Overman (Short Story‪)‬

I walk through a pair of plate-glass double doors, pause and breathe deep. Before me, neatly arranged in a maze of mirrors and stainless steel, a gallery of machines whirs and hums. Blink and beep. Among the machines I see legs pumping, chests heaving, faces twisting with effort. The air rings with the clank of lead plates in a nearby weight room, in the cardio room the high-frequency keen of a bank of TVs airing sports, music videos and CNN Headline News. The floor shakes--vibrations of the whump-whump-whump of an aerobics class downstairs. Dance music, piped through a PA and full of bass, drowns out all other sound: "Move your body; move to the groove; you can do it if you let your body move it." I know the song well: Digital Orgasm's 1980s techno smash, "Groove Train." It's poetry. Spent exercisers pass me on their way out, wiping themselves down with towels, and nursing bottles of Gatorade. They smell like effort and fresh sweat. This is the stuff. For those of you new to the party: life is one big Becoming. Ongoing evolution to a better body, a better state of mind.