Summers Long Gone

I got my first real two-wheel
Bought it at the three and flea
Rode it till i bruised my heel
It was the summer of '93

Me and some boys from school
Had a clan and played real hard
Tommy quit, Timmy threw a fit
I should have known we'd never get far

Oh when I look back now
That summer seemed to last forever
And should the sands of time allow
I'd still want to be there
Those were the best days of my life

Ain't no use in whining
When you had a class to pass
Rode up the range to the railing
And that's when I met you, lass

Standing on the hilltop porch
You told me you would wait forever
Oh and when I felt that scorch
I knew it was now or never
Those were the best days of my life

I guess nothing can last forever
Looking at what's came and gone
Now we're lost in our endeavours
Sometimes I still weigh it up and wonder what went wrong
It was the summer of '03

Inspired by Bryan Adams' Summer of '69

The Warrior Within

After such a long hiatus, I'm finally beginning to ease into my training regime. Today's routine didn't feel quite as hellish as the past 2 weeks, although I'm only lifting about 50% of what I used to do. It's really good to see those old faces again, and everyone seems to be bigger and stronger, which is...not really all that good. I'm no longer up there with the best anymore. Paradoxical is it not, that I should be glad to see them, yet be so envious of their progress. But it is such jealousy that propels us to further heights. Envy, for lack of a better word, is good.

And then, there were the naysayers.

"Why do you even bother, Ryan? It's a waste of time!" Scrawny Sam wailed, in between sips of coke and chunks of nuggets. I winced, and gave Sam the most incredulous look, as if he had just asked what was blatantly obvious.

Scrawny Sam was what I would call skinny-fat. He has a small frame, and looks rather thin. He also has a pot belly. Fortunately for him, nobody notices under all that clothing. Sam continued to munch on his greasy fries, his inquisitive eyes peering at me through the kind of huge, dark rimmed glasses which are all the rage now. I had had such questions hurled at me a million times, and I was, frankly, quite tired of such questions. I deftly switched the topic, and sure enough, his curious gaze soon turned to one of nonchalance.

So, why do I train?

Is it a matter of vanity? Of wanting to look better than the average man? Or is it elitism? Wanting to be stronger than the majority?

These are secondary. Weightlifting is my way of getting back at the world. I pick up my 1st barbell consumed with rage and hatred. At the end of a good session, they are all gone, seemingly absorbed and used by the Iron to remold my body into a manifestation of my most treasured values - tenacity, willpower and a disdain for mediocrity.

And now that I have taken this path, it is unthinkable to turn back. The Iron forces me to leave my ego at the door, or be punished by injuries. When I just don't cut it, it tells me right in the face. And it will always be there, like a glowing beacon in the darkness.

It is the best friend I can ever have.