ChicagoFit
Explorer
November 20, 1976: a cheaply made film about a "bum" changed the world. In this, its 50th anniversary year, most people still hear the trumpets, or picture that gray sweatsuit. For me it's something else entirely.
Again and again over those 50 years, I've told myself I'd stop being "another bum from the neighborhood." The forum's sentiment is mine. We've all put something into ourselves — GLPs, other protocols, whatever it takes. We want to go for it.
Movie buff, Rocky fan: my hope is that some peptide becomes the Micky (Burgess Meredith) in my corner. The hard truth is that, 50 years on, I still have to be Rocky. Perhaps a peptide will be the voice telling me to get up? Will it reduce the swelling until I can see the target? Will it hand me the means to stay in the fight? Everyone wants their Micky. Soon, I hope. Micky will show up for me.
In the first film, Rocky doesn't win. He wanted something simpler: "To go the distance." Those 50 years have taught me that running isn't one good day in the park, and fat loss isn't about shedding 50 lbs inside a month. It's about answering the bell for Round 15. It's about not wobbling when the scale stops moving. Stamina gets tested in round 15, not round 1. Sometimes it isn't there and I end up on that cold hard mat.
There's a line that gets quoted a lot: "Go one more round when you don't think you can. That's what makes all the difference in your life." For me that's another 10 minutes of running through the shit cold Chicago weather while I'm knackered and feeling too old and too fat. It's rolling the dice on going for it even though nobody gives a damn what I do.
It's about remembering, too. Apollo Creed was the least of it — Rocky was also fighting his self-doubt, his history, and every person who said he couldn't. Mine has been the same fight: the opponent isn't the miles underfoot or the calories cut, it's the voice telling me to quit over one "messed up" meal. I had a re-gain. My knee is injured. That's my Adrian, saying don't fight, you'll get hurt. And I still remember the words from 50 years ago:
"It ain't about how hard you hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward."
Today, I want to take the rope and pull myself off that mat. The bell is coming. November 20th marks 50 years of Rocky. Thanksgiving falls the same week. "Micky, is there for me." Can I still get back up off the mat?
Again and again over those 50 years, I've told myself I'd stop being "another bum from the neighborhood." The forum's sentiment is mine. We've all put something into ourselves — GLPs, other protocols, whatever it takes. We want to go for it.
Movie buff, Rocky fan: my hope is that some peptide becomes the Micky (Burgess Meredith) in my corner. The hard truth is that, 50 years on, I still have to be Rocky. Perhaps a peptide will be the voice telling me to get up? Will it reduce the swelling until I can see the target? Will it hand me the means to stay in the fight? Everyone wants their Micky. Soon, I hope. Micky will show up for me.
In the first film, Rocky doesn't win. He wanted something simpler: "To go the distance." Those 50 years have taught me that running isn't one good day in the park, and fat loss isn't about shedding 50 lbs inside a month. It's about answering the bell for Round 15. It's about not wobbling when the scale stops moving. Stamina gets tested in round 15, not round 1. Sometimes it isn't there and I end up on that cold hard mat.
There's a line that gets quoted a lot: "Go one more round when you don't think you can. That's what makes all the difference in your life." For me that's another 10 minutes of running through the shit cold Chicago weather while I'm knackered and feeling too old and too fat. It's rolling the dice on going for it even though nobody gives a damn what I do.
It's about remembering, too. Apollo Creed was the least of it — Rocky was also fighting his self-doubt, his history, and every person who said he couldn't. Mine has been the same fight: the opponent isn't the miles underfoot or the calories cut, it's the voice telling me to quit over one "messed up" meal. I had a re-gain. My knee is injured. That's my Adrian, saying don't fight, you'll get hurt. And I still remember the words from 50 years ago:
"It ain't about how hard you hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward."
Today, I want to take the rope and pull myself off that mat. The bell is coming. November 20th marks 50 years of Rocky. Thanksgiving falls the same week. "Micky, is there for me." Can I still get back up off the mat?
