In the Dark of Night

Last night when I found myself lying in bed unable to sleep, the clock said it was 2am. The house was dark and quiet. My little girl, who'd watched something scary then begged her way into my bed, slept peacefully beside me, taking up far more than her fair share of the bed. I shifted positions. My muscles were hurting a little. Nothing serious. I was calm but wide awake and motivated, despite needing sleep, as if extra testosterone had snuck in through the dark. I slipped out of bed and went quietly into the weights room, the extra bedroom in our little house that I have commandeered for exercise.

I stood in the doorway for a minute. I wished I had a soft light, a dim light, maybe a colored light, instead of the bright overhead. For that moment, my weights room seemed as much a place of peace and spirit as a place of sweat.

I sat down on my incline bench and slowly looked around. I considered every item in the room, every weight, dumbell, my exercise cycle and mini-fridge, everything. I realized that somehow, the space where I lift weights has become the temple of my future. A suburban back-room shrine to the glory I can be. This is the place where I shape the big blob of clay I call my body into something formed and healthy and powerful.

I wanted to work out. Right then. Even with my aching muscles. I wanted to do Arnold Presses until I couldn't lift another inch, do bent-over rows until my whole leg trembled and my arm refused to move. But I can read the internet as well as any other single-mom overweight self-training wanna-be: I knew if I did that, I would have interrupted my recovery time. I would be putting off the time when I could go back into full-on building again on those muscles. The temptation was strong, but I told myself that rest is part of the discipline, too. I really want to do this right.

After awhile I decided to do something constructive. I opened a box that had my fractional plates, took the packaging off, put them back in their neat little cloth pockets. I went and found the shipping box with a weight plate-tree, opened it up and put it together. I made plans for other changes in that room.  I'm going to add a shelf and put exercise books on it. Maybe encourage myself to get some videos. I wonder who I can convince to buy me that awesome Schwartzenegger bodybuilding book for Christmas. Maybe I can find the move that I 'made up' in it, and see what it's really called.

I had a protein drink and realized I'm half on a liquid diet lately. I'd rather eat real food, obviously. But I'm new to this, and if it helps me keep down carbs, keep up protein, not be hungry, is vitamin fortified, and beats my not eating at all, then I'm not going to complain. "Do the best you can, where you are, with what you have, and live another day to do better."

I laid back on 'the Bean' cushion and did some long, slow, very gentle rocking with my obliques and abs. It was strange... more like a meditation than an exercise. Like I just felt like 'communing' with my body. For some reason I remembered an old account I read from George Harrison (of the Beatles), talking about being in a rowboat on the sea and starting to sing 'My Sweet Lord' and getting so into the zone with it. I felt like I could do that all night.

I realized that if there were a soft light and comfortable place, I would have curled up in there to sleep instead of going back to my bed. It was a sudden warmth for everything: for the whole room, for my equipment, for my body working on it, and for the spirit that finally, thank God, truly moves me to do so. I wanted to curl up and drift off in the feeling of rightness I felt blooming inside me.

I did a lot of imagining during the night. Imagining myself getting thinner, getting stronger, getting 'cooler'. Imagining the room itself reflecting my ambition. Imagined putting tons of those mirrored squares on the main wall, and maybe some pics of great body-built bodies on another, and gradually building up my equipment so I can do more than free weights, too.

Somehow when I'm in that room, working hard, I feel like for that moment, I am taking my life back. Really doing something powerful. Man, it's sure long past about time. That reminds me of my favorite quote about this. It's from Charlie Moody, on misc.fitness.weights as quoted by Mistress Krista over at Stumptuous. As one of those people who has spent most of my life not having a life because I was doing what I thought I "should" do, it just really hits home with me.

I look in the mirror: if I see any trace of the sad, exhausted, pale, weak, fat, whipped wage-slave desk-jockey I used to be, I'm ready to lift some weight. I'm reminded of my sister (nothing personal), who's spent her life doing all the stuff other people want her to do, and all the stuff she figures she should do. A couple of weeks ago, she asked me with tears in her eyes when would it be her turn to have a life and do what she wants? All I could tell her was, "It'll be your turn when you get off the hamster wheel and take a fucking turn." It's up to you. No one else. You'll find the time to work out when you DECIDE you're gonna work out. You'll eat and rest and take care of yourself because you decide you deserve it, you need it, you want it, and NO ONE is going to keep you from it. Not even you. I'm a beginner, too, and no-one's gonna watch what I eat for me, no-one's gonna lift an ounce of my weight. I can make up any story I want about it, but stories are bullshit: I can be a warrior, or I can be a victim. For the warrior, no excuses; for the victim, only excuses.

Yeah. What he said.

When I'm lifting weight, I feel like I'm the boot-wearing, butt-kicking soldier of my own fortune. The feel of heavy metal in my hands, of sweat dripping off me, makes me feel like the kind of person I always wanted to be, but until now wasn't sure I could be. Someone who takes their destiny into their own hands and rocks a hard press until they've shaped themselves, and their lives, into whatever they choose.

For me it's not just pumping iron; it's pumping life into my body and my future with every rep. I'm not just building my muscle here, I'm building my character. An "iron will" -- yes. Damn right!

Weight lifting rocks.

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