Allegory of Agony: How Isaac Got Ripped

I had been going to the weight room in my dorms a few evenings a week for about a month.  I was trying to get back into the shape I was in when I was playing high school sports.  I was preparing to do the bench press when I heard a “psst” noise from across the room.  I looked around trying to find the source.  I saw a dark shady looking fellow with bulging biceps motion for me to go talk to him.  Trying not to draw any attention to us I crept over to where he was sitting.  “You trying to work on your chest?”  He asked in a hushed voice.  “Yeah” I responded.  “I figured I’d just do some reps on the bench press.”  “No man, if you’re looking to a ripped chest you need to try some of these.”  He motioned to a nearby machine.  “What are they?”  I asked.  “They’re called ‘fly’s,’ the whole football team is doing ‘em.”  “Really?”  “Yeah.”  “How do they work?”  “I’ll show you.”  He did a few fly’s on the big fly machine and then handed the handles to me and said “Go ahead, give it a shot.”  I hesitated. “I don’t know man, I’ve heard about weightlifting machines like this.  They say that they…”  “Do you want to get ripped or not?”  He interrupted.  I gave in and did a few reps.  I liked the way it felt.  I warm burning sensation shot through body.  I could almost hear the tear of the individual muscle strands cry out as they snapped under the newfound strain.  I did more and more reps.  I lifted until I couldn’t lift anymore.

Tired I headed up to my room and collapsed on my bed.

In the early morning I awoke for class.  As I reached for the alarm clock my arm and body cried out agony.  “What the heck happened last night?”  I thought.  “Oh yeah, fly’s.”  I couldn’t concentrate in class.  My professor’s voices were as the muffled sounds of people talking on the poolside when you are under water.  All I could think of was my aching body.  “I knew not to try that stupid machine!”  I cursed myself “I’m never lifting weights again.”

After my day on campus was over I was walking back to dorm and passed by the weight room.  Several hours had passed and I was feeling a little better.  As I walked past I paused and looked in the window.  “I shouldn’t.”  I said.  I looked at my watch, back at the weight room and thought “I guess I could head in there for a few minutes.”

He was there again.  He spotted me and said “I knew you’d be back, everybody comes back.”  “Just once more man.”  I said.  “Then I’m done.”  He introduced me to another machine.  I felt that same burning sensation in my body.  I liked it.

The next morning was the same, sore, dazed, and full of regret.  “I’m never doing that again” I promised myself.  But by the time that evening came there I was, torturing my body in the weight room.  And then it happened again the next day, and the next.  Soon I was using the same machines but the burning sensation was weaker than it had been.  I started using more machines and more methods to get that feeling back.  I could never get enough.  My grades were plummeting.  I soon stopped going to class altogether so I could spend more time in the weight room.

My friends pulled me aside and told me they were worried about me, they hadn’t been seeing me around anymore.  “I’m fine.” I promised them “I’ve just been really busy with schoolwork.”  They said they knew I had pulled out of my classes.  “I didn’t drop out!  I just changed my schedule that’s all.  Don’t worry about it.”  “Isaac” they said “Your muscles are exploding out of control. We know you have a problem, let us help you, we love you!”  “If you loved me you’d just let me live my life the way I want!”  I snapped back at them.

But they were right, despite my bitter jealousy and anger I knew in my heart they were right.  I couldn’t quit lifting, I couldn’t quit working out.  My body longed for the break of the sweat and the burn of the flesh.  My muscles could never be big enough, never.