New entry. Here’s the link.
New entry. Here’s the link.
Before I begin, I rummage with my eyes a cold grill with the intent to feed on anyone who steps in my personal space. Anyone who glares at me from a distance gets the fuck you look as well because I share this gym with the rest of everybody. I forge my right to be here by the numbers, by the purpose of colossal concentration, by the visualization of the day and the body action at night. I grip the steel of the dumbbell and I surge with immeasurable power before a single rep has been executed or an exercise exercised. It all starts in the mind.
It may be the luck of being a woman, or a dependent on the man, who stands in front of me, but, there are times where I display my puppy dog eyes big and wide and remain uncomplaining, waiting by a bench like a sit dog sit until their hearts soften and they pass the bench along to me entirely without a moments hesitation. I thank the stranger and smile with a queen’s happiness and during his training session I’ll boost his ego (and he’ll train harder) for being nice to me by staring him up and down attentively while he strengthens his temple.
Now I’m seated with an angry face and underneath my baggy shirt from the mirror I can see my muscles working, how glorious they look, tenacious, pumped and embellished. To the left of me, I gaze at my arm in motion, performing an incline bicep curl nonchalant as taking a selfie in public. To the right of me, an array of men peers onward with a combination of riddled emotions and contemplated expressions.
And in the background, there’s a woman highly amused by the numbers on the weight I’m lifting. She can’t for the life of her stop looking at my face and the unleashing of effort that cannot be contained. She can’t stop watching the way I grate my lips with violent teeth noticing how my mouth turns sweltering red when I come close to failure.
Who knows if it’s out of delight
she observes or
if the very thought
of my passion
gives her nausea
through her eyes?
What I love about the Training Life is being able to control what I do when I do and how I do it. I have no problem putting in the physical work. (The nutrition work and finding what works with my body’s chemistry is something I’m still practicing on.) However when I fail, I know it was because of me. When I win, it’s because I did it all the same.
I think it’s safe to say that at times it’s a love and hate relationship. I believe it all depends on your passion and perspective. I don’t expect life and it’s golden glory to come to me in rose-colored glasses. But I play the game with the wisdom I own through my upbringing, values, principles, work ethics, philosophy, discipline, faith, character and training. Every time I train, I’m hardened and at full recovery at all times.
I never stop believing in myself or what and how I can do for myself. It’s all a mental game. A game brimming of mental individuality and of mental independence. You stand alone. You keep faith. You hold on. And I do. Through the good, bad, fucked up and ugly. As long as I work, no matter how big or minimal the pivotal points of my life may become I know the only way I can and will go is forward with whatever my heart, soul, spirit and mind is set on..
Speaking of which, what I really love is when I touch/poke/feel my body and I can sense the curves. A flashback shoots in my mental rolodex, of the pain, sweat, agony, burn, anxiety, anger, loathe and sick punishment I put myself through to twitch all these slow, medium and fast fibers. It’s human sculpture at it’s best. It’s acquiring your character to be: Chiseled. If I sit a certain way or stand, the curves of my muscles flex and I can visualize everything much more clearly. It sets me back to focus. The desire, compels and consumes me under my fat and the hard work I put forth is slowly coming through.
And this makes me so in love.