There she was, where I never wanted to see her. Mom had fallen on the floor, and I panicked.
Being on the floor, of course, is no reason for panic -- unless you’ve got multiple sclerosis, Parkinson’s disease, and 200+lbs of deadweight. Luckily for my mom, she had all the above, and more, with no one around to help but her two adolescent boys.
Mind you, I was 8 years old, going on 5. My tiny frame didn’t have enough strength to lift more than Mom’s leg, and barely enough for the panicking I did.
But I witnessed something beautiful. My brother, 12 at the time, somehow calmed me down (a strength feat in itself), grabbed hold of mom...and essentially deadlifted her off the floor and onto her bed.
Seeing my 12 year old brother lift my mom from the floor, when there was no one else around who could’ve helped us at the time, gave me the only logical reaction to that situation.
I cried. (Huh?)
I cried hard, harder than I knew how to handle. Why?
As Perfect Circle would say, I felt so weak and powerless.
Nonsense, you might say, as I was only 8 years old and couldn’t expect to have the strength to help my mom off the floor. The best I could do was call for help, and that should’ve been more than enough.
Nevertheless, I couldn’t shake the pain, no, the CRIME of weakness I’d committed. I felt so desperate and helpless in that moment, and I could only imagine how my mom felt, lying on the floor looking up at two young and confused kids.
I never wanted to feel that helpless, that desperate…
...that weak, ever again.
So I trained. I worked out as often as I could, and I got stronger from it.
My friends noticed too, but they’d all say the same thing that hurt me on an emotional level.
I hated to hear that, because I was training to have the strength of a guardian and protector. What if “for your size” one day wasn’t enough? What if “for your size” left me standing somewhere like that 8 year old boy, as helpless as the one I wanted to protect?
I needed real strength, strength like the physical culturists of old, strength like that of the oldtime strongmen that went far beyond size.
And I found it in 7 Seconds To A Perfect Body.
7 Seconds To A Perfect Body, to me, is the greatest fitness program I never wrote. It means more to me than a simple series of exercises to be done at your local gym for a beach bod.
To me, the PB program means that no matter where I am, what tools I have at my disposal, I can strengthen myself to my maximum potential.
To me, PB means having the strength to bend steel horseshoes, carriage bolts, and railroad spikes. It means having the strength to hold a grown man above my head with one arm.
And, before she passed away, it meant having the strength to carry my mom in my arms for the first time.
At 155lbs, I’d say that’s pretty strong for my size.
I promote isometric exercises and isometric training so much when there are many people who challenge the results that you can get from isometrics. But 7 Seconds to A Perfect Body proved to me, no, allowed me to prove to myself the true strength that isometrics can give you.
There she was, where I always dreamed I’d see her -- in my arms, smiling.
You can’t put a price on that kind of joy. But you can put a name on it.
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