zbrewha863
11-18-09, 5:21 pm
I was always the best.
The best looking. The best grades. The best at every sport. Hell, I was even the best at things I didn't want to do.
I was focused. Every day. Every little thing that I was doing was my mountain. I cilmbed, every day. People always bet on the mountain.
I heard them. I was too small. Too big. Too fast. Too slow. Too white. Too street. I played too much by the rules. I didn't play by the rules enough. Too perfect, there had to be something wrong with me. I heard them.
I was 17 when I was hired at the local gym. I was a personal trainer (uncertified) -- I was too small, too weak to train lifters, so I got to train women and obese men. I started lifting, seriously.
I heard them. I was too small. Too weak. Too inexperienced. I didn't own lifting gloves. I didn't have the best shoes. I didn't have a bodybuilding.com membership. I was going to embarass myself. I was going to fail.
I was 17, just about to graduate high school with a 3.9. I was all-state in Florida. I was seeing Ms. Florida. I was the underdog.
Every day I asked questions. I gained knowledge. Every day I worked, lifting or running. I gained muscle, I lost fat.
Eventually, one guy asked me to help him train arms. I rode shotgun on his journey. Every day he lifted, I lifted. He sweat, I sweat. We both grew. Others saw this, started wanting training. We all travelled together.
They didn't like that. They challenged me. They were doing 285 on incline, trying to hit their new max. They laughed, said I couldn't do it. I had only been lifting for four months. I was too weak. Too small. Too inexperienced. I had never seen anything like this. It was the middle of my chest workout. I obliged.
I weighed 160 at the time. I got it twice. The third rep, something went wrong. My back . . . pain. I was laid up, had to have surgery.
I heard them. I had lost. I didn't make it. I was too weak. Too small. Too inexperienced. I had never seen anything like this before.
I came back. Bigger. Stronger. Better looking. 285. 305. 345. I couldn't be stopped.
I heard them. There was no way I could come off surgery that fast. I was too strong. I was too big. I was too determined. I must have been on something. No, I was too inexperienced. There was no way I could've known what to be on. They had seen guys on stuff before, this was different. They had never seen anything like this before. I got respect. I heard them.
I left for college. Then the business world. Now law school.
I heard them. The day I got there. There's no way I could have done all the things I said I had done. I was too big. Too stupid. Too young. Too inexperienced. I was just coming off back surgery. Again.
I went back home for the first time in a few years. I saw them. They saw me. They asked what I was up to, where I had been, what I had seen and done. I told them. I waited for the hating to begin. They had my back. They had seen me walk the walk. I told them the others at law school had already counted me out. Doubted me. I knew. I heard them.
One of them took me aside, put his arm around me, bought me a shot. He said we knew I would make it. We knew I would prove them all wrong. We knew I would climb, every day. We had no choice.
Every day I surprise people. They say I'll never get that internship. Nobody is hiring. I'll never make that grade. I'm too dumb. I'll never get back to the shape I was in. I'm too weak. Too fat. It's too hard. It's all too hard.
I am 26. I have run a multi-million dollar company. I have been given personal awards from the governor. I have shot men from over a mile away. I have squatted 800. I have fucked the homecoming queen. Every day, I have climbed. I have been counted out. I have overcome.
Still, I am an underdog. They always bet on the mountain. I hear them. I climb, every day. I was always the best. Fuck the mountain.
The best looking. The best grades. The best at every sport. Hell, I was even the best at things I didn't want to do.
I was focused. Every day. Every little thing that I was doing was my mountain. I cilmbed, every day. People always bet on the mountain.
I heard them. I was too small. Too big. Too fast. Too slow. Too white. Too street. I played too much by the rules. I didn't play by the rules enough. Too perfect, there had to be something wrong with me. I heard them.
I was 17 when I was hired at the local gym. I was a personal trainer (uncertified) -- I was too small, too weak to train lifters, so I got to train women and obese men. I started lifting, seriously.
I heard them. I was too small. Too weak. Too inexperienced. I didn't own lifting gloves. I didn't have the best shoes. I didn't have a bodybuilding.com membership. I was going to embarass myself. I was going to fail.
I was 17, just about to graduate high school with a 3.9. I was all-state in Florida. I was seeing Ms. Florida. I was the underdog.
Every day I asked questions. I gained knowledge. Every day I worked, lifting or running. I gained muscle, I lost fat.
Eventually, one guy asked me to help him train arms. I rode shotgun on his journey. Every day he lifted, I lifted. He sweat, I sweat. We both grew. Others saw this, started wanting training. We all travelled together.
They didn't like that. They challenged me. They were doing 285 on incline, trying to hit their new max. They laughed, said I couldn't do it. I had only been lifting for four months. I was too weak. Too small. Too inexperienced. I had never seen anything like this. It was the middle of my chest workout. I obliged.
I weighed 160 at the time. I got it twice. The third rep, something went wrong. My back . . . pain. I was laid up, had to have surgery.
I heard them. I had lost. I didn't make it. I was too weak. Too small. Too inexperienced. I had never seen anything like this before.
I came back. Bigger. Stronger. Better looking. 285. 305. 345. I couldn't be stopped.
I heard them. There was no way I could come off surgery that fast. I was too strong. I was too big. I was too determined. I must have been on something. No, I was too inexperienced. There was no way I could've known what to be on. They had seen guys on stuff before, this was different. They had never seen anything like this before. I got respect. I heard them.
I left for college. Then the business world. Now law school.
I heard them. The day I got there. There's no way I could have done all the things I said I had done. I was too big. Too stupid. Too young. Too inexperienced. I was just coming off back surgery. Again.
I went back home for the first time in a few years. I saw them. They saw me. They asked what I was up to, where I had been, what I had seen and done. I told them. I waited for the hating to begin. They had my back. They had seen me walk the walk. I told them the others at law school had already counted me out. Doubted me. I knew. I heard them.
One of them took me aside, put his arm around me, bought me a shot. He said we knew I would make it. We knew I would prove them all wrong. We knew I would climb, every day. We had no choice.
Every day I surprise people. They say I'll never get that internship. Nobody is hiring. I'll never make that grade. I'm too dumb. I'll never get back to the shape I was in. I'm too weak. Too fat. It's too hard. It's all too hard.
I am 26. I have run a multi-million dollar company. I have been given personal awards from the governor. I have shot men from over a mile away. I have squatted 800. I have fucked the homecoming queen. Every day, I have climbed. I have been counted out. I have overcome.
Still, I am an underdog. They always bet on the mountain. I hear them. I climb, every day. I was always the best. Fuck the mountain.