Page 1 of Resistance Training
brAD
FIRE: Same WHY as always. “Fuck you, high school dicks.”
Listened to Huberman Lab during run.
Metallica instead of Pearl Jam while lifting today.
Gave my favorite client Larry a copy of Can’t Hurt Me by David Goggins. He thanked me and told me he already has it but he needs another copy for his yacht. That is the definition of baller. I want to have extra copies of my favorite books for my yacht. And to have a yacht.
FORTRESS: 5:15 a.m.—3 mile run at a 7:30 pace. Same route as always. Weather’s shit, but pace stayed consistent. Didn’t think about her at all.
Leg day at the gym. Fuck leg day. All hail leg day. Deadlift PR—315 lbs. Romanian deadlifts at 205 lbs 8 reps felt smooth. Strength and sculpting. Dolores told me my glutes are fire and reminded me that her granddaughter is legally separated.
FRACTURES: 7:00 p.m.—Another email from Aubrey Sparks, through the gym website telling me she put Vivian on the wait list for my personal-training sessions.
I have not responded. Just like I didn’t respond to her DMs on Instagram asking me to reach out to her sister.
As if living in the same city as her changes anything.
Seriously—how did Aubrey find me? And why now?
These are not questions I need answered. These questions are weaknesses.
Immediately converted that fracture to fire: Pull-up PR—20 reps. Perfect form. Pure functional strength. Just me vs. gravity. Recorded for Instagram.
Eight years ago I couldn’t do one pull-up.
Now I can lift my 6’2” 195 pound body twenty times in two minutes.
I have the elite strength of a Navy Seal.
That right there is the difference between the boy I left behind in Seattle and the man I built here.
What got me here? Not getting derailed by feelings.
Just replied to Aubrey and told her I do not have any openings in the foreseeable future.
Did not ask why now or how she found me.
But fuck.
I’m dying to know what Vivian looks like now.
What she’s doing with her life.
But I won’t look her up.
Ever.
Vivian Sparks = woman-sized Twinkie.
Not that I couldn’t handle it.
My body has not craved Twinkies for eight years. My body will not crave Vivian Sparks.
Tomorrow’s mission: Target my brain’s weak desire to know what Vivian Sparks looks like now. Terminate any thoughts about her well-being or whether she’s on the apps or not.
Decimate mental speculation re: Why now? It’s irrelevant.
But fuck.
The truth is Vivian was never a Twinkie.
Vivian was the best chocolate cake, made with love, the icing, and the cherry on top.
And I never got to taste her the way I wanted to…not the cherry, the icing, or the cake—and I will never forgive her.
But fuck.
I can’t believe she lives here.
Why didn’t her sister mention if she’s single or not?
Fuck.