Another round of torture in the gym today. Back and biceps. Been trying to change things as of late. Different exercises. Different weights. I like to think it is working. Feeling much stronger. Much healthier. And it is a cheap, effective form of anger management.
Been fighting an odd battle with regret recently. I'm approaching forty and I'm in semi-decent shape for the first time in my life. I lift more than ever. I train longer. My back doesn't hurt. I can actually run for thirty minutes without collapsing. And I realize I spent the better part of twenty years not doing anything physically challenging. I thought I couldn't do it. Never really tried. And became a lethargic, uncoordinated computer dork.
All these feelings of regret and lost-potential burn behind my eyes. I should have done more. Should have tried harder. Should have wasted less time. Made something more of myself. Done more with my father. Maybe tried sports. Maybe accomplished something real, not digital. Something significant and lasting.
So I exhaust myself. Lift until I'm numb. Make up for those lost days. I never thought I'd bench more than my weight. I never thought I'd leg press more than five hundred pounds. But I can. And I do. Finding undiscovered pieces of myself along the way. Finding new limits, and breaking through them. It took almost forty years, but I finally feel alive. And in those moments, I am happy. Happy.
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