From Recursion
A not unfit guy at my gym, probably ten years younger than me if I had to guess, asked me for a spot a week or so ago. Then struck up a conversation, which might have been his plan all along, I’m not sure. He’s a very regular member, I know him well by sight, no idea at all what his name is. Pleasant enough, chatted a bit about the weather as he reset his bar and added a couple plates. He very quickly steered the convo toward working out, fitness, and my routine.
“You bench every day, right?”
“Pretty much,” I told him. Not boasting, objectively true.
“What you got on there—one fifty?”
I said it again. “Pretty much.” Was that objectively true? Probably not—but I don’t boast, you see. One fifty—and it wasn’t one fifty, it was one sixty—was my speed rep. That’s what he’d seen. It’s what I bench when I want a high rep count, pumped out fast, but it was nothing close to my max. Benching double that wouldn’t be a problem.
I could have easily told him all that, and indeed a lot of people probably would have. Maybe most people would. But most people aren’t focused, lasered, on self-improvement. So I don’t coddle insecurities, I don’t indulge personal weaknesses. I don’t boast.
As I’ve mentioned, my physical transformation was only part of it. I needed to change my entire being. So my behavior, my thought processes, the ways I act and interact with others—these all had to change as well.
I am faultlessly polite. Humble. Charitable and helpful. No one can find a fault, any fault, with my personality.
I don’t normally speak of these things—the words I’m writing are the first I’ve ever really betrayed on the subject. I don’t betray much, as I imagine is becoming clear.
And I’m not entirely sure why I’m doing so now, unless it’s because I can sense that my time is drawing near. That it’s nearly time to set out to do what I’ve been preparing myself to do.
Almost time, that is. I’m almost prepared. Just one more change in myself to will into existence. It’s all mental preparedness from here on out.
Twenty years ago my rock bottom included the closest I’ve ever come to death. It included days and days of physical, and mostly psychological torture. It consisted of things I still can’t explain.
I can’t be sure of how much I’ve been running from those events (I’m scrupulously honest about the things in my makeup I’m unsure of). I can’t imagine it hasn’t had some sort of effect on me.
But either way, it doesn’t matter. If I’ve been running, then I’m done running. I’m going back there.
