Anyways, I just read an article over at one of the fitness (natch, bodybuilding and powerlifting) websites that I frequent and felt compelled to perhaps clarify some points in my own story.
Reading about Bartl's physical transformation struck a chord in me. No, I never did smoke, blow or drink. But I was pre-diabetic, grossly, morbidly obese and worse than all of those: I wished that I was something else. Here I use wish in a pejorative way. I hate wishing. I despise wishful thinking. People who preach "positive energy" and "positive thinking" make me want to throw things. But what is more damning than all the rest is that I wanted to protect my fragile ego. I would alternate between lying to myself and pretending I wasn't disgustingly fat or saying that I was fat but I was strong and thus it was OK. (I was not strong. Only among Asians would a bench-press of 350 pounds be considered strong.) My genetics didn't allow for me to be fit. Mom's food is too good. I have to go and eat with these people to fellowship with them. I'm fat for the cause of Christ!
Rationalization.
From where I am in 2008, I am most merciless, most brutal, unloving, unforgiving, unkind, rough and arrogant towards those who rationalize in my presence. I mock them. I belittle them. I shove them around and injure them. I am only describing. What I have done is not justifiable by any means. This is simply a statement of facts.
I act this way because I am a thousand times worse towards myself. I do not point to my mother's delicious cooking, the racial anguish of my earlier years, Satan, sunspots or generic geekiness as the cause of my struggles with insecurity and obesity. I point solely to my soul, a sick, twisted, hideous mass of rationalizations and softness.
If you have read Bartl's story on T-nation, then I can tell you I changed myself the same way; extreme hatred and anger. Towards myself. Towards the sick, disgusting bag of flesh that I carried every day. It is something that those who have always been or fit can understand. Those who have never wrestled with themselves can never understand. There is no possibility of that. They do not understand what it takes to stand before a mirror and grab a roll of fat and say:
"This is disgusting. This is fat. This is the sign of a sick and
trembling soul. Do not be gentle. Do not go easy. Indulge yourself in truth's
toxicity. Inhale it deeply. Let it kill you. Make it kill you. If it does not
kill you, then gorge on it until it hurts. And then take another bite. Make sure
you die. You like eating don't you, worm? You're nothing but a useless maggot, a
vile, spineless, worthless load of trash. If you love to eat so much, eat
TRUTH!"
I would do this nightly and make sure that any sense of ego I had was annihilated. It was not easy. It was painful. But it was the most worthwhile thing I have ever done in my life bar-none.
Hatred. When I ran my daily 4 miles in the morning, heaving and panting and flailing wildly at the air trying to drag myself through each step, would any of my readers understand what kind of things I would say to motivate myself? It was motivated from pure hatred. I imagined myself an overzealous lunatic monk of bygone eras whipping myself. When my sides hurt from stomach cramps, I imagined a fit, muscular, lean version of myself thrusting a spear into a fat, soft, quivering version with a face contorted in sadistic hatred. There will be no mercy. I want to hear the old, soft child in me squeal and cry out in pain and I wanted to tear that boy apart limb by limb as lions tear apart gazelles on the Discovery Channel. No mercy. Much pain.
And much fear. I wonder if my church-mates understand why it is that I do not join them for a post-church lunch anymore. It is an old hatred I have. And it is a very new fear. As Bartl said in his own words, so I say in mine. I think that many who have went through this same journey as I live with a constant fear of relapse. Perhaps it goes away after a space of years or decades but perhaps not. Who is to say? When I see a donut, a cookie, some cake, ice cream, there wells up in me a tremendous fear that I will taste and enjoy. That I will do so tomorrow. And the day after. And so on until I'm crying years later, enveloped in a sea of flesh asking how I could have let this happen.
Here I am no longer battling myself. I am fighting everybody. I am fighting a nation, a civilization. I am fighting the human instinct to gorge and gather. I love my parents but they are the worst. "Oh honey, why don't you enjoy yourself a little? Just be careful when you exercise. Be gentle and do it slow..." What do they know of reactive-strength, speed-strength, explosiveness or hypertrophy? Their concern is touching but I am always gruff in my response. And the eating habits of nearly everyone around me... Intolerable! How can you eat fast food and enjoy it? How can you ask me to partake? Did Daniel have to endure this in Babylon's embrace? No, I will never step inside a Panera, Uno's Chicago Grill again. No more.
Don't get me wrong. This is not a war against obesity that I am waging. This is a war against rationalization and excuse making. This is a war, an all-out, brutal, total war against softness and mediocrity. My rebellion is against these suffocating forces in society. My hate is for this and the way I see it in myself.
I will admit many sins here. I am not gracious when I find people who remind me of who I used to be. I will freely say that I do not always have a desire to help them. Very often if they are guys I will have an insane desire to hit them and beat them viciously. If they are female, I want to ignore them and trample over them as one may walk in gardens over the lives of ants and worms. Sometimes I want to reach out and help and rescue them from their lives of mediocrity and meaninglessness. It's a struggle I have. This is complete honesty. I am often ungodly and a sure sinner when confronted with people who are as I was.
Only in the past week or so have I realized that the pendulum has swung too far. I am too hard. There is no soil for love in this heart of mine. But now having seen the problem, I will work towards correcting this issue.
But it is not a reversal. The pendulum metaphor only has a limited application. It would be better to think of Hegelian aufhebung, sublation and synthesis. Hatred and hardness were the most important things I learned in the past half-decade. The pain I felt in my heart from that break-up stirred up much that had been waiting to explode. I am incredibly thankful for it. But now having hurt others I see the new direction to go in. The hatred and hardness cannot last forever. That season is coming to its close. I believe the hatred will at some point in the near future boil away and leave beautiful resolve in its place, sterner than steel, stronger than stone, steadfast. Steadfast. This fear of regression must be overcome. At some point, I will realize that I have not had a major setback these past 5 years and I must continue to push higher and onward without slackening my guard. Popeye's Fried Chicken and latte's should never again enter my allowed-to-consume list.
Enough talk. Talk is worthless. Get your ass in gear, Lee.
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