Charlie and the Steel Mill
“Whew, hey ma! I’m in a rush, the gym’s about to close in an hour, and I gotta finally get this done. Love you, bye!” Charlie hung up and kept on riding through the parking lot. He knew today was the first step on the path to becoming an Adonis… or at least whatever the Indian equivalent was. His face was covered in sweat, and his posture faltered as he hopped off his longboard and scurried up the stairs to the gym. He was a skinny young man, with a weak jaw and even weaker arms. After climbing three flights, he forced open the large steel door to a long hallway. It was late, and there were only a few veterans using free weights. He went up to the desk to sign in, and as he was about to continue, the desk assistant came. “Enjoy your workout!” she cheerfully exclaimed. She had jet black hair, and an air of confidence that was both refreshing and motivating. At least, that is all that Charlie could gather, as he only looked from the corner of his eyes. He shyly nodded in her general direction and opened his mouth, his voice cracking as he attempted a greeting. His heart now racing, he briskly scurried away to the locker room.
After changing, he walked a straight line to the nearest bench. It was all he knew from the few attempts he made to lift at school. As he arrived, he noticed a milk jug filled with water on the floor. “Hey!” he heard from behind. “Hey man, I got like just two more sets. You’re welcome to work in if you want!” Charlie swung around, his eyes immediately focusing on the man’s prominent nipples. Charlie had only seen neon string shirts in old movies and never expected to witness one in real life. His eyes struggled between glances at his mountainous chest and the man’s peculiar haircut. His hair stood like short tufts of wheat grass, neatly placed in the holes of a slightly reddish bowling ball. “Yeah? Are you sure, I mean I don’t have to um… use…” The man’s mouth cracked open with a luminous smile. “Hell yeah! Of course man! I’m Joe, nice to meet you!” Joe swung his massive arm and violently shook Charlie’s. “Come on, let’s see what you got!”
“Let me just fill this jug back up, and I’ll give you a spot!” said Joe. As he turned his back, Charlie reclined on the bench, quickly grabbing the bar. He had not heeded the fact that there were two plates on each side. He heaved with all of his might, his body squirming like a worm. The weight briefly hovered, and then slowly came down to his chest. Dread filled his heart, and he was only able to take shallow breaths. After a few moments of silent panic, he finally gave up, his posture collapsing. Contemplating his final moments, and the events that lead up to an untimely death in the gym, Charlie saw a shadowy figure block the lights above him. “Hey, this is way too heavy for you. Have you done this before?” Joe hoisted the bar up, and suddenly appeared pensive; he proceeded to row it for a set of five. “You’ve got a lot to learn kid, and I’m newly unemployed.” He gave Charlie a pitiful look. “I’ll tell you what, if you’ve got what it takes, I’ll give you some pointers to get you started.” Charlie was speechless. He was weak, but he wasn’t stupid. He needed the help, and this was an opportunity to learn from the best. He took it.
“Ok, here we go kid. Now, you gotta warm up before you start doing any kind of weight. Get the blood flowing. Here, start with the bar.” Charlie, still internally shaken from earlier, approached the bench slowly, with newfound reverence and respect. He lied down, grabbed the bar, and eased the weight off. “Good Charlie, there you go. Keep your elbows from flaring out! Forty-five degrees, come on. Three…two…one…great!” After many form corrections and much advice, they finally moved on. “Listen, Charlie, you’re doing really freaking great for a beginner, but chest and arms aren’t the only muscles. In training, and in life, you need some kind of balance. Train the top, train the bottom, train the mind, develop discipline, and most importantly, just…freaking…WORK. Got it? Alright, we are going to do something called the deadlift. Look over there.” Joe gestured towards a gentleman in the distance. Charlie was immediately struck by what he saw.
He had never seen so many plates on a bar, and he certainly didn’t think the man was capable of lifting them. Standing in a halo of smoke at five and a half feet tall, the stranger resembled a humble crusader of olden times. He was cloaked in a chalk-covered hoodie, the cowl resembling a monk’s hood. His hands were wrapped in white cloths, several blood stains apparent. In Charlie’s mind, the man’s archaic weight belt once accompanied a large steel claymore (Charlie was a bit of a nerd). The man closed his eyes, making a quiet appeal for strength. He clapped his hands once, the air once again consecrated in a divine fog. He hooked the bar with an alternating grip, anchoring himself to the floor. With a startling burst of strength, he pried the bar off of the ground like a hydraulic jack, locking his shoulders back at the top. He then did the impossible; he repeated the motion five more times. Charlie was amazed. Never before had he seen such an impressive display of strength. As the man removed the plates from his bar, Charlie glanced at Joe, who was on the verge of tears, a large smile betraying his tough exterior. However, as soon as he looked back, the man was gone. “Who was that? Where did he go?” questioned Charlie. “No one knows.” said Joe; “He never really talks to anybody, and he’s usually in and out in an hour. I’ve never gotten a chance to introduce myself.” Charlie swiveled his head, but the man was nowhere in sight. He shrugged (his traps were tiny) and they moved on.
Eager as always, Charlie quickly walked over to the deadlift platform, but before he could get there, a strangely dressed man appeared. He wore a polo shirt with the collar popped, and his jeans were heavily faded, like his hair, which lied under a starched baseball cap, sticker and all. As Charlie stood next to the bar, the man grabbed bumper plates and started loading them. Charlie meekly turned away, downtrodden by the man’s unconcern. He’d had quite his share of characters. Before he could leave, Joe stepped in. “Hey man, we were here first.” A reasonable man, Joe proposed an alternative to confrontation: “We could all work in, what you are going up to?” The man briefly turned his head, his eyes sizing Joe up, finally locking in an uncomfortable eye contact . He chuckled lightly and continued loading the bar, “Nothing you could handle.” Joe’s brow furrowed; he knew what he had to do. “Look Chaz, or whatever the hell your name is, you wanna go? Right here, right now!” Charlie, having seen this clichéd trope before, moved away. “My name isn’t Chaz, asshole! It’s Jason! You wanna fucking boogie? Alright, warm-ups to 405 then we have a lift-off… Ah, how rude of me, is that too much for you?” Smiling intensely, Chaz’s eyes shot to Charlie, “Go get your sidedick, oh sorry, sidekick to help you load up; I don’t want you to get tired before we get to the good stuff. Too angry to respond, Joe gritted his teeth and loaded up the first set. A winner had to be declared, it was a battle between the forces of good and…Chaz.
Soon, the bar had four plates on each side. The two men were going for singles (not unlike Charlie). Sweat beaded down Chaz’s Lighting Strike™ sideburns as he struggled to keep his grip. At 435, it was a struggle, but through sheer spite he managed to grind the weight up, his mischievous smile igniting Joe’s face. Chaz cranked his elfish chin toward Joe and dropped the weight with a tremendous roar. He flexed as hard as he could, veins bulging from his neck. Joe knew that this weight was close to his limit. However, he also noticed Chaz’s form breaking down. “It’s now or never.” Joe thought to himself. He quickly grabbed two ten pound plates and slapped them to the bar. His shins and hands were bloodied. He was unsure about the previous two sets, let alone a weight beyond his personal best. Undeterred, Joe walked to the bar, awaiting judgment. He had to calm down. In this hall of heroes past, the weight was the ultimate arbiter, the decider of victory and defeat. He had to focus.
Calmly breathing, he had a moment of realization. “Do I really have anything to prove to this guy?” he said under his breath as he simpered. He had one goal and one goal alone; lift the bar. Drowning out the clanking of the weights around him and Chaz’s trash talking, he solidified his core and bent down. As he braced his body, he wrapped his fingers around the bar, his arms now taught. With a sharp breath, he pulled with all of his might. His face flushed a new shade of red, and as he edged his way off of the floor, his knees slowly drew together as if an invisible lasso tightened between them. Despite this, he gritted his teeth and continued upward. No longer did he have a solid grip, as the bar was now on the second knuckle of each finger. It slid upward along his legs. He was on the threshold of both collapse and conquest. As he had done with his mind before, he took a moment and silenced his shaken body. Charlie couldn’t look; he could not stand the second-hand embarrassment of Joe’s loss. Charlie cracked open his eyes. Amazed, he mirrored what he saw. There stood Joe, with the weight in his hands, beaming around, smiling at himself in the large mirror before him, and finally looking at Charlie. He dropped the weight only to stare at his leathery hands. He walked a few paces, finally slumping over a bench. He forcefully collapsed and hit his head on the way down.
Laughing hysterically, Chaz clapped. “What a little bitch.” he said, as he walked away. “You passed out, you lose. Hey kid, put those weights away will ya? I got a hot date with your mom tonight.” Disregarding Chaz’s empty comments, Charlie snapped back to Joe. Joe’s eyes slowly peeled open, and he awoke to an offered hand. There stood the mysterious lifter from before. He had an air of piety about him, and his generous smile put every witness at ease. “I saw it all, and I must say, you have some impressive willpower. I’ve seen people move all kinds of weight, but you really showed perseverance. Is this your jug?” Joe, dazed, nodded with his mouth slightly open. He had finally met his gym idol, and yet he could not think of anything cool to say. “Well, it’s nice to see that spirit again. Don’t worry about what that idiot says; you were the winner. The name’s Geoffrey, but you can call me Ajax.” “Ajax?” Joe questioned. “Was he really named after a Greek Hero?” he thought. “Yeah, I got that nickname a long time ago because I was very good at cleans. You know, Olympic cleans? Ajax was a soap… well… it’s not really important. Anywho, I must be on my way, it was very nice to meet the two of you. I hope to see you all here again.” As silent as he came, he disappeared into the now dimly lit gym. Suddenly, the loudspeakers blasted: “ATTENTION: The gym is now closing, have a good weekend everybody. Please rerack the weights and clean up your benches.” Charlie and Joe just looked at each other. They said their goodbyes, and wondered what gains the next week would bring.
Special Thanks to Bhudpaul Dharamraj (The Thumbnail Model) and Hector Naranjo (Photo Editing)
Next: Gym Story #2: Awakenings