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I joined a gym about a year ago, and I have made a bunch of good gym friends since then. It’s all dudes who regularly are there, so quite a few of them are very much into fitness and their physique. None of them are entering any Mr. Olympia contests, but they work hard.
I walked up to say hello to a couple of guys one day recently and dropped in right in the middle of a conversation about using performance-enhancing drugs. One guy was talking about some kind of testosterone shot or pill. Another guy was mentioning good ol’ fashioned steroids, and a third guy seemed eager to start trying something to give him a little boost on his workouts. Somebody else jumped in with a recommendation for a sexual enhancement that shall go unnamed here.
I’m not here to explain the good or bad sides to taking supplements, legal or otherwise. Ask your doctor if additional testosterone is for you. I have no idea. They were all discussing it like they were experts, and I didn’t really interrogate any of the science of it. Again, I have no idea.
I’m writing about it here because my mind did wander for a half hour or so. Maybe a little boost would help me get better results? Maybe, as a 45-year-old dude with some chronic pain issues, some kind of pill or shot would be good for me.
Well, I have to shut that stuff down. I’m only talking about myself here, but I noticed right away what those thoughts did to me. I felt the excitement in my stomach of some kind of life amplifier pumped into my veins, something to make me feel a little better and maybe cut some corners.
I can’t cut corners.
I just can’t. I can’t even open that door. I see what happens when I eat a delicious donut… I want three more. I see what happens when I have $500… I want $5,000. I see what happens when I drink an extra cup of coffee and feel that caffeine kick… I want to pour a 5-hour Energy into a Monster Energy drink that I then pour into a large coffee.
In other words, if some is good, lots is better.
There’s also the element of finding an easy way to get to a hard result. I’m always looking for the easy way to the finish line, and it rarely works out. There’s a certain satisfaction that comes from trudging the long road to get somewhere, versus looking for shortcuts.
I went to rehab hoping I could not drink or do drugs for 30 days, and then be fine. I wanted to just wish away the addiction stuff. But it ain’t that easy. It’s taken thousands of meetings and phone calls to get to this point, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
So I think I’ll pass on the extra testosterone, and I’ll have a peanut butter cup—or five—instead.
This newsletter is a place of joy and laughter about the deadly serious business of sobriety. So, as I will often do, let me close with a joke:
ONE DAY TWO FACTORY WORKERS start talking on the job. It's still pretty early in the morning, but one of them is totally looped.
"I think I'll take some time off from work," says the straight guy.
"How are you going to do that?" asks the drunk. The straight guy proceeds to demonstrate--by climbing up to the rafters and hanging upside down.
The boss walks in, sees the worker hanging from the ceiling, and asks him what on earth he is doing.
"I'm a light bulb," the guy answers.
"I think you need some time off," says the boss. With that, the man jumps down and walks out of the factory. The drunk begins walking out, too.
"Hey!" calls the boss. "Where do you think you're going?"
The drunk hiccups and answers, "Home. I can't work in the dark."
(Credit: AA Grapevine, April 2004, by Linda S. of Bonita Springs, Florida)
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