After years of hard work and extremely close calls, my brother won a bodybuilding competition and was the overall winner for Mr Minnesota. I don't know if I've ever been so happy for him as the moment I heard his name announced as the winner. I was literally hunched over in my seat, rocking back and forth like Rainman, saying over and over "Ohmygodohmygodohmygodpleaselethimwinpleaseohplease..." When they said his name, the audience erupted into cheers. Our group was hugging, high-fiving and a few of us were wiping away some very happy tears.
We knew how bad he wanted it. How hard he had trained for it. How much he had sacrificed to look the way he did. I've never known anyone so disciplined, even if I secretly thinks it sometimes borders on lunacy. Three days before the event I met him by my work. He was eating some nutritionally engineered perfect meal. As he was setting down the food container, some piece of his food (an egg? a potato? I have no idea what it was except it looked bland and boring) fell out and landed on the parking lot. I laughed and said, "Well there's something for the birds to eat." He admonished me with a look, picked up the food, popped it in his mouth and said, "Vanessa, every single one of my calories are calculated at this point."
Really? Because I'm quite certain the only food I would pick up from the dirt and dust off before eating would be a Twix bar.
My brother's decades-long fitness journey has sometimes even inspired me to get off the couch and head into the gym. Last spring during my unemployment stint I had another bout of inspiration. Apparently watching hours of Maury and consuming entire pints of Ben & Jerry's Coffee Heath Bar Crunch became less appealing.
I had heard about the co-owner of our local Anytime Fitness, who also offered personal training. He was supposed to be demanding, but got great results for his clients. After my regular lunch of chips, dip and a Diet Mountain Dew, I sauntered into the gym and signed up.
My training started with him the very next day. The only way I can describe it is gut-wrenchingly brutal. Within minutes I was out of breath, in pain, and swearing profusing. There is something about being in his presence that makes my complaining and whining go on full tilt. After the first 30 minutes I was ready to throw up. "I think I'm going to puke," I told him. "I need air."
He guided me outside so I could sit on the front curb and catch my breath. A few minutes later he followed me outside and sat down next to me.
"You ate breakfast like I told you?" he asked.
I nodded. "Yes, a sausage burrito from McDonalds and a Diet Coke."
He shook his head and handed me a Muscle Milk. "Here,drink this."
I reached over with a shaky arm and took it from him. "I'd run away from you and this gym right now but I don't think I have control over the lower half of my body."
He rolled his eyes and said, "You wouldn't be too hard to catch."
After my workout, I drove home....using nothing but my elbows and sheer will. I vowed to myself I would never go back.
But I did. Six days a week for four months in a row. I trained with him religiously and always showed up. Our sessions consisted of me whining, him yelling, both of us using profanity, but I began to grudgingly respect him. I thought he was too hard on me, so I started referring to him as The Tin Man, because I thought he had no heart. There would be days I felt like I was going to die, and I would have tears in my eyes because I was so exhausted and I couldn't believe that stupid jerk was going to make me do another set. I distinctly remember looking at him while I was doing some type of weight training and thinking to myself, "God he thinks he's so cool with his big muscles, and his shiny black head and his expensive shoes. I hate him."
But the Tin Man is the only one, besides my brother, who continuously told me I could reach my fitness goals. It felt good to be believed in and encouraged.
One day in the gym I excitedly grabbed his hand and placed it near my waist. "Do you feel that? That, my friend, is a hipbone. Something I have not felt since Clinton was in office."
Once I started back to work I was unable to work out with him as much as I did before. After awhile I had lost 60 pounds. I still have a ways to go, and the Tin Man has promised to help me get there.
I look at everything my brother has accomplished and how much he has given up to reach his goals... why do I struggle so much with giving up a mushroom & swiss and heading into the gym? How can my brother have the strongest willpower ever, and my determination vanishes as quick as Charlie Sheen supporters.
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