I lift to deal with life. I lift to deal with the fact that I have to go out and shovel a big pile of white shit in the cold without my spine going sproing or my arteries going gloop. I lift because I can care for others — my back is powerful enough to clear the snow for myself, and for my two elderly neighbours.
I lift because it reduces my chances of being trapped or falling. I lift because it girds my bones and my mind for battle.
But I don’t lift because of fear, or because the world is a mean place — I lift because of joy and the way it makes my body thrum with an achey aliveness.
And should the heavens see fit to vomit meteorological bullshit all over me, as they are doing today, I can clamp a figurative cigar in my mandible and snort, Is that the best ya got?