Page 30 - Fire Your Personal Trainer and Kick Your Own Damn Ass

Fire Your Personal Trainer 27
And Kick Your Own Damn Ass

bully, or a hood, or an athlete, or a cool kid. I was the nerdy kid with
a cynical attitude who thought he had a wry sense of humor. You may
have hated those kids when you went to school and I get that, but that’s
who I was.

I didn’t have the passion for sports that other guys did. My vision was a
big problem. I had atrocious depth perception without my glasses on,
and I seemed like a much worse athlete than I was because I couldn’t see

the ball and judge distances properly.

I remember being in the outfield in a softball game in junior high and
having a high fly ball hit toward me. I wasn’t wearing glasses and could
hardly see the ball or track its path in mid-air. (Not very smart for an
outfielder, right?) I backpedaled to catch the ball, tripped, and fell
backward. The ball landed behind me, and the kids laughed their heads
off.

At the end of the game, one of the eighth-graders who was really
invested in this game stormed over and screamed at me. I can see him
standing there, absolutely furious at me, shouting at length how I would
never amount to anything or be any good at anything in high school. I
just stood there thinking it was kind of surreal and waited for it to end so
I could change my clothes and go to my next class.

So, you can understand why my father was skeptical about me

committing to the weights which he seems to have equated with sports.
Frankly, he never thought I would finish anything I did, which didn’t make
any sense considering I was a good student and I applied myself to my
studies. I just wasn’t interested in sports for a host of obvious reasons
that somehow escaped him.