Snarf99’s BodyBlog

All these stupid rocks, I say, what’s your goal?

"This isn’t about getting something done," Denny says. "It’s about the doing, you know, the process."

But what are you going to do with all these rocks?

"I don’t know, dude," Denny says, "I just want the days of my life to add up to something."
The way every day of your life, the way it can just disappear in front of the television, Denny says he wants a rock to show for each day. Something tangible. Just one thing. A little monument to mark the end of each day. "This way, maybe my life will add up to something," he says, "something that will last."

Denny comes and goes, and every day there’s fewer rocks in the house. And if you don’t see somebody every day, you see them change.  Me watching from an upstairs window, Denny comes and goes pushing bigger and bigger rocks in a shopping cart, and every day, Denny looks a little bigger inside his old plaid shirt. His face gets tan, his chest and shoulders get big enough to spread the plaid out so it doesn’t hang in folds. He’s not huge, but he’s bigger, big for Denny.

After work, I go visit Denny on the empty block where he’s laid out his rocks, where he’s pasting row on top of row with mortar until he’s already got a wall, and I say, "Hey." And Denny says, "Dude."  With the bottom of his shirt, Denny wipes the sweat off his face. You can see his abs are rippled armor.

Denny, his arms flicker with shadows where his muscles flex. Denny, now his arms stretch the sleeves of his sour T-shirt. His skinny arms look big around. His pinched shoulders spread wide. With every row, he’s having to lift the stones a little higher. With every row, he’s having to be stronger. Denny says, "You want to stay for Chinese food?" He says, "You look a little wasted." I ask, is he living with this Beth girl now? And Denny lugging a big gray rock with both hands at his waist, he shrugs. A month ago, this was a rock the two of us could hardly lift together.

The excerpt is from Choke by Chuck Palahniuk, who is best know for writing Fight Club.
The story is about these two sex addicts, the narrator and his roommate Denny. At this point in the story, Denny is transforming himself. He’s replaced his sex addiction with a new passion (or compulsion) for collecting rocks, something tangible that he feels gives his life meaning. As he’s carrying these rocks up to the apartment and then out to the field, his body begins to change. He becomes strong and tanned, his abs become rippled armor, and his shoulders grow wider. It’s interesting to me that as Denny finds meaning and leaves his addiction behind, his transformation is manifested physically in his becoming more muscular and healthier looking.  In the meantime, his friend the narrator, a static character, continues his old behaviors. He becomes sick after two spheres from an anal probing device get lost in his colon. In this excerpt he is so sick that Denny notices and tells him he looks "a little wasted." In this existential novel, life is absurd and devoid of meaning, and purposelessness is the human malaise. But at any time, a person can make a decision to create meaning, even in an absurd pile of rocks, and he can thus transform himself to wholeness and health. I wonder if for some of us on this blog, lifting weights, is our pile of rocks?

"The more I run, the more certain I am that I am heading for my real goal: to become the person I am." George Sheehan, M.D.

I found this quote in some motivational literature that was left at my gym. This quote really struck me, because it’s how I feel about my running. Obviously, I am not the fastest or the best or the strongest runner. I never was and never will be. Some people (my mom) may even wonder why I put so much time and energy into a pursuit in which I will never excel. But for me, running is not about competition with others. It is always a metaphor for pushing beyond limits, challenging myself, and bettering myself.  Even though I may be running in a loop, never really getting any farther than the point where I started, running gives me a tremendous sense of accomplishment and more importantly, a sense of purpose. When I look back at the best times of my life, they are the same years during which I was regularly going out on runs and competing. Those are the years I felt strong, attractive, youthful, not because I was younger, but because I was active.  

The fact that it gives me a sense of purpose is what surprises me the most.  It would seem like a human being would need something more meaningful to accomplish than covering a distance of say, 13.1 miles, to make life feel meaningful. But as it turns out, 13.1 miles is all I need.  Just having a goal in mind. Just deciding on that simple long-term goal and working towards fills me up with such a sense of purpose and belonging in the world. It’s strange, but it really does help me feel connected. My feet hit the ground, I feel the impact throughout my body, I become aware of my physical being, an organism in the world, a part of something bigger. Everything real becomes more vital, like air and water and food.  Like shade and rain and a light breeze and a good night’s sleep.  Hot showers.  All exercise increases body awareness, decreases anxiety, and acts as the body’s natural anti-depressant.  All that and a sense of existential satisfaction.  Beat that.

I’ll start with the highlight of the week, which was a 5.5 mile run on the canal.  J and her friend were out of town. E was visiting a friend in Denver.  That left me alone to run my 5 miles by myself.  Add to that a little toe injury I sustained by breaking a section of my toe nail when I was looking for my cat under the car on Friday morning, . . . and you can see why I was not especially motivated to run.  The toe nail thing hurt pretty bad. It hurt to walk. It hurt every time the toe touched the top of my shoe.  I wasn’t sure I’d be able to run.  But I DID!
I slept in, got to the canal around 8am. It was warm outside, but not too bad. There was drinking water on the canal, so I wasn’t too worried about the heat.  I started off just walking for the first half mile. It was only because I saw other runners run past me, huffing and puffing, that I got guilted into attempting a slow jog.  Eventually, I found a pace I liked, and I kept going.  I ended up running 5.5 miles instead of 5.  I was very happy.  The whole workout, including the part I walked, 6 miles in total, took me 70 minutes.

Sunday - lifted weights
Monday - ran 3 miles
Tuesday - lifted weights
Wed - ran only 2 miles
Friday - lifted weights

Thurs I had acupuncture and I did not run.  I started to slack off this week.

I am going to evaluate my week as being successful overall, even though I am feeling the beginnings of slipping off track.