My brother, Greg, sends me motivational playlists via SoundCloud
I listen to at the gym. They’re snippets of speeches from people like Eric Thomas (E.T.), Greg Plitt
, Ray Lewis, Muhammad Ali, and even Al Pacino
. I can tell you that, if I’m on a spin bike, and the right message hits me at just the right time, I could drive that bike right off its stand, through the glass wall, down the stairs, and onto the street. Or maybe I’ll be doing seated rows. When E.T. is yelling at me about how I don’t even know about the grind
– well, the weights are going to smash against the top of the rack and people around me are going to be scared. “I KNOW ABOUT THE GRIND, E.T.,” I say, to myself
. I’m not “that guy”.
I’m a sucker for that stuff. I played tennis in high school so I never had the thrill of a stirring locker room speech at halftime but I know that, if I had, I would have run onto the field and tried to rip the goalpost out of the ground. It wouldn’t have budged because I weighed 145 pounds and I looked like a greyhound with a sweet body wave home perm but that’s not really the point. (Don’t let your stepmother do your body wave at home no matter how many times she tells you how much cheaper it’ll be and how all the girls are going to go wild.)
I think about what life would be like if I could sustain this sense of enthusiasm and boundless power. It’s a little scary. There’s such a thing as being too productive and too awesome, I think. Maybe I’ll ask Z. He could ask Steph
. Usually by the time I leave the gym, the effect has worn off and I’m back to worrying about tomorrow’s meeting, a project deadline, or whether I should get an oil change. I am due for an oil change, actually. This is going to gnaw at me a bit. Who has time for an oil change?
Anyway, let me know if you’d like me to send you my playlist. Some of you don’t know a single thing about the grind and you’ve gotten soft.