It is 9:30 at night and everything in the small town of Danville is closed, including my gym. I grab a Gatorade out of the fridge knowing that will be the only thing I will want after working my body to exhaustion. With ipod and car keys in hand, I am anxious to get into my sanctuary. Starting the car, I plug in my ipod, playing songs I will not choose for my workout, saving those for the zone I will soon enter. My thoughts are of the constant pressure my parents put on me to ‘go to a great school, expand my options, and be successful’ as well as the fullness of the day’s events. But as I pull into the parking lot, I know they will soon be gone.

My eyes quickly scan the gym’s windows, checking to ensure no lights are on because I will not go in unless I can have the whole place to myself. I walk up the ramp and turn the combination of the lock box to get the key. Slowly, I unlock the gym’s door then wiggle the key out and return it to the lock box. I walk into the warehouse, which is my gym, close the door and breathe deeply as my mind clears. I find the speakers that will be the loudest and turn on my music full blast. On the scale, I check my weight to see the progress I have made from the night before then grab my workout book and start. The music gets me pumped and in my zone; in between sets I find myself bobbing my head and even dancing at times. While lifting weights, the silence is calm and peaceful, impossible to penetrate. As I hit my last rep and lower the weight, the music immediately floods back into my ears and I move to the next exercise. In this cycle only the exercise changes. Some