Another confession

Wednesday, 16 February 2005

I do seem to write about Will a lot.

He came up to me fresh from his trip and said, “You have to start lifting. I saw this guy who looked exactly like you surfing on Corfu, long hair, tan, and totally ripped. He was the coolest looking thing I ever saw.”

Back up a bit to when we were 16 and 17. Will lifted and had a fabulous physique. One dream about David Bowie kissing my ear aside, Will diving behind the church I’m as straight as they… come. Just so, I can tell you, Will’s a good looking guy. Ice blue eyes, dark brown hair. Not too built.

I did not lift weights. I trained martial arts. As an anti-jock who could do push-ups in a handstand and 300 sit-ups in 2 minutes, I had the disdain for weights that you might expect. We were in his room and his weights were out.

He was urging me to start lifting. I pointed to his curling set and said, “How many of those do you usually do?”

He said, “Forty.”

I picked them up. It was a lot of weight. I cranked out the forty in seconds, tossing Tinker Toys, and the discussion was over. We went back to doing gymnastics in the church or making morning stars or whatever we were doing at the time. He didn’t try to get me to lift again till after his Greek vacation a couple years later. I think it spooked him how strong I was without ever having touched a weight set.

Forgive me, Will. I never confessed. The next morning I needed help putting on my shirt because I could not raise my arms above my shoulders for three days.

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