I entertained a daydream this morning based upon my killer Saturday workout. I brought my wife and daughter with me to my circuit training. Each Saturday we get a different coach. You can always tell what a coach is going to make you do by looking at their build. This morning we had GI Jane. She had man arms and man shoulders. Naturally she did handstand pushups against the wall. Did I say the workout was brutal? There were about 25 of us total in the class, many of whom I had not met before one or two others were black Americans. Some of these were newbs. Newbs always think they can hang throughout the whole hour. Newbs just don't know, but they find out quick.
About halfway through the workout, Coach decides we should do something extra. Wait. Let me explain. At the beginning of the workout she demonstrates each of the eight stations and shows us the two exercises we will do for one minute each. All of those are written up on the whiteboard for all to see. But she also says that between each set, we'll do something extra and before we move to the next station. That extra thing is not written up on the whiteboard. It's a surprise after each set. GI Jane is different. So we're bulling our way through and about halfway through the workout, Coach decides we should do something extra. First time it was a few situps. Next time a few jumping jacks. This time, it's burpees. It's at that moment when one of the black women, whom I'd never seen before give the coach a look, that just screams, but does not say "This is BULLSHIT". Coach takes it in stride saying "I love your face". My wife caught the moment. I saw the newb face a few minutes later.
I generally don't pay attention to the women in the class, but that's a discussion for another day. This morning I caught sight of another black woman whose face was new to me as I passed her while doing the jogging lap we often must perform. She may or may not have been the same woman. I don't know. But I daydreamed that she whispered to me, This is Bullshit.
People who know me, know that I am bursty. I am like war. Long periods of boredom followed by mind-numbing feats of extraordinary something or other. I don't perform constantly, but when I do, I don't leave anything undone. I'm a sleeper. At the end of the day I will have done a hell of a lot more than the average bear, but I don't look like it. We'll, I do look like it. Outside of circus acrobats, and professional atheletes most guys my age.. meh. What am I trying to prove? Bottom line is that I don't quit. I expect to leave it all in the ring, as they say. I give 120% 80% of the time. The other 20% I'm gasping and sweating and demonstrating clearly that I'm at my absolute limit. That's how I work out. And I never complain. The harder it gets, the harder I work. And I encourage everyone. That's how I work. That's how I play. And I have just about zero patience for people who say things like 'This is boooolshit". My immediate response is, then shut the fuck up and go home. Why are you even here?
And so in my daydream, I am a Negro in the 1940s and I am in bootcamp being shouted at in the segregated Army working my way to go the Europe to fight the Hun. The Negro next to me is panting and jogging next to me. He's gassed. He asks if we are going to actually get a chance to fight. I say, I think so, keep running. Then I'm in Korea and the Negro next to me is shivering cold and he whispers in my ear, I think we're going to lose this war. I say, maybe but we're here to fight. Stay warm. Then I'm in Vietnam and the black soldier next to me is saying 'This is bullshit" and I ignore him. Then I'm in on my way to Iraq and a black protester is saying "No blood for oil". Right about this time, I am finishing my lap and I come back to reality thinking that there are no black folks in my circuit training class this morning because there are black history professors saying that circuit training is racist bullshit and African Americans shouldn't exercise because we're not farm animals. What a horrible stereotype I daydreamed.
But the players in this drama are only black for the sake of this particular example. The weakness and fear and fight against brutal physical exertion is nothing specific to any so-called race. It's a character thing in all human beings. And so my attitude remains. On social media I hear the echoes all the time. This is bullshit they say. They don't like the coach, the challenge is too hard. And I listen. I don't tell them to STFU and go home, and why are you even here. I think it. But I don't say it. I just put my head down and do the work I came to do. I try to keep those 20% gaps to a minimum. I wonder how old I'm going to be when I just can't do it any longer. I focus on my own performance. I'm a 1940s Negro in that way, a Tuskeegee Airman. I've got something to prove, but not with my mouth. I don't mind being a small cog in a big machine. I'm certainly not a monkey wrench in the gears. I'm doing my part. It's not about me. It's about us.
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I think in black American life, we all knew the somebody who took the extra time to whisper in our ear. There is a shared confidence we are presumed to have, and often enough somebody will call us 'brother' in an effort to engage in some heartfelt honesty. Sometimes the honesty is more than you wanted to know. Too much information. Sometimes the honesty is right on time, a confidence you needed to experience for once. Sometimes it's completely wack out of left field. But it's always a reaching out for belonging, it's consequently a challenge to respond in kind, because as much as people like to pretend that black Americans are all the same, (even black Americans pretend), the reality of black diversity can be daunting.
That moment. That whisper. It makes you hold your breath.
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