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Tuesday, July 10, 2012


Arnold! Arnold! Arnold! N.O. Explode mixed with warm water.  A freak with a dream.  A freak that has been bitten by the weight bug, smashed open by the hungry mouth of a kid with a chip, then chewed and swallowed like a "screw every one" cup of coffee.  A chip that would either put him behind bars, or behind a bar.  The single silver battle bar is his new life goal, nothing else matters.  Fucken right he is a weightlifter, fucken right he is competing.  Why do you think he has been sleeping in the meet parking lot for two days? The young boy marked every meet down on his calendar.  Face paint and all.  No joke, Arnold written down the side of his arm.  Cutler videos 'til 3am, Ronnie video during class. "Light Weight baby"!  during training.  Ronnie is king, Dimas is a legend. Dimas videos 'til he grew sick.  Love Dimas, shit... who doesn't.  Sniffed N.O. Explode during lunch, yes sniffed, like cocaine, like an idiot, but try telling him that.  Nose bleeds from an over pounding heart beat, this from the doctor of course.  Street fights, jail, rehab, fliers for a runaway high school kid. Rage. Rage grew deep inside him, anger was trapped like a prisoner only wanting out.  Bar slamming, finger flicking mouth spitting rage.  Muscle mags stacked 20 feet tall behind his toilet.  Sleep in your car young man, for tomorrow you compete, and who knows, you might win your first local meet.  A homeless boy who trained and lived to train, only being able to afford the dollar menu at McDonald's.  Train train train!  Arnold Arnold Arnold!  Hassle Free! Yelling this helped him forget his past pain that reminded him about his past self. This kept him going.  He felt his rage being channeled into a positive light. Saved by the grace of Arnold.  His YouTube stars sat by his broken wings like stuffed animals there for him at anytime. Every Kilo counts Jon, get your PR, and then you will have the world in your hands.  PR is freedom. PR is life. 

One punch got him kicked off his first weightlifting team. A hazard child, a risk, too crazy, not stable, too emotional, too hot and cold with no middle ground.  Whisperers grew louder from the talk of USA weightlifting.  An outcast, a freak, a fucken nobody.  Dad chose drugs over him, I guess the meth was more enjoyable.  Arnold was his father. Arnold told him to continue lifting.

2 AM was day one.  Pumpin Iron showed on TV.  I poured my beer out on the wooden floor beside me, while keeping my eyes locked on every inch of the TV screen.  This is the day I got bit by the bug.  This is the day that lead me to you.  On this day I left my old life and casted my sail into the sea of no return.  My fresh blood dove into a sea of cold bodies who have been taken from this cold sport.  A sport that catches and then releases.  A sport that will leave you just as fast as it found you.  A sport that has turned into my father.  A sport I miss so much.  Day one is the day that I need to get back.  I need to find this kid again.  I need his rage and excitement.  I need to find my Arnold again.  Where are you Arnold? Where are you "Jumping Jonathan North"?  I am only fake when I am trying to be calm.  I am an actor of some sort when I try to channel my energy and thoughts into just making the attempt.  I feel I am losing myself.  I am only being real and true to you and myself when I let the rage out.  I am only truly free when I am myself.  No I will not drop the bar quietly.  Just like I won't leave this sport quietly.  I will yell and scream for all to hear, including myself.  My gas station is the audience, this is my high.  Keep your meth, I don't want it.  I must go back to the start to find what's missing today.  This sport might not want me, but I want it.  I must get back into competing at every local meet I can find.  I must stop putting so much pressure on myself to win every meet, and just lift weights again.  I must enjoy the sport I fell in love with so many years ago.  I must find Arnold. 

Rage 2016