Clouds of chalk
and the thought of how sore
my aching muscles
were from the past
hour and a half float  
about the heavy, humid air.
 
“Ready?” my coach asks,
pulling me back to reality.
I notice the exhausted
look on her face.
I nod in response,
throw my arms back,
lunge forward,
and mount the low bar.
My legs fly
over the top of the bar
to front support.
The high bar
looks down at me–
intimidating me.
 
I tuck my legs up
so that my feet
are on the bar,
I stand up with my head held high.  
With a simple jump, swing,
and long gust of wind I mount the high bar.
Once I have a steady swing
I feel a burning in my hands
like I had put them on a hot stove top.
I let go of the the bar
and with a smack
land on the floppy mat.
I lift my hands to see to quarter sized holes
in both my hands.
“Nice Rips!” my coach cheers.
Confused, I say thanks anyway.
 
As I sit there taping my hands
I think of not just how sore my muscles were
now my rips were too, my first rips.