Weights are heavy. That’s the point. I remember my first time stepping into the gym. As a scrawny track kid who had never seen the inside of a weight room, I tentatively walked into the football team’s afternoon lift. Out of the corner of my eye, I see what I could only assume was the weight of an F-150 getting deadlifted like a paperweight. I slid the tiny 2.5lbs onto the sides of the bar. As my eyes darted around the gym hyper-aware of my surroundings and everyone in it, I clipped on safety guards for my “warmup weight”. Gulping down my pride, I laid down on the smooth black leather and looked at the ceiling of the gym, contemplating my situation. I felt the grooves around my fingers mix with my sweat. In one motion I tightened my muscles, pushed the weight up, and felt my entire upper body light up in struggle. I fought to bench the 45 pound bench press bar for probably a minute. 

Because of my embarrassment about how much I could lift, I tried to spend as little time as possible in the gym. Every session was a sprint. As a runner, I was well acquainted with the boom of a starter gun. I pretended that someone fired one the second I entered, trying to slink around the gym unseen and as quickly as possible. I kept my eyes down and my earbuds in, trying to imagine I was somewhere else. I kept the breaks in between my sets to an absolute minimum. I hated the wait, the anticipation, the awkward scrolling through instagram reels, but I wanted results as fast as possible. 

I HATED THE IN-BETWEEN.

However, I remained undeterred by the smirks that sometimes followed me. I found the beauty in having no expectations because I never expected perfection. I was a beginner — a word that ecompasses both judgment and forgiveness. Everyone knew I was just starting and perhaps silently understood they could lift a lot more than I could. Yet, I also came to understand that it was never realistic to expect to excel at something I had never tried before.

No longer abject torture, I began to look forward to the days I went to work out. I didn’t rush to get stronger or worry whether I was doing enough. Each session was still done for a larger goal; yet, I now saw the value it had for its own sake.

I began to think that maybe in-between is okay. 

In my time at Berkeley, I have experienced my fair share of stress. It feels like everything everyone does here is in the name of their future. Internships, grades, clubs, and a million other extracurriculars plague the student body. Since arriving here, that special time between my sets is a safe haven. It is my favorite part of working out. As a Berkeley student most of what we do is for tomorrow. We are all making the leap to adulthood, and, as people, we’re choosing who we want to be. Those massive changes are uncomfortable. Sometimes I flashback to my days as a human string bean, trying to move through my workout as fast as possible. It’s only human. But, sometimes in-between is a rest from tomorrow. It’s an opportunity to appreciate the present. I get to sit down and breathe, and appreciate the moment in between my sets. If I only remembered the days I felt strong I don’t think I could appreciate the days I was weak. I want to remember how hard it is to accomplish something difficult, so I won’t judge myself and others when trying something new. 

I kinda like the in between.