Diary of a Freak

I’ve been called many things in my life. Coward and liar has never been one of them. I pride myself on having a no bull**** honest opinion on life and training. I don’t sugar coat ****, cause when you swallow, they both taste the same. In saying all of this I think its I time I give you an honest insight into what makes me… me.

Most of you won’t like what you read, but I couldn’t give a **** honestly. I write, you read. No pressure.

I believe in keeping it cold and hard. I believe that you need to look the part. I believe that if you get to use to creature comforts, you become an instant pussy.

I believe in free weights and steak. **** the machines with adjustable chairs and designer sushi.

I believe in wearing battle gear when I go to train. By battle gear I mean clothes that can get dirty, I can sweat in, wipe the blood of my face and occasionally blow my nose in when I can’t breath. I do not believe in prissy color coded outfits. This is a battlefield, not a ****ing meat market.

I believe in leaving your mobile phone in the car. Pulling your cap down low, and pushing the volume up high. I do not believe in picking up women or making friends at gym. I do believe this is why I go through life alone. I believe that the more focussed I get through time, the lonelier i will become. I believe that one day I will get so cold that I will not feel. This is the only way to push through "alone".

I believe that the above statement is wrong. But **** anyone that agrees. It is my emptiness and my opinion. And thats all that matters.

I believe in keeping my word, but not giving it often. I believe that a man can only call himself that if he lives with honor. It might not be societies honor, but live by your own version of it. I believe a man should be rough and strong, a leader, an animal, an entity you not dare cross. I also believe in having someone to balance that with your intellectual softer side.

I believe as much that I am a blunt object as I do that I am razor sharp and adaptive to any circumstances. Thing is, I do not let circumstances dictate me. I dictate it.

I believe that most of us preach this way of living, but few follow it. If you are one of those, get the **** of my page. I believe in going to battle with 50 willing and hungry for the truth, then 50 000 going through the motions.

I believe in keeping my emotions stoic, unless I am alone. I believe in confronting those demons only when I am certain there will not be collateral damage.

I believe in God, family, blood and fear. I believe it is better to be feared than to be loved.

I believe in doing things my way, however long and unproductive they might be.

I believe in the people that have stuck with me for this long, my brothers in iron. I believe you will achieve your goals. I believe I will better mine. If you don’t, again… get lost.

I believe pain is the greatest teacher, and time, the greatest healer. I believe in a soul mate and I believe in the lessons of past relationships.

I believe it is this attitude that has made me successful in business and training and that same attitude that has kept me locked in an emotional fortress. I believe that this is my destiny and without sacrifice, I will never be better than the day before.

I believe most of you will disagree with me, I believe some will be angered and some will even pity me. Do not, as I am liberated enough to say that I believe in these things out of free choice, not forced propaganda.

I believe my heart is happiest and my soul freest amongst the steel and sweat.

I am thankful for those that subscribe to my way of thinking and envious of those that don’t. In being as free as I am, one has to chain yourself to those things that in essence make us believe we are free.

Strength and Honor

The gods have a funny ****ing sense of humor.  Tonight, I bumped into my EX. The same one I waited for, for close to 3 years. Same one I was engaged to, same one that once told me she could never feel safe in my arms. The gods have a funny way of motivating a person.

After she picked her jaw up from the ground as she hasn’t seen in about 35 pounds, she told me that this is the best I’ve ever looked. Right there I felt disgusted. Who the **** do you think you are… You see, by definition, "the best" is that point on the bell curve that means you cannot better yourself. You can only get worse. Think about that for a minute. Nothing can ever get better than the best. It was at that moment that her buck fifty new boyfriend with the designer Nike gym kit rocked up. About the same moment that beast that lies waiting in the depths of my depraved soul came up for air. The same time that I started doing reps with the 65 pound dumbbell bicep curls.

It scared them. **** it scared me. Not seeing them or feeling the rage of past humiliation and pain (I like to hold onto that - only thing that makes me feel alive. **** you - its my pain, I deserve it) what scared me was thinking about that term the best. Then it made sense to me, in this sport we should never strive to look our best, just better than the day before. So **** your best - may you never get there.

Finish never is…

Strength and honor

I’m writing this post from my newly acquired hospital bed. Nothing serious, too much creatine, protein, too little water and a leg session straight outta hell has dehydration written all over it. I’m just in for a quick oil change. Which leads me to my twisted thought for today…

I’ve just spent the last 30 min being lectured by some skinny ass ****er in a white coat. Telling me how obsessed and pathetic I am. Telling me that training is not mean’t to give you discomfort… What the ****?!?!?! He has obviously not tasted iron the way I have. Tonight I saw a side of me that scared this **** outta myself. A side that knew it needed to quit and get some fluids in, a side that knew I’ve over-revved  my motor. The more that side forced its way into my session, the louder the call of the weights became. I could not walk away… disgrace myself and forfeit this day’s battle. 52 leg workouts. Thats all we ****ing have every year. Just 52, knowing that, could I really leave and let the wheels fall behind… Never.

Sure, now I’m hooked up to some glucose drip wearing a skimpy white hospital outfit (that I need 2 of to cover myself) sitting here tapping away while I decipher the unwanted and ill-conceived stares from patients and staff alike. Sure my body hurts and I can feel every hair on it ache and beg for the white flag. The nausea of the shake I had before I came here is as present as the ****ing stench of bleach through these tortured halls. Tortured halls…. hearing people moan and shout with pain… I almost feel like I’m back in the gym

Sitting here typing this I am blessed with a massive smile. A feeling of well being and content. The feeling no drug can give, just knowledge that you left it all on the field of battle. The knowledge that again, you’ve pushed your body past its physical limits. That feeling sinks deep as I tell my legs to get use to this new place… because no workout will ever be less again.

Strength and Honor

I’m writing this post from my newly acquired hospital bed. Nothing serious, too much creatine, protein, too little water and a leg session straight outta hell has dehydration written all over it. I’m just in for a quick oil change. Which leads me to my twisted thought for today…

I’ve just spent the last 30 min being lectured by some skinny ass ****er in a white coat. Telling me how obsessed and pathetic I am. Telling me that training is not mean’t to give you discomfort… What the ****?!?!?! He has obviously not tasted iron the way I have. Tonight I saw a side of me that scared this **** outta myself. A side that knew it needed to quit and get some fluids in, a side that knew I’ve over-revved  my motor. The more that side forced its way into my session, the louder the call of the weights became. I could not walk away… disgrace myself and forfeit this day’s battle. 52 leg workouts. Thats all we ****ing have every year. Just 52, knowing that, could I really leave and let the wheels fall behind… Never.

Sure, now I’m hooked up to some glucose drip wearing a skimpy white hospital outfit (that I need 2 of to cover myself) sitting here tapping away while I decipher the unwanted and ill-conceived stares from patients and staff alike. Sure my body hurts and I can feel every hair on it ache and beg for the white flag. The nausea of the shake I had before I came here is as present as the ****ing stench of bleach through these tortured halls. Tortured halls…. hearing people moan and shout with pain… I almost feel like I’m back in the gym

Sitting here typing this I am blessed with a massive smile. A feeling of well being and content. The feeling no drug can give, just knowledge that you left it all on the field of battle. The knowledge that again, you’ve pushed your body past its physical limits. That feeling sinks deep as I tell my legs to get use to this new place… because no workout will ever be less again.

Strength and Honor

I’m writing this post from my newly acquired hospital bed. Nothing serious, too much creatine, protein, too little water and a leg session straight outta hell has dehydration written all over it. I’m just in for a quick oil change. Which leads me to my twisted thought for today…

I’ve just spent the last 30 min being lectured by some skinny ass ****er in a white coat. Telling me how obsessed and pathetic I am. Telling me that training is not mean’t to give you discomfort… What the ****?!?!?! He has obviously not tasted iron the way I have. Tonight I saw a side of me that scared this **** outta myself. A side that knew it needed to quit and get some fluids in, a side that knew I’ve over-revved  my motor. The more that side forced its way into my session, the louder the call of the weights became. I could not walk away… disgrace myself and forfeit this day’s battle. 52 leg workouts. Thats all we ****ing have every year. Just 52, knowing that, could I really leave and let the wheels fall behind… Never.

Sure, now I’m hooked up to some glucose drip wearing a skimpy white hospital outfit (that I need 2 of to cover myself) sitting here tapping away while I decipher the unwanted and ill-conceived stares from patients and staff alike. Sure my body hurts and I can feel every hair on it ache and beg for the white flag. The nausea of the shake I had before I came here is as present as the ****ing stench of bleach through these tortured halls. Tortured halls…. hearing people moan and shout with pain… I almost feel like I’m back in the gym

Sitting here typing this I am blessed with a massive smile. A feeling of well being and content. The feeling no drug can give, just knowledge that you left it all on the field of battle. The knowledge that again, you’ve pushed your body past its physical limits. That feeling sinks deep as I tell my legs to get use to this new place… because no workout will ever be less again.

Strength and Honor just

1 (one) is a number, numeral, and the name of the glyph representing that number. It represents a single entity, the unit of counting or measurement.

Today I felt the power of one. I’ve been battling to get back after being sick. Forcing down one meal after the next. Pounding out one rep at a time. It took one awesome session today and everything fell back into place. Its like I could see the entire puzzle from a distance - I could see my progress and what was needed to finish my master piece. One session - it was like someone flicking a switch.

Contemplating that on my way home while I was knocking back a whey shake it became clear to me how such a "small" number makes the biggest ****ing difference in the world. It takes one look from her and you know its meant to be… It takes one stolen kiss, one white lie to ruin a lifetime of trust. It takes one moment of losing concentration to lose a life forever. It takes one gesture for a war to stop… or start. It all begins and ends with one.

In life I have realized you only have one you can really count on. You. You start this crazy ride alone and you end it alone. You will meet people that will have a profound effect on your life, but only if YOU allow it. Its all you. One. Singular.

Think about this concept the next time you warrant that ONE cheat meal. Or the next time you just can’t get that last ONE rep out. One changes lives. The next time you hug your kid. Share a moment with your old man. One makes all the ****ing difference. Do you really want to go through life always being one behind? Neither do, but truth is, it happens. Stand up with me brothers. let rage and honor guide us. Let the pain of giving in to that one, forever ignite the fire burning in your soul… and when you do lose out to that one, as we all will, know that you have an army behind you. We fight with you, we fight for you when you cannot. Rise up, take back that one. Its yours…

Strength and Honor

I spent the last few days lying in bed recovering from bronchitis. It gave me a lot of time to think. If you know me, you’ll know that time alone with my mind is not the best thing around. I have a knack for overanalyzing ****. I am also really good at making myself feel guilty for things out of my control. Thats a big word, control. We spend our lives trying to get it. In our diets, in our workouts, in everything, we need the control like we need to breathe.

5 days of thinking later, and I am no closer to knowing why, than I was when I started my decent into my version of Dante’s inferno. It could be the fear of the unknown. Yeah, lets, go with that. As bodybuilders we do our best to avoid that… the unknown. We pack our own meals, keep shakes in our car and stuff every ****ing orifice in our world with amino’s and vitamins - we call it an insurance policy. In case **** gets messed up and God forbid we miss a meal. You don’t wanna be in my way when my sugar level drops. Hell hath no fury baby! This is how we deal with fear of dieting.

Training wise, we are very reluctant to change up what works, and why should we? It works doesn’t it? But do we know the value of experiment? I’ll level with ya, I know we need to change it up, but **** that, what if I do it and it has an adverse effect??? Hell no, I’m good thanks.

This is the sick **** that inhabits my mind. It’s like an extended version of "lord of the flies" or something. No wonder I’m single. The only things that seem to matter to me is getting big. Oh and my company, I need to keep the bills paid and egg rack full. Besides that, I don’t venture any further, not because I don’t want to, but honestly, what ****ing difference does it make. So I’m complicated, I have a lot going on I tell myself. Lying in bed I tried to "understand" that. I tried to "get" us bodybuilders. Surely there has to be a middle ground. It can’t be all black and white… can it???

Then is hit me like a quad cramp at the squat rack. What if we analyze everything too much. What if we "look" for something that just ain’t there. Arkhams Razor is a theory that tells about the simplest option usually being the right one. It got me thinking. What if **** ain’t that complicated. What if it is what it is… it is what it looks like. Nothing more, nothing less. In that thought, I found some solace. I am not that complicated. I am a simple being. I require simple pleasures. As long as those 5 days was, that quickly i realized, I am what I look like… nothing more, nothing less.

Strength and Honor

Last night I took my little brother to train with me. By little I mean age and size. He’s like a buck fifty with weights in his pocket, but he pushed harder than most of my training partners in the past. This got me thinking about when I started out. I wasn’t much bigger, but I was hungry. I wanted to be part of that brotherhood so badly. My confidence was low and I didn’t really have a place to "belong".

I found that place amongst the twisted steel of a small town gym. I would buy FLEX and spend hours researching the "big boys"! I took a lot of **** from friends in my pursuit to become "big". They laughed their fat asses off when I told them that one day I wanted to be… I couldn’t even say the word bodybuilder as it evoked more laughter. I followed my dream in silence. Crafted my weapons in darkness.

Then a few years later I weighed 190. I thought I was HUGE, hahaha, man those were the days. So I secretly started telling people I didn’t know well I wanted to be a bodybuilder. It was easier to tell them, their laughter didn’t hurt… as much. To this day I hear the laughter. It fuels me. Now seeing as we are sharing here, I might as well tell you that my dream of competing was grossly overshadowed by the want to be called "bodybuilder" by one of the big boys at the gym. I yearned for it. I just needed someone to nod their head in approval. I needed some confirmation for all the work I’ve done. ****, I needed someone to silence the laughter.

As my training improved I started to "get" this game. Its got ****-ALL to do with the opinion of others. It’s got ****-ALL to do with how much you weigh and even less about who sees you putting in the work. It’s got to do with pushing yourself as far as YOU can go and even beyond that.

When I adopted this way of thinking the craziest thing happened. In passing at a gym a year ago, one of the "big boys" of SA bodybuilding, struck up a conversation with me about how the gyms do not cater to us… Us bodybuilders. When I heard that, I remembered the little kid that started this journey. In a fleeting moment I saw him in the corner of my eye… Smiling, proud, big.

I am a bodybuilder and if you’ve read this far… So are you.

Strength and Honor

Driving to the office this morning, I went through a particularly bad neighborhood - I saw kids with gang tat’s, dressed up in bling. Baseball cap on backwards. Looking tough. I observed them challenging everyone and everything passing them by, myself included. Takes a lot for a kid no older than 16 weighing a buck fifty to challenge me. Did he really want obvious beating he was gonna get… No. What then… He wanted street cred. He wanted to show his boys he could take on anything, that he was the one to be feared. I just walked past, so I guess, yeah - he got it. To his peeps, he was the man. The things we do for street cred. Today its talking smack, tomorrow its running smack… Who knows.

Credibility is something far greater than respect. People don’t have to respect you to know that you are a credible threat. I saw that today. That kid didn’t have an once of self respect, but through my actions, or lack of, he received instant credibility. Problem is, that type of credibility leaves as quick as it comes. One day that kid will overcook the grill.

Getting ready for gym I realized that as bodybuilders we can dress like the stereotype, shave our heads and do all the other things one comes to "expect" from bodybuilders. You can grunt and groan in the gym. You can lift heavy weights, eat cows and juice like there is no tomorrow. You could have 25" arms and more veins than the amazon river… Sure you will have the "street cred" to an ill informed onlooker - but its only that. Superficial credibility. Fake respect… and be sure, the day will come that you will also overcook your grill.

What we do is for us. We train for no one else but for us. We motivate us. We put the hours in for us. We sacrifice when their is no one around to see. Do you think that punk would have called me out if we were alone? Neither do I. So brothers remind yourself that we chose this life for a reason. To live it with the honor and dignity that it instills in us. The discipline it teaches us. The same discipline that taught the Columbo’s and Coleman’s of the world. They have the real cred, that type that lasts long after they do.

Inevitably we all find ourselves wanting to bark louder than the dog next to you… Hold yourself back. Focus on getting the job done. Moving the weights and soon enough… you won’t even have to bark.

Strength and Honor

I went trout fishing with my folks this weekend. It was great to get away. Get some sun, re-align my mind to the challenges ahead. I actually caught three on my 1st attempt. As I was fighting with the 1st one, I couldn’t help but notice my size towering over that of the 4 pound fish. David and Goliath - but I gotta give it to that little guy, he kept me fighting hard. That fish gave it everything and some. It was like it never knew defeat. Not even when it saw me. In that sublime moment it took me back to when I was younger and MUCH smaller playing rugby…

Play til you hear the whistle. If there is one life lesson I’ve carried with me from my youth as a baller it was that simple axiom. Make your move, go hard, take your lumps and finish. My pops taught me that. You see, we pick up these little “and ones” here and there along the road of life, every time we beat the odds, every time we weather the storm undeterred. A meaningful life isn’t lived tiptoeing through the tulips and running in between the raindrops, skating through our days unscathed. Our time on this earth is defined by taking a ****ing beating, absorbing the meanest, most menacing blows this cold world can dish out and finishing anyway. Many of us, in one way or another, live hard. Some of us live for the contact, we take pride in our scars, we welcome the pain. But that isn’t to say we should be so arrogant as to spit in the face of the fates. With the dawn of each day comes fresh opportunity. A chance to start anew, to right the ship, to finish strong. To grow within by identifying the error of our hardheaded ways and make a change. Something in the way I’ve been wired makes it impossible for me to understand the sort of shoulder-shrugging acceptance and resignation with which some people view their destiny.

Each day I’m blessed enough to open my eyes, as I see it, is square one. Take advantage of this new chance, this clean slate ushered in by the rising sun. Take back control, exercise your will and take measures toward creating a better life, if not for this day, then for the night that will surely follow. Every goal in life is the same as those many brief moments of decisive action made on the grass of Johannesburg so many moons ago. Make your move, go hard, take your lumps and above all else finish. Always Finish. I implore you to fight til you hear the bell. Like that little fish… I beseech you to play til you hear the whistle.

Strength and Honor