Today

Today I decided to go to the gym after a long and boring day at work. Boring because I couldn't do the few things i had to do, and long because there wasn't much to do anyway.

Jeff Buckley playing on my iPod, and using the iPhone to text 'Happy Birthday' to my oldest friend's girlfriend, I was ready to get my daily pains.

After some sweaty cycling session, I proceeded to work a bit on my legs (gotta get my knee back into shape). For those of you who don't know, I go to the gym alone; it's not my ideal way of going to the gym, since it can get kind of boring, and having a gym partner entertains and motivates you to keep going a bit longer, a bit harder. So, in between sets, I decided to browse around the internet, for not-so-random stuff.

I googled 'Nemesis' and opened a few windows to see what kind of stuff would appear. She is a terrific (in my honest opinion) writer, with just the right amount of wit, sensibility, insight, and rage. You might not agree with what she says sometimes (God knows I don't), but it's always an entertaining read.

Some of the things I found were as expected: blogs, profiles that weren't accessible unless she approved, old articles that she wrote, some crappy blog compendiums that featured one of her posts... And then I read something she wrote. Just a small, short, straight to the point sentence.

I was doing my sit-ups... 3 sets of different types of abdominal exercises that usually leave me a bit sore for the rest of the day, and then some more. I love them.

I found myself doing them more fiercely, slightly harder, losing count of them. After finishing the set, I was gasping for air. I checked that sentence again. I started gasping slightly harder.

Next set, I started looking at some beautiful girl who was doing shoulder exercises in front of me. That sentence kept flashing in my head, and making me act... more violently, but without rage. She had a really nice figure, and a kind complexion. Still, I couldn't control my rhythm.

After I was done with the third set, I noticed tears were about to come out of my eyes. I went to drink some water. 'Another anxiety crisis? I haven't had any of those in a while'. I thought that couldn't be it, although the shortness of breath suggested otherwise. 'Mh - I thought - Wasn't this phase over already?'

I didn't care about my usual training anymore, I needed to let some steam out, so I went to whatever high resistance machine was available at that time, 3 sets of whatever, with slightly too much weight... That should do the trick.

As I was pulling violently, Jeff Buckley kept singing, tears were threatening to appear again, and coaches disguised as Batman, Spiderman, Lara Croft and Neptune were playfully talking to the regulars.

I decided to run for a few kilometers and leave, but all the running machines on that floor were taken. 'Fuck it, I'm going home'.

I grabbed my things at the locker room and stormed out of the building, while I thought of how lucky I was for having the opportunities, the friends, the family I have. I live in a nice house, filled with paintings, books, instruments... My parents are good people, and my friends love me to death... I have a car, and all my limbs, and a good job... My coach is a fucking Olympic gold medalist, for God's sake!

When I opened my car's door, I couldn't take it anymore. Tears were running down my face before I hit the seat. I turned on the lights of the car, and then I turned them off again. It was raining outside, 5ºC. It didn't feel cold at all... A second after I closed the door, 'Lover, you should've come over' started playing. I could hear my sobs over the music, muffled. I couldn't stop.

I cried like never before. At least that I can remember.

I didn't cry when my grandfather died, or when my aunt, who came every Saturday to have lunch with us and always brought us sweets, and liked her coffee with a trickle of Marie Brizard died. I didn't cry when my dad was at the hospital, and almost died. Or when he told us that at some point while he was there, he just wanted to go... 'I had a good enough life, can't it just end now?'

Everything sunk in. EVERYTHING. The condensation covered my car's windows and windshield, and I just couldn't stop crying. At some point I started heading home, still gasping for air, still weeping. When I got home, I run upstairs and went to my room, and locked it. I collapsed on the bed and thought to myself 'how highschool'. But I just couldn't stop.

I didn't cry when I busted my knee, or when my lungs and heart were being reset to their original locations, although I could barely take the pain. I didn't cry when my brother shot me.

And suddenly I was laying on my bed, crying mute cries, sobbing and trying to keep them quiet enough so my father wouldn't hear it from his study, although I knew he did.

Would I be able to look at myself again if I didn't do anything about this? Just a sentence, and everything was different, clearer, still drenched in fear and doubt, but those 2 shouldn't be taken into consideration, right?

She can say 'no'. She can choose the Viking. She can hate me if I go.

But I will hate me if I don't.