It's been a hard week.
Pavlov has me in his sights.
This time last year was, well, horrifying. I could be and perhaps should be celebrating the life I've been given. I've been successfully doing so for many months. Something about this time of year though, both consciously and subconsciously, is reminding me of how it all went to hell.
Instead of a fat, bearded, red-suited man I was called upon by a dark, punishing, sickle-bearing bastard.
Sick and getting sicker, the chemicals coursing through my body doing things they do in camps, during war.
No one else knows this, of course, what I'm feeling now. How I'm reminiscing. I don't show them anything.
I share with you for context. Why perhaps I haven't been so cheery this past week. And how hard it must be to turn this shitty mood around.
I woke up yesterday and weighed myself for the first time in a month. I'd gained three pounds. Not entirely unexpected I suppose. Sigh.
Hadn't been feeling so hot for a few days. More overworked than sick. Took a few days off. Kind of felt like my body needed to recover anyway. I'd been hitting it hard. Hitting everything hard.
Today's okay. Nothing special. And I'm not smiling.
Take a little break from the office. Walking, listening, meditating. Mile after mile in the warm sun, Pook on my headphones. Hit the bathroom, button my pants. What's this? I'm using that new hole I drilled in my belt, the one meant to remind me how far I've come? Interesting.
Back to work, the belt a distant thought. Another walk and I'm off to get the kids. I'm on daddy-duty this week since the wife is away.
Windows down, sunroof open, music loud and hard. Still not smiling. Left arm perched against the window. What's this? My shirt is tight, but only in the biceps and in the shoulders? Reach over, feel my bicep. Hmmm. That's odd. Get a call. It's forgotten.
Home now, kids run to their rooms, and it hits me.
Off to that room in the house with all the mirrors and gym equipment. Shirt comes off, the long-sleeve, collared one. Roll up my t-shirt sleeves, mimicking a muscle shirt. What… the… fuck?
If I covered my head I would not recognize it was me. I have biceps. I have a vein running vertically down one of them and horizontally across the other.
Three pounds up and one inch down. That's… fucking… muscle. And… it… looks… fucking… good.
I catch myself in the mirror and I see it. The smile. The smile that's alluded me for the last week.
Shirt comes off and I look closer. See my abs much more than the last time I paid attention. Not where I want them to be. Yet. Not where they will be. But they're there, and they look good. Not yet like this (no homo - okay maybe a little homo) but getting there. Christ, there's a fucking vein in my shoulder.
I've been working hard. Really, really hard. Month after month after month. Hard. You hear that newbie pussies? It doesn't just fall in your fucking laps.
I've been monitoring my results. Paying close attention.
But I hadn't really stepped back and looked at the larger view. The global view. The macro view as you uber-geeks would call it.
I finally did and now I know what [Triadis3] (https://www.reddit.com/user/Triadis3/) meant in that post of his from a few days ago. I get it. I understand that not everyone loved it in the
girl's locker room TRP sub, but I get it. I feel it.
It's good to be alive. It's good to smile.
Oh, shit. There's sex in my life too, right? And a woman?
- I'm having sex and it has improved, both quantitatively and qualitatively. Best sex I've had in my entire life lately. Huh? With my wife? Is that even possible?
- She told me last week, after sex, that she never imagined she could share such intimacy with another human being. How cute.
- She keeps rubbing my biceps. Constantly. We walk the dog a lot together. Jesus she's touchy-feely these days.
- She rubs my obliques frantically - like she can't get enough - like they're the key to her survival - when I'm penetrating her. I have chronic pain issues. They involve my spine. I've taken to core work very, very enthusiastically and aggressively. It doesn't feel like work. If I hit the core hard, twice a day, pain is lessened. It's that simple. But it has given me a core that she's not so accustomed to seeing, touching, or feeling.
- Two weeks ago she said, and I quote "you are transforming your body and I love it." There was particular emphasis on the word love.
As I've mentioned in a few comments I am operating in the world of red pill on
hard hardest mode. Serious illness does that.
Is it working? In ways it is. In ways it's clear I'm not there yet.
I am working on a real field report for the other sub and it's comprehensive. But that smile meant a lot to me and I wanted to share. So many of you have helped me so much, I hope you find some satisfaction in learning of my successes.
I for one know the journey is just beginning and is bound to get harder. For me, it started as a sexual journey focused on someone else. It has evolved into something entirely different. Something profound and meaningful.