We shall bully raw iron 4 days a week. Three days a week we will trace ever expanding concentric circles on the tracks and paths around town, always asking more of our sinew that we suspect it can give. We will rest only to replenish ourselves and grow stronger.
Right now we are nothing but flabby sacks, softened at the edges by over consumption and vice. But I can feel something right in my core, something that flutters up through to my shoulders. I think you can probably feel it too. It’s a nervous energy, restlessness born of discontent, anger and shame. It is potential.
People always take about exercise like it’s a means to an end, as if true motivation can only be based on articulable, tangible goals. My motivation comes from a desire to channel my restlessness into physical exertion because that’s the only way I can stop it eating away at me. I know that as long as I never forget what that constant gnawing feels like, I will remain a single minded and double galvanised ball of sheer fucking willpower in a way that yo-yo dieting, New Year’s resolution setting, 15 minute Pilates enthusiast could ever appreciate.
Even if you do begin to forget what it felt like to be consumed by that burning desire to regain control, the routine will have become as natural and essential a part of your life as drinking water. You’ll realise there is no end, only the means to endure. Over time we will physically transform and become barely recognisable in comparison, but beyond the mirror and the wardrobe an even more profound change will occur. We will become walking testaments to the concept of mind over matter. Every part of your life will be enriched with the knowledge that there is NOTHING you cannot kick the shit out of, rend or remould should you want it badly enough.
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