I set the weights down, grabbed my towel, and walked into the locker room.
Sitting down, I removed my socks and shoes and pulled off my top. I stood up and pulled off my gym shorts and jockstrap. I put my sweaty clothes in my gym bag, grabbed a clean towel, soap, and shampoo, and walked into the showers.
It wasn't a regular day of practice; only Hank and I had come in, and we'd worked out in the gym after we'd done laps on the field. I could tell he was steamed about something, but I didn't ask about what. He had finished first, and it looked like I had the locker room to myself when I came in from the gym. I took a quick shower and pulled on my briefs and some baggy shorts and an athletic T, and there he was, right at my locker before I had gotten around to pulling my sneakers on. There was fire in his eyes, and he slammed my locker closed with his fist.
It was a slow night at Iron Works Gym. Outside the rain pounded the parking lot and washed away the remnants of what had been another routine day. Another routine day in a long, line of routine days.
There were only a few guys working out that night and we were all scattered into our own workout zones. The clanking of plates drowned out the music the gym played but no one seemed to care. Most of the guys in the gym that night were listening to their own tunes on their Ipods and in 'the zone.'
Jason Walters, 178 pound high school senior and wrestling phenom finished showering and changing and grabbed his gear to head to the parking lot and go home. As he passed the wrestling practice room, he noticed the light was still on and the door was open a crack, so he pushed it open to see his coach bare-chested, in just his shorts and bare feet, doing takedowns with an imaginary opponent.