Until they turn out to be totally wrong, at which time they are still right and you are still wrong. Back off man, I'm a scienmagist. Right and wrong have nothing to do with it.
One morning around Columbus Circle in New York I was eating a huge plate of scrambled eggs about six inches high with a guy named "Buffalo Bob," who had a 22 inch arm and once lifted the rear wheels of a 1972 Cadillac Deville on 59th street and put the car on top of a fire hydrant because it had parked him in. (The car was still there 4 days later before they found a tow truck that could lift it off, cops were probably on a manhunt for the crowd of several hundred kids who must've done it) Bob was eating 9-inch greasy sausages on his second plate. The elderly lady next to us, a patrician but slightly snobby woman who looked like she always sorted her recyclables, said "I hope you two know what that is doing to your hearts." Had to give her points for being bold enough to say it out loud.
We looked at each other and began laughing so hard I was afraid one of us would choke on our food. "Lady, Bob here weighs 312 pounds and has a resting pulse of 44. I weigh 223 this morning and have a resting pulse of 32 and my blood pressure is 110/72 as of last week. We will likely outlive every single person in this restaurant, starting with you."
She snorted and gave us a frown that frightened both of us despite our towering frames. You can't talk to crazy people and the craziest people of all are the ones who think televitz is telling them the truth about anything. Remember, if itz on the televitz, itz a lie. Good rule of thumb right there.
When that massive flood of protein digested in my stomach I could feel it coursing through my body leaving me with an extraordinary sensation of well-being that could only result from those eggs being very, very good for me, especially first thing in the morning when their impact on my metabolism seemed to be the highest. Only a person who was just not on speaking terms with their own body could fail to note the correlation. That's what televitz does to you - it becomes an authority that screams down your own ancient wisdom that is the product of a million years of genetic refinement. Televitz is such a powerful evil it can shut down that inner light and replace it with an authoritative sounding voice that tells you that sunlight, fresh air and eggs are bad for you. This is the reason that people pay billions of dollars to buy television stations. It is the prince and the power of the air. Ephesians 2:2.
People in Australia think I'm a strong guy when they find out about me. I was just barely strong enough to give Bob a squat spot in the gym. I never saw anybody like that guy again. The last time I saw Bob he was doing super-slow dips with 300 pounds hanging around his waist. Traumatic stuff to see with the naked eye. Disturbing. The guy was like a human powered demolition crane. I used to tell Bob he could sell his services as a gigantic earth moving device on construction sites in return for all the sausages he could eat.
I always noticed Bob had those peculiar receding periorbital sockets around his eyes like me but for the life of me could not figure out why that was. Sometimes he'd catch me looking closely at him and probably wondered if I had a secret gay crush on him. Actually, I couldn't help but notice we looked like cousins. Sometimes he would make an expression and it was like looking at a family relative, the similar look to the face, eyes and skull shape. Weirdest of all, as a person who never had more than three friends in New York in all the time I was there, Bob and I had spoke briefly for a minute one night after leaving the gym and after that began to fall in together like soldiers stationed on the same brutal campaign at the front. When Bob talked, I heard echoes of my own mind. He was one of my kinsmen. When I saw his great strength I had a kind of pride like you might feel if your brother or uncle was that strong. I felt Bob saw the world with my eyes, shared my ideas, had a similar flavour to his impressions of everything. He'd sometimes go very quiet and serious and take several minutes to think deeply about something I had said in a way ordinary people are simply incapable of. He listened with great curiosity when I talked to him about books he had never read - I could see he wished that he had and was content to hear me recollect them to him. I felt a kind of silent pact between us against "all of them," long before I could put any vocabulary to it. We had to stick together, I thought. There were not many of us in the world. Once Bob told me of how short life might be and how through strength training there was at least one thing you could put your hand to and "do with all your might," quoting from St. Paul. I nodded at what he was saying and marvelled at how it had begun to seem like I knew what he was thinking even when he wasn't speaking. It was a good place inside that head of my kinsman. He was a fundamentally good sort … as long you didn't park him in when we were coming out of the YMCA.
I noticed another thing - even though Bob was quite capable of being an alpha any time he wanted to be, he tended to conduct himself like a beta in almost all the ways that count. Like me, he had a kind of reverential air most of the time when a young girl showed interest, a sort of polite and courteous detachment that appeared to be waiting on her to make all the advances. He was nevertheless much more successful with women in general as was everybody I knew. Once he was giving me the lecture at breakfast about how I only had to make the effort. He said he didn't think I was gay but I was definitely something. I mentioned how he was similar to me in many ways, particularly around women and he told me sometimes we have to adopt "their" ways in doing things or we were destined to be alone. Never elaborated on this "they" and "their," just said it like he assumed I knew exactly what he meant, almost a conspiratorial whisper. I always wanted to ask Bob - how did you know that I automatically understood a whole different order of relationships between men and women? Where could you have possibly acquired a notion like that? I didn't know at the time that Bob and I were descended from the same exogamous matriarchy in which men and women had related to one another in vastly superior fashion to anything we saw amongst these people.
I told Bob how I had been pretty badly hurt the year before by this girl I met while I was working up at the ice cream shop. He told me, "We all got a story like that. The fact is, they all betray each other constantly and we are not designed for all this switch-on, switch-off I love you now I hate you bullsh*t. It is too much for our insides. We have to toughen up and remember, if they hurt us they must not be from our clan they are just others we don't have any business with anyhow. This is the way they sort out their mates and the results speak for themselves. You should accept that it is not you it is their way of doing these things." This seemed to help me quite a bit after he said this. I knew he was right. They were not from our clan. The women in our tribe knew perfectly well how to let you down gently and send you packing without needing to destroy you. If you had asked me what the name of this tribe was, I could not have imagined. I just knew he was right in what he was saying.
My only other friend was a Polynesian named Rohan Rathan who was just about one of the coolest people I had ever known in my entire life. Another good sort. Remnant of the great Neanderthal migration worldwide after the eruption of the super-volcano Toba at 80,000 years which looks suspiciously like somebody detonated an implosion bomb on a dormant volcanic vent. My other friend was Hutchinson Persons, my boss at Street News (obvious melonhead, easiest identification ever). Those two guys and "Buffalo" Bob Bryant were the only people I ever really carried on a conversation with during the six years I lived in New York city.
The YMCA was awesome. Best equipment at the cheapest membership prices. All serious athletes trained there. Then these idiots ruined everything. The problem with Gomorrah is that they can't stay in Gomorrah, got to make everyplace into Gomorrah. You know what happens then. You have to find ten men or else the whole place fries. Very tough survival mode challenge level by God. Nobody has ever gotten the achievement perk.
That's it. The McBurney branch on 125th street. I used to train there 4 days a week, three days HIT and one day aerobic training. This was the YMCA where I went from 164 pounds when I moved to New York City in 1986 to 265 pounds in the fall of 1991 at 12% body fat without ever touching steroids. When I met my wife I had deliberately shaved off 30 pounds so I was at 7% body fat for about a half a year in California. My carefully maintained logs showed I increased my strength nearly 400% in most muscle groups. When I moved to New York I thought curling 50 pounds was about right for 9 reps. In the fall of 1991 I was curling 180 pounds free weight for 18 reps with ease. There was a physical trainer there at the McBurney gym who told me he had never seen anything like that in all the time he had been in gyms. He described it as "Bruce Banner, comic book stuff." This same guy tipped off the police when they were investigating the McBurney gym that I was probably part of the 'roids ring there, I'd have to be because I had essentially mutated overnight into this stone colossus. The police talked to me twice and ended up believing me when I told them I didn't even like to take aspirin and was scared to death of needles.
I got a really funny anecdote about this. The last time I took a shower at the YMCA, I resolved would be the last. I was walking up the stairs from the huge communal showers there (with a towel on) and a hispanic guy who was headed down asked me "What is the mericon situation down there?" I told him, "Wall-to-wall. If you drop your soap down there, remember a new bar is only .99 cents but you will never recover your anal virginity." This hispanic guy was laughing so hard he had tears coming to his eyes and he said "Fugg it, I will just shower in the washroom. That is a one-way only exit ramp." I never forgot this. I never even knew the guy's name but we had a pretty good laugh at that. That would have been the fall of 1991 I think. Seems like hundreds of years ago. That was the last time I ever set foot inside a YMCA. Funny how at the time I thought was miserable. No debts, made a couple hundred a day selling books with no taxes, no worries in the world and no bosses. Could do whatever I wanted whenever I pleased. You don't appreciate freedom until you don't have it anymore. The farther away in time this era in my life gets, the more it seems to glow like some long lost edenic paradise in which I had my human dignity and the future was so amazingly bright. It kept me going despite me being so lonely and seeming to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders most of the time. I had no idea how good it really was. I ate well almost every day and rarely wanted for anything. I enjoyed a sort of tranquillity that modern life is designed to take away as soon as you become engaged in it. Something of that miraculous transformation I went through has to be seen in the lens of an era when I woke up in the morning and didn't have to worry about anything except what I was willing to. You can grow a lot when your system doesn't have that constant, never-ending low level stress weighing on you around the clock. Your rent. Your mortgage. Your job. Your marriage. The bills. Breaking even. The next pay check. That stuff makes just getting enough sleep to recover back to zero the next day a major accomplishment.