.

I take one final look at the those black dots in the crowd,
grip the bar as tight as I can, and pull.

From the second I pull to the second the bar is over head,
it feels like a magician waved his wand, and now I'm on my way up.

Every time I perform a competition lift, I feel nothing or remember anything,
as if I became Jason Borne on the platform,.

I drop the bar and turn around looking for the 3 white lights,
same way I use to look at my parents when they opened my report card.

I walk back to the warm up room proud, but humble,
And then the routine restarts for the next lift, beginning from the first line.