Weights rustic and heavily used laid at rest, quiet and calm, patient and strong, as if they were waiting their turn for their attempts on stage. Resting benches restless, next to squat racks rack-less. Dirt surrounded the platforms like pyramids on sand. Molder walked over two platforms smoothly and without hiccup, almost as if he was gliding over them as his long black New York coat would sway out behind him like a super hero of sort. Molder kneeled down slowly while at the same time taking off his shades and revealing his open eyes to an empty monster energy can. Crippled and cracked, used and abused, dirty but shinny, the green monster can was evidence that these new Weightlifters were truly monsters. Monsters that needed to be stopped from the destruction of commercial gyms, mediocre goals, half ass trainers, elitist articles, excuses, unhappy people walking down society's road while people pleasing others, and so much more. For a low bar is the heaviest bar to be lifted.
Scully leaned over the right side of Molder balancing her weight on his left shoulder while picking up the dream chasing evidence, and carefully with the tips of two weightlifting clips, dropped the empty monster can into the evidence bag that proved evidence that Weightlifters in American work fucken hard, know about hard work, and use hard work to achieve bigger and bigger weight each day, month and year. Dusty equipment in a unknown dome, drinking warm sugary energy drinks is all we need. Other countries can live and train upon their standards, we will live within ours. I truly believe that America is the greatest Weightlifting team, and has the greatest of athletes, coaches and the best of community.
Molder and Scully then proceeded to walk out from your garage.