This break I kept a journal, just for myself. Writing isn't my
strong suite (that would be bench press), but my professors are always getting
on me for misspeling easy words
The term was hard for me in terms both of muscle
gain and sanctification. I'm going to write down my experiences for each day to
make sure I don't get tangled up in any sin issues and just spend the time
wrestling with spiritual growth and pummeling it into the ground.
I spent Monday in prayer. And in
the gym, cuz it was bench day.
After a couple of warmup sets, it was time. As we loaded
heaps of 45's onto both sides of the bar, my spotter and I chanted a Psalm.
I got under the bar,
interspersing Scripture with form cues. “He shall be like a tree, planted...” scapulae
together, shoved into the bench... “He yields his fruit in season...”thumbless
grip, pull the bar apart, flare the lats... “Not so the wicked...” tight
butt, arch the back.
The negative went smoothly, and
as I neared lockout, I shouted “The joy of the Lord is my strength!” and bam, a
PR was made. Triceps burning, I headed home to read some Spurgeon and meet with
an elder from my church.
Tuesday was so incarnational.
Awake at the rooster's first crow, I brewed some extra-sludgy coffee, something
to put hair on my chest. Donning an extra-tight Disturbed cutoff and True
Religion jeans with plenty of skulls and ivy, I grabbed my guns and drove to
the mountain. My dog and I made a simple meal of corn nuts and the raw flesh of
several endangered species I had shot. I steered my rusty Ford Bronco back down
the mountain path in the dusk, smoking the fifth cigar of the day and listening
to a Driscoll sermon. You know, the one where he yells at you. Back home for a
late-night coffee with a ruling elder from my church.
Wednesday was pretty darn
incarnational, but maybe not as much as Tuesday. I was back in the gym. It was
curl day. I started the day with a well-rounded breakfast of a protein shake, a
Builder Bar, and a NOXplode preworkout pump with creatine,
grape-watermelon-punch flavored. And some more chest-hair coffee.
It just wasn't my day, and by the
seventh set of curls my bi's were screaming. No matter how much I grunted, I
just couldn't finish my ninth set. Crestfallen, I pulled my Tapout beanie lower
down my face and stomped out of the gym.
Time to shower and head to my Lamentations Bible study.
Thursday marked the fourth day of
my beard growth. I anxiously checked my upper lip in the mirror first thing in
the morning, and sure enough I found some good fuzz. Not quite a beard, more of
a 11-year-old-Mexican look, but it's progress.
I checked my chest too. No dice. I'll
get a massive dragon tattoo instead.
Thursday afternoon I went to chop
wood with an elder from my church.
Friday was looking to be a good
day, but it bombed. I met with an elder from a church for coffee at 5:30, and I
realized while I was talking to him that I had been not making any serious
marriage-preparation muscle gains for a while. I told him my plans to get an
internship at a nearby waste management company that is expanding rapidly, as
well as host as many dinner parties as possible. I know those are the most
important things, I said. The elder shook his head and began to say something
about emotional maturity or whatever, but I wasn't respecting him as much I
should have; I was planning rugby scrimmage. That meeting set me on edge, and
in my weakened state I did something I hadn't done since high school. Modern
Warfare II really brings to mind some great times, like youth group lock-ins
and lingering prayer hugs.
- Clint Calvin Machen (Male Ghost Writer)
