my bunkie went home, I got off sanctions, and I’m going the hardest at it all year on the work out tip. I know it, therefore I dgaf: I don’t care if I’m echoing a stereotypical douchebag instagram gym bro (wait, this is a thing, right? I’ve a vague notion that this a definitive thing in the world, but incarceration has me second-guessing the tiny facts and details comprising my life before. like a post-xanny commentary, I’m stuck in a haze: did that really happen? is that a real thing? did I really do that?!)
post-workoutz i love feeling jacked without a shirt on. Weird how you gain a kind of confidence from just improving your physique, even without any outside feedback. The mind knows where the body stands…
anyhizzle, the bottom bunk has remained open since the fat fuck left, and suddenly my little corner of existence feels comfortably spacious. this occurence–since covid, not uncommon–of an empty bunk staying empty for more than a couple weeks I’ve dubbed the luxury suite. no bunkie in the way; a bunk conveniently empty to put things like my blues that I want out but not in the way; and a big empty locker to store things that won’t fit in my especially small locker.
Generally, getting shredded here is less about sex appeal, and more about self-esteem. Not to say there arent plenty of fags, gay-for-the-stay types, and power-hungry predators–they aren’t prison stereotypes for nothing. They’re just not a variable in the equation that compels me to workout, which runs something like: regardless of the immense wreckage of my life, im gonna salvage my best possible physical self from the detritus.
I dunno why the connection escaped me for so long, but looking good and keeping healthy are the highest tributes I can pay to myself. as if saying, if I gotta do this, might as well crush it.
An intense workout automatically puts me in the right headspace to handle the daily bullshit of prison. (Since getting off LOP, I joined my homeboy’s workout session in the afternoon, which are about as intense as it gets: to warmup–a set of pushups followed by a burpee all the way across the softball field; a circuit of pullups, decline pushups–feet on a picnic table, hands on the ground– and squats with a 30 second rest between sets; and then a circuit of Tyson pushups, side bends, and a minute of high-speed jump-roping. I puked the first time through, but that’s due more to the fudge bar I ate 30 minutes prior.) The extra endorphins lemme rest easy at night, and the bonus testosterone helps me to handle conflict appropriately.