I am badly wired, but built for crisis. There is a deficiency in several traits necessary for proper adulting. I have a poor sense of time, a muted threat response, and a formless life that defies structure. I have learned to cope with this general liability, but there is an upside to existing comfortably within dysfunction. Things collapse frequently, so I am inured to disaster and an expert at rebuilding on the fly. You can rattle a beaver by razing the woods, but a Raccoon will always find an alley.
When perfect is perpetually denied, you become adept at creating fine. I work in a gym and lifting keeps me sane, but my home setup is substandard. So I improvised.
My first experimental deadlifting rig involved me stacking weights from a adjustable vest into cubes, that I then jammed into socks, which I tied to each end of my deadlift bar. I used packing tape for additional structural support. Safety first. It was a victory in terms of morale and style points, but there is a reason commercial gyms don’t just hang socks full of trash from rusty bars.
A better man would have conceded and just lifted the weight available until the skies cleared. I am no such man. Mark II came to me in a dream. The next morning I took an ethically questionable trip to the grocery store to purchase duct tape, and power lashed two 40lbs dumbbells to my bar. There were some logistical challenges, but it bumped the weight up enough I didn’t have to do cardio sets of 20.
I’ve supplemented my ad hoc powerlifting with deranged shirtless Thai shadow boxing in my backyard, loaded push ups and pullups, and prison style calisthenics. I await the end times with vigor.
All photos taken by my patient and lovely wife.