Saturday, March 17, 2018

Crazy-Eyed Crox!

When I left home to attend college 500 miles away, it was a difficult transition. I can remember the feeling of the weight of the world upon me.

I was an academic slacker. Other than my passion for auto mechanics and the refreshing challenge of advanced placement classes, I was not motivated. I didn't have to work to earn C's. College was a shock!

I'd enrolled in a program with a 70% drop out rate. Almost every higher learning institution puts extraordinary pressure on their students at some point. Most of them do that  towards the end of the program to ensure the school gets its money before weeding out the weak players that might give the school a bad reputation. But the program that I enrolled in put the pressure on you in the beginning.

That drop out rate was an oversight for me. The number that I was fixated on was the hiring rate. I wanted assurance that my expensive education was a worthy investment. The program boasted a high rate of employment upon completion with some very coveted companies. I believe that was the reason for the weeding to happen early.

The very first term, I felt the pressure to quit. I would have been in good company. Students were dropping out left and right, quite literally. For every student that stayed the course, one student to their left and another to their right would drop out during that first term.

It was during that time that it hit me. I felt sorry for myself. Overworked, alone, isolated, and hopeless. I hadn't enough time in the new location to make new friends. I was not used to spending most of the day in school and coming home to piles of homework. I was not used to the faster pace of learning that required me to apply myself. My usual effort would have resulted in failing grades! And I didn't have any physical outlet for my frustrations.

Enter the gym! It was a paradox that I was a slacker at school, but a hard worker in other aspects. I was accustomed to the physical demands of ranch life. Now I had zero physical activity and all mental demands. I was out of balance! It was with some desperation that I joined the closest gym to my apartment.

It was just the distraction and physical outlet that I needed. I made friends quickly there, not the least of which was the owner. He was a great guy.

After we got to know eachother, he offered me employment. In exchange for watching the gym for a few hours every evening, I would get free membership and supplements. I learned a lot about fitness, diet, health, and people in general.

Of all the people there, the most unique was "Crazy-eyed Crox". He was a high-fiving socializer and a natural mesomorph. I have since observed most mesomorphs to be of that personality type. It must be due to all the people drawn to them that they become people and ego-centric?

When he talked to you, his eyes would widen as far as possible. I think he did it so often that his eyes grew further open than normal. He would use a lot of words and gestures to say very little. But he had an infectious style of abundant energy and enthusiasm. He was not only "crazy-eyed" but a little crazy in the head too.

He was half of identical twins. His brother was in the big house. He was always bragging on his twin brother with his outlandish style, telling how "Huge!" his brother was getting by working out in the joint.

"That's just great. Now a menace to society will be a bigger and stronger menace to society!" Of course, I kept my thoughts to myself.

Half of his madness was hereditary, but the other half was self inflicted. No doubt the motorcycle crash that he endured was a contributor.

"Yeah! Man!" he told the story in his usual theatrical style: eyes wide open, overyly large gestures, and sometimes he got too close.

"The doctor said I should have died! I hit a stop sign head first! Dude! I wasn't wearing a effing helmet!" he tries to part his unruly mop to show the scar.

"If I wasn't in such good effing shape, I might have died!" He used the f-word sparingly for maximum effect.

It would come as no big surprise to learn he'd also had trouble with the law. I often got his stories mixed up with stories about his brother. The prison fight story was one that I didn't get clear who was the subject, but the theme was fighting like a crazy man. I pictured the description of a Berserker during the Viking era.

"Yeah Man! The very first day, you gotta make a statement! You gotta go crrazzzy man! Bite his effing ear off! Get the blood everywhere! After that, nobody's gonna mess with you, Dude!"

He was a memorable character, but what I remember most about him was his work out. It made no sense. He had no routine or stucture what so ever. Of course, he was the body type that could look into a gym and gain muscle mass.

He would work hard at his non-sensical exercising. Most of the time, he'd randomly pick somebody out and start working out with them. He'd do what ever they were doing and then move on to something else unrelated. But he was always enthused and Intense. You must use a capital "I" to describe his Intensity.

I have incorporated the "Crazy-eyed Crox" routine? into my weekly routine. It is a day quite different from my usual regimented routine. It is fun, different, and something that I have come to look forward to. I just do what ever crazy thing comes to mind. I have no regard to yesterday, tomorrow, no goal or succession in mind. Simply intensity and exercise like a half-brained maniac.

"It's effing refreshing Dude! Give it a try!"

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