Current Weight: 247.4 lbs.
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Tough Mudder Countdown:
118 days
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Well, to put it lightly, I majorly fell off the wagon.
Stopped going to the gym, stopped working out for a few months, and as a result
I gained over 30 lbs. back. To make matter worse, for those of you who followed
my Savage
Race Blog, that was a much shorter and easier run Than this one I’m
prepping for...
Granted I did sustain a foot injury which is why I quit
working out until it healed, I just…kind of forgot to go back. Getting a new
job and moving did not help either….yea, being an adult sucks. SO! I’m upping
the ante starting tomorrow. I’m going to startup P90x again and finish the full
cycle this time around (all 3 months), and that’s just the morning. In the
afternoons I’ll be rotating on Monday/Wednesday/Friday developing a battle
ropes routine (Which I will divulge my evil plan as to what that routine is in
a later blog) and on Tuesday/Thursday, while joining some co-workers, run
around a local lake called Cranes Roost to help them prepare for another run I
helped my work setup for its employees called Hit and Run 5k. I’ve only
been back in the gym now for a week doing elliptical and a recumbent bike for
30 minutes a day at this point, so consider this my act of desperation to not
resort back to my old size.
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| Yes, I still have that helmet. |
Now to start this blog off, I’m going to
recall some wisdom I learned about working out from one of my favorite
musicians of all time, Henry Rollins, not because of his musical ability or
opinions of bands, but philosophy on life and a man’s ability to overcome and
achieve:
Iron and the Soul – By Henry Rollins
I believe that the
definition of definition is reinvention. To not be like your parents. To not be
like your friends. To be yourself.
Completely.
When I was young I
had no sense of myself. All I was, was a product of all the fear and
humiliation I suffered. Fear of my parents. The humiliation of teachers calling
me “garbage can” and telling me I’d be mowing lawns for a living. And the very
real terror of my fellow students. I was threatened and beaten up for the color
of my skin and my size. I was skinny and clumsy, and when others would tease me
I didn’t run home crying, wondering why. I knew all too well. I was there to be
antagonized. In sports I was laughed at. A spaz. I was pretty good at boxing
but only because the rage that filled my every waking moment made me wild and
unpredictable. I fought with some strange fury. The other boys thought I was
crazy.
I hated myself all
the time. As stupid at it seems now, I wanted to talk like them, dress like
them, carry myself with the ease of knowing that I wasn’t going to get pounded
in the hallway between classes. Years passed and I learned to keep it all
inside. I only talked to a few boys in my grade. Other losers. Some of them are
to this day the greatest people I have ever known. Hang out with a guy who has
had his head flushed down a toilet a few times, treat him with respect, and
you’ll find a faithful friend forever. But even with friends, school sucked.
Teachers gave me hard time. I didn’t think much of them either.
Then came Mr.
Pepperman, my advisor. He was a powerfully built Vietnam veteran, and he was
scary. No one ever talked out of turn in his class. Once one kid did and Mr. P.
lifted him off the ground and pinned him to the blackboard. Mr. P. could see
that I was in bad shape, and one Friday in October he asked me if I had ever
worked out with weights. I told him no. He told me that I was going to take
some of the money that I had saved and buy a hundred-pound set of weights at
Sears. As I left his office, I started to think of things I would say to him on
Monday when he asked about the weights that I was not going to buy. Still, it
made me feel special. My father never really got that close to caring. On
Saturday I bought the weights, but I couldn’t even drag them to my mom’s car.
An attendant laughed at me as he put them on a dolly.
Monday came and I was
called into Mr. P.’s office after school. He said that he was going to show me
how to work out. He was going to put me on a program and start hitting me in
the solar plexus in the hallway when I wasn’t looking. When I could take the
punch we would know that we were getting somewhere. At no time was I to look at
myself in the mirror or tell anyone at school what I was doing. In the gym he
showed me ten basic exercises. I paid more attention than I ever did in any of
my classes. I didn’t want to blow it. I went home that night and started right
in.
Weeks passed, and
every once in a while Mr. P. would give me a shot and drop me in the hallway,
sending my books flying. The other students didn’t know what to think. More
weeks passed, and I was steadily adding new weights to the bar. I could sense
the power inside my body growing. I could feel it.
Right before
Christmas break I was walking to class, and from out of nowhere Mr. Pepperman
appeared and gave me a shot in the chest. I laughed and kept going. He said I
could look at myself now. I got home and ran to the bathroom and pulled off my
shirt. I saw a body, not just the shell that housed my stomach and my heart. My
biceps bulged. My chest had definition. I felt strong. It was the first time I
can remember having a sense of myself. I had done something and no one could
ever take it away. You couldn’t say shit to me.
It took me years to
fully appreciate the value of the lessons I have learned from the Iron. I used
to think that it was my adversary, that I was trying to lift that which does
not want to be lifted. I was wrong. When the Iron doesn’t want to come off the
mat, it’s the kindest thing it can do for you. If it flew up and went through
the ceiling, it wouldn’t teach you anything. That’s the way the Iron talks to
you. It tells you that the material you work with is that which you will come
to resemble. That which you work against will always work against you.
It wasn’t until my
late twenties that I learned that by working out I had given myself a great
gift. I learned that nothing good comes without work and a certain amount of
pain. When I finish a set that leaves me shaking, I know more about myself.
When something gets bad, I know it can’t be as bad as that workout.
I used to fight the
pain, but recently this became clear to me: pain is not my enemy; it is my call
to greatness. But when dealing with the Iron, one must be careful to interpret
the pain correctly. Most injuries involving the Iron come from ego. I once
spent a few weeks lifting weight that my body wasn’t ready for and spent a few
months not picking up anything heavier than a fork. Try to lift what you’re not
prepared to and the Iron will teach you a little lesson in restraint and
self-control.
I have never met a
truly strong person who didn’t have self-respect. I think a lot of inwardly and
outwardly directed contempt passes itself off as self-respect: the idea of
raising yourself by stepping on someone’s shoulders instead of doing it yourself.
When I see guys working out for cosmetic reasons, I see vanity exposing them in
the worst way, as cartoon characters, billboards for imbalance and insecurity.
Strength reveals itself through character. It is the difference between
bouncers who get off strong-arming people and Mr. Pepperman.
Muscle mass does not
always equal strength. Strength is kindness and sensitivity. Strength is
understanding that your power is both physical and emotional. That it comes
from the body and the mind. And the heart.
Yukio Mishima said
that he could not entertain the idea of romance if he was not strong. Romance
is such a strong and overwhelming passion, a weakened body cannot sustain it
for long. I have some of my most romantic thoughts when I am with the Iron.
Once I was in love with a woman. I thought about her the most when the pain
from a workout was racing through my body.
Everything in me
wanted her. So much so that sex was only a fraction of my total desire. It was
the single most intense love I have ever felt, but she lived far away and I
didn’t see her very often. Working out was a healthy way of dealing with the
loneliness. To this day, when I work out I usually listen to ballads.
I prefer to work out
alone. It enables me to concentrate on the lessons that the Iron has for me.
Learning about what you’re made of is always time well spent, and I have found
no better teacher. The Iron had taught me how to live. Life is capable of
driving you out of your mind. The way it all comes down these days, it’s some
kind of miracle if you’re not insane. People have become separated from their
bodies. They are no longer whole.
I see them move from
their offices to their cars and on to their suburban homes. They stress out
constantly, they lose sleep, they eat badly. And they behave badly. Their egos
run wild; they become motivated by that which will eventually give them a
massive stroke. They need the Iron Mind.
Through the years, I
have combined meditation, action, and the Iron into a single strength. I
believe that when the body is strong, the mind thinks strong thoughts. Time
spent away from the Iron makes my mind degenerate. I wallow in a thick
depression. My body shuts down my mind.
The Iron is the best
antidepressant I have ever found. There is no better way to fight weakness than
with strength. Once the mind and body have been awakened to their true
potential, it’s impossible to turn back.
The Iron never lies
to you. You can walk outside and listen to all kinds of talk, get told that
you’re a god or a total bastard. The Iron will always kick you the real deal.
The Iron is the great reference point, the all-knowing perspective giver.
Always there like a beacon in the pitch black. I have found the Iron to be my
greatest friend. It never freaks out on me, never runs. Friends may come and
go. But two hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds.
Source:
That being said, wish me luck!
Will
\m/
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