Once a supporter, now a drip of water that falls from the back of my head as this shower tries its hardest to cleanse me from the controversy that surrounds my down time. A quiet room is always the worst, as judging eyes and evil mouths take over my once quiet thoughts. This is why I don't smoke weed, I analyze things to the point of no return. Did I say the wrong thing? Did I go too far? The worst of them all........did I lose a fellow friend, follower, supporter? But then again, I am reminded by a constant whisper that everything I say and do - I mean, I am. I never regret, but I stress. And even though I never second guess, the heavy thoughts that replay in my head make some nights long like the rain outside. The constant pounding from water to roof is like a thousand fists trying to break the walls I call the recovery hibernation station. A place to rest and rebuild. A place to drain the pain from the fame, and organize my thoughts and opinions into some sort of organization that will hopefully make some sense before I rest my head to bed. It pains me to lose a soldier of the iron game from some sort of crazy action or rant I might bark upon, but I must be me, without me I am not me. And by sugar coating anything would be highly non-attitude nation of me, and 100 percent disrespectful to you- even if you disagree with me on the topic or action I take part in. I must carry on, even though some might fall off. They fall like water, everyday and fast, they hit me before they disappear, and every time my eyes close with insecurity. It's hard to explain, but with every piece of hate mail I receive, a rush of losing everything shadows over me, leaving me in a state of panic. Panic that my family agrees with the letter sent to me. Panic that the gym door will be locked as I try to pull it open for training. Panic that the Dark Orchestra will move away and leave me with only my skeletons to talk to and relate to. Panic that fruit and rocks will be thrown at me while walking on stage to lift. Insecure you say....you have no idea.
I wish there was a safe that we could lock our thoughts in before we train. I find that turning off your mind to train is the single most difficult challenge this sport has presented me with. Focusing on the idea of going underneath 400 plus pounds can not only make an athlete's knees shake, but the brain must be able to use all the concentration it has to register and to control this unbelievably crazy idea you are presenting it with. If there are any outside thoughts or concerns - then a missed lift or an injury lurks around the corner. A new rule states: The safe box must be locked before entering the work place (aka) the gym. We all need to enforce this career soaring rule, before this mistake takes us all down with it. Hesitation is the reason why we miss, and all it takes is a splash of salt that will have the bar crashing on top of our heavy heads. Yes the toes wear the crown for most of the misses in this sport, for they are responsible for more missed lifts than any other technical problem, but hesitation takes the cake for biggest mental problem any lifter can make. Hesitation comes in many different shapes and sizes, forms and disguises. It shows its face from fear. Fear to go under, fear from the thought of missing, fear from the outside thoughts you carried onto the platform with you.
"I will let you down, I will make you hurt" - Johnny Cash. I am sorry now, for I dread the day this happens, and at times I lay awake and I hope it doesn't happen. I hope when you meet me I don't disappoint. I hope I don't say something that quiets the room, I think and sit in when no one is around. You have helped me so much on this journey, all I want to do is help you like you have me, and be there like you have for me. Entering this orchestra is why I keep slamming bars. Playing violins with the skeletons brings joy to my life. The orchestra of us is a steady dose of real life, real emotion, and real thoughts. A reality of realism of humbled truths that keep me balanced from the cocky, in your face Jon North that some seem to love or hate. This is real. You are real. This quiet room I think in is the devil in the red dress that must be put to rest. Talking to the callers on air is what makes me keep chugging coffee. Seeing the seminars grow and people getting better makes me want to get better. Feeling gold in my hands makes my eyes water and hands shake. This is what the haters and hate mail senders will never understand. For every hate mail that is sent to me, handfuls of gut wrenching, positive, overwhelmingly great emails that have changed my life for the better are sent to me. You hater, you have not stained me. You hater, you are nothing. For every follower that has walked away from my words or actions, an army of new supporters have come together so we can feed off of each other to achieve greatness in sport and life. You reader.....you have no idea how important you are to me. Tonight I write to you, not as Jon North.