Day 31: How working out has saved my life

"Train insane, or stay the same"

This is the story of how working out has saved my life.

I’m the first one to admit that I have a bunch of problems. I don’t need anyone else to list them for me. Well, first off, what they list are things that they thought are my problems. Things like, I’m a smart-ass, I’m cocky, I look down on people, I don’t talk or too loud (idk how these things go together…), I’m weird and I’m annoying. Technically, it’s all true, and I do apologize.

But if anyone cares to look further (and by the way, maybe like two or three(?!?) people have), those problems are just the surface, caused directly by other layers of stuffs that are either very real, or in my messed up mind. I can tell you all about it if you want, you won’t, and this post is not about that.

Anyways, two years ago, I was in a dark place. When I mean dark, it’s like 100% dark chocolate dark, thousands feet below the ground dark. My family, if you can call it that, is still falling apart. My friends didn’t feel like my friends, and I later find out that they’re not. My girlfriend cheated on me and lied to me about it. Coupled all of that with stuffs I still haven’t recovered from, that was a great recipe for some disastrous feelings. I was seriously contemplating suicidal thoughts. Heck, I attempted many times. It was to a point where I seek physical pain and make my body to get addicted to it, just so I can ease my mind from whatever was bothering me that night. I cut myself. I threw myself into walls. I bit myself. It was a daily thing, and looking back, it was dangerous.

I understand why I wanted to do it though. The mental pain must be subsided, and since the brain can only focus on one thing, thus the physical pain must be present. I knew that right then, but I was too childish to harness all of that into something more positive and mainly, less destructive. Jeffrey, then, was trying to work on his biceps, and Christian was always pumping out some hardcore muscles. One day, I came to the gym to shoot some hoops and wandered into the weight room. It’s the single best fifty feet I have ever made in my high school career. I saw Jeffery and Christian in their competition, curling Fifty pounds on each arms and doing it 20 times. Imagine how I would try to pick up that fifty pound? Stop lying. I didn’t pick that up. I couldn’t.

That first day, I was curling ten pounds for ten reps or whatever. Then I did a thirty second plank, a thirty second sit-up and a thirty second wall-sit.

I didn’t hurt myself later that day.

I hurt myself enough.

I love working out. I still do. I used to work out everyday, and now, every other day. In a sense, it still means that I want to hurt myself physically, but now at least I’m doing it without actually hurting myself. The adrenaline rush, the torn muscles, the tiring arms, the horrible soreness the following day are all part of the pain, and the joy, and the distraction I need. I don’t work out to show off. I don’t work out to impress others. I work because it’s the only way I survived, and continue to survive.

If it wasn’t for that fifty feet I made that day, I might not have made it.

So the next time someone asks me “How do you even like to work out all the time?”

“I’m just saving myself” – I would laugh and joke to them

But they don’t know that it’s the truth.

                                                                                                                                       Yours,