A Strange Admission

For the past 5-6 months, I’ve been in a strong uphill battle, working on fitness, nutrition, and self improvement. As I covered in a previous post, I’ve been doing mostly sprints and body weight exercises.  This has worked well enough to help me shed some pounds and establish some muscle.  Two fellas moved in next door to me, and we took an instant kinship with each other.  They are a few years younger, and they both play instruments.  One of these cats is in very good shape and regularly goes to the gym, as well as doing other activities such as hiking, biking and fapping.  He talked me into going to his gym one night.  That was Thursday, February 21st.

I took a free day pass to my boys gym.  Using the beginner guide from Victor Pride’s Body of Spartan, I set out with my two amigos and started lifting the iron.  I had not lifted weights like that for about 10 years.  The previous evening, I came to a realization about weights and the gym that I hadn’t realized before.

I’m afraid of the iron and lifting weights.  It intimidates me.

Maybe that sounds like some lop dick, mangina kind of stuff,  but that was the truth of the matter.  It wasn’t an issue with “not liking gyms.”  It wasn’t an issue of people watching me struggle.  No one knows me in this city aside from a few cats.  Nope.  I was afraid of the iron.  That stark, cold, unyielding substance, unaffected and indifferent gave me pause enough to refrain from embracing it for around 10 years.

I’m going to do what?

I went out, I struggled, I pushed, grimaced, strained, and perspired like a stuck pig in a roasting pit.  I did the circuit and felt amazing afterwards.  Then the next day I could barely walk or bend over.  It was rad.  I love that feeling of accomplishment that accompanies being sore.  I took a day off then tried a free pass at another gym.  That Sunday was even worse as my body screamed, “Damn son, you used the shit out of me.”  On Monday, I purchased a membership and committed to spending 3-4 days a week in the gym.  I’ve been sticking with it so far, continuing to eat healthy, and walking on my off days.

I have a large body frame.  Thanks Grandpa.  I’m built to put on muscle, so I am looking forward to the strength gains and visual evidence of my lifting routine.  For documentation, I even took a selfie in the bathroom mirror about 3 workouts in.  I plan on doing this again in a month.  Taking a selfie is just wrong but for the purposes of science and evidence, I am enduring it’s shameful embrace.  I haven’t really looked at the picture, but I am pretty sure I didn’t make the awkward, contorted appendage with four fingers splayed across the front of my phone while I make ducklips at the mirror.  No, I’m almost positive I didn’t do that.

On a somewhat related, but different note, the place where I work has recently fallen into some financial hardship.  The details of that are not really pertinent to this here story, however, let it be said that layoffs have occurred and will be occurring.  At least that is what my boss said when he called me into his office the other day to find out, “what’s up with me.”  There’s a long story to “what’s up with me,” solely regarding work stuff, that would probably bring anyone to tears with boredom if they heard it.  That said, people around that place have their sweaty ass cheeks clenched tighter than the belt around David Carradine’s neck as he fapped himself to death while hanging.  Was that too grim?  It really is life or death to these people around here.  It’s to the point that I think everyone is wondering how many people they can throw under a moving bus at one time.

Case in point, as I was being threatened informed of the dire circumstances surrounding our place of business, one of my issues was quite surprising.  I was told “the other day someone asked me what’s going on with Rojo.  Apparently you were walking around the property at a very slow pace, no sense of urgency at all.”   I come to find out the reporter gave this observation to him earlier that week and it pertained to the two days after my first weight lifting session in 10 years.

“Wait wait, was that last week?”


“Oh you bet I was walking around gingerly, I could barely walk having just joined a gym.”

*Look of bewilderment.*

I’ll post the before / current selfie shots in a month or so, just to document that progress.


7 thoughts on “A Strange Admission

  1. “Then the next day I could barely walk or bend over. It was rad.” I think this is my favourite sentence you’ve ever written, but purely because of the unselfconscious double-entendre. Don’t worry. We’ve all been there.

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