Home alone. What do teens do when they’re home alone? Throw a party? Sure, I’ll throw a party. I gather my two Bulgarian bags, one thirty-seven pounds and the other twenty-six pounds, and rest them on the floor near me. I take my shirt off and take off my necklace. It’s time to get wild.
I warm up by jumping around and doing burpees. My computer is playing AC/DC in the background. I gather a light sweat around my frame. Now it’s time to make it rain. I walk over to my computer and switch the music to Korn. I started doing pushups, focusing my efforts on pushing my shoulders forward, working my scapula to get the full benefits. This stage is equivalent to chatting up the guests and warming everyone up. By my fortieth one, I start yelling out to push myself all the way to fifty. The party animal has entered the house.
I get up and start my rest period. More sweat is pouring off my body. The party animal is surveying the situation. The desire to party hard is strong, the scent is in the air, and the music is right. I begin my next set. This time, it’s an effort to work up to twenty-five. The party animal screams his pleasure, “This is my favorite song!” The party disease has caught on and the rest of the guests tap into their inner animals.
After my set, I grab my light Bulgarian bag and start swinging it around my shoulders, roaring. This is the best party that has been thrown in ages. It reaches its peak as the heavy bag is picked up for military presses. And with each high, must come a low. The party starts kicking back, chilling out. I cool down with another set with burpees, doing as many as I can within the course of a minute and a half. The song ends and so does the party. The guests say their good byes to each other and I leave my room for the shower. Everybody goes to bed and I wash the sweat off my body. “That was a roaring good time,” I say to myself.