I’m the writer, but I do the workout. Writing’s not sitting. Sports, I have all of them in my body. Muscles always, for moving. I try the celebrity diets with my mouth, and eat them. I’m always doing the workouts, for my fitness body. I triathlete, I Pilates. I Pi early too. Pushing my body always because my mind, she’s so awake with words and language. Pillar of strength, exhausted. Modern urban jungle, it’s not like the real jungle we all come from. How will I survive zombies? With quadriceps and explosive fast-twitch muscles, is how. Hands aren’t made to hold keyboards. Hands are made for bags of sand, and fleeing courageously. My brain hard, make my body hard. It’s not about abs. It’s about Power Stomach Lines, for energy and for authenticity. Why do I do the workouts? For you to read them. I bring them to you. Is it good? Is there sand? Should you read them, with your home eyes? Yes. I am the writer, I am like you. I am like the workout, strong and good. I am both, Home Eyes. Read me.

I did all the sports, before. Too many. My knees, they’re gone at the doctor’s. My cartilage is pushups. The workout promises. Can I believe them? I want to. It’s hard to believe the promises of the workout, because of my writer’s brain, because it doesn’t believe things, because it’s strong and hearty like a meatball handshake.

The workout is in Encinitas. The workout is deep in an Amazonian warehouse. The workout is four nautical miles over Palo Alto. The workout is inside of a steel mill two hundred years ago. The workout is wherever you are. The workout has already ended. You failed. This workout was designed by Rob MacRob, who throws Scotsmen into garbage bins until they fight him. This workout is a thousand beautiful women throwing their own legs at each other until their yoga bags are full. Everyone’s doing the workout but you. It’s ballet with rocks. It’s drowning in reverse. It’s throwing tree trunks at a Spin class. It’s a crossword puzzle with kettlebells. My body is full of blood but I don’t care about any of it.

The workout is a civilian recreation of how Navy SEALs are killed. The workout is a human reconstruction of how gorillas choose their murderers. Bicep curls are punishable by immediate death by lightning.

I showed up for the workout, and I was already wrong. “I’ll cover you with poison, or something,” Clayback Stormstrong and Thinelle Sleamstress. Annihilate. Is he a sadist? I’m normal, like you, but strong like me, and this made me fail. This workout made Gerard Butler commit suicide. It’s harder than war, but I love it like an addiction. Traditional workouts? You can’t have them. We took them away. Eat a mountain, bike a dozen eggs, throw yourself away. My cheat meal was a peacock. You’re a pizza bagel, I’m Thor. Were you expecting Lycra Shakira dancing? Get your mind out of Brazil. This workout is from Thailand’s Ivory Coast. I was bored of running through Olympic pools. I was ready to test my limits, and mind living. You’ll suffer, but there’s glitter too, and lunch, and fun times. Everything’s easier to me now, because I did the workout. Sex loves me now, and I like wearing pants outside.

This workout was an inspiration. This workout changed my life. I stopped doing the workout.

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