i grew up as the fat, always chubby, always chunky, always told it was baby weight, kid. At the same time, i idolized men like Arnold, i saw them as demigods among men, marveling at the amount of effort that was needed to push them to such levels. So came my junior year o highschool. I started lifting in a weight training class, nothing serious. I was expecting to balloon up, but that didnt happen. I researched terrible forms of knowledge to try and figure out what was going on, why i wasnt becoming this 300lb monster in this year of weight training.
Just before summer started, i became infuriated with myself, despised my body. It was too fat, it wasnt strong enough, it wasnt good enough. I became angry. Slackened in my lifting at the gym, allowed the demons that plagued my mind to also best my body. I had damn near given up hope. Up until one day. I believe it was the first day of summer, i honestly cant give you a date because i dont remember. A friend of mine was driving, one of the first cars in my group of friends. We were all happy, laughing…and suddenly we were plowed into by some guy doing 60 or so while taking a left turn.
My friends car, a dinky little 2 door, was demolished, and i was not in much better shape. I was placed into coma, with a collapsed lung, punctured lung, and nearly blinded on both eyes (the 1 inch scar above my left and below my right eye can attest to that. When i came to a week later, and was actually able to recall things a couple weeks after that, due to the drugs i was hopped up on, i was told facts about the accident.
Was told one of my best buddies, of whom i had known for 12+ at that point, had pulled me from the car, had gotten covered in my blood, and had sat in the emergency room with my blood staining his hands, waiting to hear about me.
Something triggered at this point, something clicked. I vowed i would never be weak again, i vowed that the next time, the sorry car that hit me would be in worse shape than i. And i kinda fell into bodybuilder a couple years later.
