Recorded

He arranged his phone atop aerobic steps on a set of black risers. The barbell sat in the walkout zone of a squat rack. He turned around, and gestured for me to take out my headphones.

“Do you mind if I record you?” he asked. Off my confusion: “I’m recording myself. You’re in the shot, is that okay?”

“As long as you don’t mind looking at me,” I said.

“I don’t care. It’s so I can check my form.”

I shrugged; he pressed record, hinged at the hips, and began to deadlift. I thought it was a good idea he decided to record himself.

No. 105