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“I’ve been having this recurring vision... In it, there’s this
fishtank--it calms me. I see a small speck floating on the water, and
as I look closer, it’s me... I’m atop the waves. There’s water as far
as the eye can see, yet I can’t drink. Not a drop. I taste salt in my
mouth. I taste the bile. My thirst is great and it hangs around my neck
like a chain. Eventually the weight drags me under. I’m drowning... I
struggle, flail, kick... Then suddenly, I sense the familiar cold, hard
hand of iron. I grab hold and pull myself up. Brothers, this world is a
vast sea but one thing remains fixed, constant... This iron. This
calling. This thirst.” |
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"Am
I fat?" This, brothers, is the million dollar question. We've
all been here, face to face with this moment, this dilemna. I am at the
crossroads...
I turn to look at my
girl and wonder what I'm gonna say... Do I tell her the truth? Do I
lie? Do I avoid
question? My mind is fucking blank. Shit, seems like not a week goes by
without her asking me
this same exact question. Thing is, I can see where she's coming
from--as I'm shedding
the fat, her insecurities are probably piling up. This is life with a
bodybuilder. Anyway, I go for option three. What do I have to lose?
"Check the mirror," I
tell her. "Mirrors don't lie." She storms out of the room. Yep... I'm
fucked. Let's face it, people have funny relationships with mirrors. In
dressing rooms, in bathrooms, in bedrooms, people
are parked in front of the mirror like they're at the fucking drive-in.
They're staring, checking every last inch of themselves out. Yet these
same people judge bodybuilders as being vain. Shit, talk about irony.
While
bodybuilders may have complicated relationshps with mirrors, there's a
reason we're looking. The mirror is a tool. The mirror is my worst
critic. It doesn't bullshit me or kiss my ass or stroke my ego. It
tells it like it is. It is fucking relentless. Only a couple weeks to
go... I'm so close, I can taste it. I look in the mirror. I'm about to
ask it a question...
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How
do you stay ahead of the competition? How do you stay ahead of the
curve, keep the waves from crashing down on your fucking head? It ain’t
easy, brothers, it ain’t easy... A couple weeks out, and I am depleted
and sore. My head is fuzzy, my body is weak, and my limbs are worn.
Dieting and cardio is taking it’s toll. Times like this, I dig
deep--gotta tap into my reserves, that last bit of fuel at the bottom
of the tank.
Times like this, and we all face ‘em, you gotta put your foot down.
Don’t take any shit from anybody. No distractions. No complaints. No
excuses. Yeah, I’m gonna floor
this fucker until I’m flying down the road, drowning out all the
senseless noise and shit, accelerating towards my destiny. Crank up the
music, roll down the windows. It's time to put the pedal to the metal. Yeah, to get a leg up, you need to put your foot down...
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Hour
after hour, minute after minute, second after second... Time passes but I’m fucking stuck. It's like I'm
running and running on
a treadmill, going nowhere. It's like I'm floating in the ocean, paddling
with my arms and making no progress... I’m holding my breath, waiting
for something to happen. That's when I wake... Yeah, it's all a dream.
In my recurring dreams, there's a lot of water--water everywhere. Maybe
it's
because I'm keeping my sodium high. Maybe it's because I'm drinking a
shitload of water, having increased it in preparation for that
inevitable drought... Damn, that raw, burning thirst is not something
I'm looking forward to. Who the
fuck knows? Anyway, when I'm
awake, I don't have time to dwell on water. I just gotta keep chugging
it down. I just gotta keep cranking out the reps, one after the other.
Each one is a step that brings me that much closer... And I'm so
fucking close right now.
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