I’ve never thought about this, my reasons for my obsession. Let alone articulated via words on the page.
This is truly a loaded question.
There is no final sentence or last page in this journey…
I’m talking about the quest for strength. Mental, physical, and emotional.
But primarily physical. Through the method of moving thousands of pounds of iron 5x weekly.
It’s called powerlifting.
3 movements. The squat. The bench press. The deadlift.
I don’t train to look pretty.
Yes, I want to look good naked.
However I train to be the last man standing.
All go and no show.
I’ve found in life the most honest things are training, fucking, competing, and therapy.
In all of those things, if you don’t bring it, you’re wasting fucking time.
In all of those things, if you don’t bring it, everyone knows.
I don’t understand people who say they don’t have time.
They just don’t want it bad enough plain and simple.
Yeah, it hurts and you get hurt but you fucking heal and go after it again unless you’re a pussy.
You sweat and get dirty. Oh well.
For me, hands and shins tell the truth. My hands and shins are always jacked up but it shows I put in the work and that sets me apart from most of you who are content with being just who you are.
I want more. I want to be the best version of me I possibly can.
I know I sound like a snob and that I think I’m better than you and you’re right. I’m a mediocre lifter however I fucking put in the work.
Nobody can take that from me.
Anybody who puts in the hours grinding away gets exactly what I’m saying.
The method doesn’t matter.
The will does.
I love knowing that when you’re sleeping I’m alone in a cement box, soaked in sweat, trying to squat an amount of weight that could crush me if I fuck up.
I love knowing the bar might crush my chest or face on a max effort bench press.
Because I train alone. I don’t need people cheering me on. I don’t want community. Stick your encouragement up your ass. I motivate myself. I am the one I can count on. I’m not a team player. I know if I’ve failed.
My therapist says I like to fight. She’s goddamn right.
I fight myself everyday. To get out of bed, to get through the day.
I am not soft.
I’m not the strongest.
I’m not the fastest.
But at my core I know exactly who I am and what I’m capable of and that’s way more than most.
I want to feel everything.
Live to the fullest.
This makes me a better person.
From the ages of 18-23, I had a problem with what you could call Class A Narcotics.
At 23, I just stopped. No meetings. No detox. No rehab. No methadone.
You motherfucking bet your ass I’m arrogant about that.
I think of all the time wasted with reprehensible behavior.
Shit that makes me sad and my skin crawl to think about.
It took 2 years for my body to bounce back. I gained weight. I felt disgusting.
One night I was driving someplace with my mother and we hit a spot on the road and I felt fat jiggle on me and I was horrified.
That’s when I started.
There were lots of missteps, wrong turns, bad methods but I never stopped.
Not fucking once.
Right before I turned 30, I had a tumor removed from my throat.
That’s a story in itself.
Less than 24 hours after the surgery still fucked up from anesthesia, I was in the gym squatting heavy.
In the last 10 years, I had the iron to see me through my worst.
Something I realized recently is that all my favorite lifters have been in the game upwards of 15-20 years minimum.
I’ll get there.
I’ll get exactly what I want because I want it that bad.
I’ll put in the reps and the hours.
It’s time well spent.
I spend hours reading manuals and watching videos to educate myself.
This shit is a form of art to me.
I don’t record clips of myself lifting.
I don’t whore my passion in hopes of a sponsorship.
I don’t need the validation of others.
This is intensely personal to me.
If I travel, I find gyms to get my sessions in.
This past X-Mas day, I was dead-lifting at 0700
Oh there is a wedding?
You want me to sit there all docile through you’d better hope I get a session in first.
I’m going to get old like everyone else.
But I’m going to do it with grace.
And I will look fucking good.
On my worst, saddest, blackest days, when it hurts to breathe, I still lift.
I won’t ever stop.
Some of you will read this and call me angry, arrogant, bitter, stuck up.
I am all that.
I’m not the nicest person.
I’m an outright mean fuck at times.
I am what my world has made me.
I am ok with it.
I am my passion.