The old ball and chain

Take a look at this picture:

What do you see?

If you said "a large cooler" you're right-

somewhat.

What I see is a toolbox.
A ticket on the slow moving train going to where I want to be.
When I move through this world I have this box, this burden. My ball. My chain.

It's hard getting on the bus, whacking other passengers in my wake. It's hard getting on the bart, but it's nice because this box doubles as a seat;it props me up- literally, and figuratively
It's filled with the nutritional goodness that keeps me honest.
Supplements in the front pocket, even room for a muscle mag in the back.
It's also a constant reminder that I am a bodybuilder.

People look at me, confused, and ask if I'm going on a picnic, hoping to poke fun at my dietary purse. Ya. That's right. I'm going on a picnic. Everyday.

Laugh it up mr. cheese doodles. Have another bagel, extra cream cheese, extra mediocrity.


It's a lot like a baby- I have to take it everywhere I go, and worry constantly any time I set it down. Sometimes it smells funny (thank you garlic/onions) and sometimes I wish I never had it (only sometimes though.)

Sometimes I wonder what'd be like to leave the house, no ball, no chain. Walk with just my hands in my pockets. I'd feel light on my toes. I'd feel off. They say that bodybuilding is a bug, and once it bites, you can never go back.
Ain't No Half Stepping.

When thirst strikes on the morning train I open it up and I can see my fellow passengers try to sneak a peek.
They see:
Tupperware. Water bottle. Protein Shaker.
I see:
Commitment. Pride. Dedication.