Gym Story #2: Awakenings

Awakenings

Before reading this, you should read the first story in the series!

Joe plopped down by his kitchen table. His tortured body was finally at ease, but his mind was troubled. He sighed, passing his hands through his disheveled hair. Wherever upon the floor he gazed, a dark smear lied. His thousand yard stare had scorched the wood over the years, but unlike the ground, his mind had not been ignited by the fires of passion for quite some time. Here Joe sat, waiting for…something. He snatched an old dictionary from its shelf and fluttered its brown pages. Dust powdered the air, illuminating the dim light with flecks of white. The smell of aged paper produced a grimace from Joe, disturbing his daily mourning. Sensing this, Depression returned at once to caress his face, gently. Joe found it quite comforting. “Death…, decadence, decay…, despair…, deterioration.”  Though the dictionary was replete with colorful adjectives and compelling nouns, he saw only what he chose to. As he read, a wave of pain washed over him. He moaned in agony and rubbed his aching jaw. Glancing at the fridge calendar, he seemed quite displeased. “Tuesday …damn it. That’s two days from now.”

The pained tooth released Joe from Depression’s coddling hands. “Snap out of it man!” He shook his head, and stood tall. Quickly, he swiped some painkillers from the counter and grabbed a glass of water. “Ah… that

Regret: The Toughest Teacher

On Regret… 

 

More than anything else, I regret the time I’ve wasted on regrets. 

Mistakes and missed opportunities can be soul-crushing. One’s past should be a source of knowledge and wisdom for the future, but unfortunately, we sometimes let it dominate our present. Don’t relegate your fate to the past. That being said, everyone needs time to process their pain. Personally, I always let myself feel. I rest, cry, share, and write in order to deal with the emotions, but I do not repress my feelings. If, after some time has passed, I’m still saddened or hurt, I ask myself “Why?” To dwell on a mistake is to dwell on the emotions that flow from it. Doesn’t it make more sense to solve problems than to focus on how they make me feel? When I know it’s time to move on, I usually ask myself the following questions: 

  1. Was this really a mistake, or was it out of my control?
  2. What can I learn from this mistake?
  3. What could I have done differently?
  4. What can I do to remedy the consequences (How can I solve the problem that caused this)?
  5. If there is nothing I can do, how can I learn to accept the past?

If we don’t work toward a resolution, precious time is wasted. Regret kills motivation. After some time, you may start to withdraw and neglect your responsibilities. It will eventually destroy your discipline. As you

Nostalgia: How Much is too Much?

On Nostalgia…

 

Along with others of my generation, I have a fascination for earlier times. I often contrast my warm, comfortable childhood with my chaotic life today. Like old Polaroids, with their unique tint and unfortunate Red Eye, my first memories linger, however faded. I recall watching my brother play Super Mario World on the SNES, and I especially miss winter visits to Rockefeller Center. I couldn’t tell you exactly when these occurred, but I guess the feelings that remain are more important than the specifics that don’t. Sometimes, I even fantasize about the days before I was born. What was it like to walk around the rubble of the Bronx, or to see Commando when it first came out? Would I have been a punk, a Yuppie, or a b-boy? Those days are mostly known from the cautious tales of my parents. The 80’s and early 90’s were amazing, apparently. Anyway, I’ve been preoccupied with the past lately, and it’s caused me to reflect on my nostalgia. Where does this longing for the past come from? Is it unhealthy and unproductive, or a comforting reminder of where you came from? What is it about the 80’s and 90’s in particular that draws the attention of so many? Is this a non-issue?

A good friend of mine made a profound comment during a phone call yesterday. To paraphrase, he said that nostalgia is harmful when it arises from despair for the future. It’s true. The past is defined. The future is full

Gym Story #1: Charlie and the Steel Mill

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.