Machines going up and down, side to side, back and to the front.
Guys scrunching their teeth as they pull the bar closer to their chest hoping the muscles would get bigger in no time flat, while the girls look cute, doing small weights, trying to keep firm, compact, and be like the present a somebody would want. With the occasional giggle added in for good measure.
Somewhere, on the other side of the tracks, are the pedaling people with towels over their shoulders, sweat dripping out from their ankles and wrists, perking their rears with that juicy jell-o still hanging about.
Muzzled within these "huffs", "nghngh" and "ahhh" lies that music you hear when you're drunk and about to pass out. Beneath that, the bucket of bolts assembled for human pain.
They say metal hurt. Yet we enjoy it so much.