Hi, my name is Richard and I am an addict.
An iron addict. I am drawn to the bars and the dumbbells. The desire to pull, lift and press the iron starts deep inside me and tugs and tugs until I go and lift. If I don’t lift, something bad will happen.
The addiction is strong and infiltrates many aspects of my life. I find myself looking at everyday objects wondering “can I lift that” or “how quickly can I climb that” and sometimes “how far can I throw that”. Then I remember I am in a supermarket and not on the battle field of my life: the gym, where all things must be lifted. If I don’t lift, something bad will happen.
I judge people, wrong or right, on how strong they look: can they be useful, can I take them, can she defend herself, could they help me if I needed them to, are they capable physically. Do they care enough to be strong and if not, why not?
I can’t imagine a life without some form of exercise that challenges me.
If I fail to to pay homage to the iron Gods with sacrifices of sweat and intensity then something bad will happen: I’ll be weaker and weaker is not for me.
I maybe an addict but this addiction sharpens my mind and forges my body.
Stop lifting? I’d rather die.