It looked like my increased strength had an anatomic basis. Chimpanzees and humans share ninety-eight percent of the same genes, but the average chimpanzee is five to seven times stronger than the average man. Chimps are stronger because their bones are denser and their tendons are positioned for better leverage. There are always tradeoffs. Humans float in water; chimps sink. Chimps don’t have the speed and endurance that humans do. I wondered if my speed and endurance had been affected for the worse.
B said Trolls were night creatures. I only needed to stay inside a threshold while the sun was down. It was a little past dawn, so I dressed and went outside. The morning temperature was still cool and the sky was a perfect blue. I turned on my phone running app to record my speed and distance, then took off. As expected, my feet didn’t hurt; I felt like I was running on padded carpet.
I was easily running a six minute mile compared to my normal ten. I sped up and ran as fast as I could. It was a struggle, and it hurt, but I was able to keep a four minute mile pace for two miles. In the past, I had never been able to crack five-and-a-half minutes. It was good to know my speed and endurance hadn’t dropped, and strangely reassuring to know my running speed wasn’t completely outside the boundaries of the humanly possible.
I dropped down to a five minute pace and made a fifteen mile loop. This pace wasn’t easy. I had to work to keep it up, but it was doable. Athletes who have both speed and endurance—whether they’re men like Lance Armstrong or horses like Secretariat— have oversized hearts. I placed my hand over my heart; I wasn’t sure but my heart felt like it was larger.
On the way back, I saw a bakery that was open for business. I bought a bunch of croissants and Danishes with different fillings along with four large cups of coffee. A peace offering to the Swenson girls wouldn’t hurt. I ran two miles back to the house, balancing the coffee tray in one hand like a waiter, and carrying the pastries in a bag with the other. My agility and coordination had also improved. I was never in danger of losing the coffee cups.
It was a little before 7:30 when I got back. I could hear Mina and Andi up in their respective bathrooms. Ben still wasn’t moving. I snuck into the kitchen and poured three of the coffee cups into an insulated coffee pot and left the pot and all the pastries on a plate on the breakfast table. I took a few seconds to gulp down the cup I hadn’t poured and then went back outside. I wasn’t up to facing the women just yet.
I had my first court-ordered psychological evaluation when I was thirteen. A visiting brother to the orphanage touched me; in response I crippled him. It had happened in the days before religious pedophilia made the news, and no one believed my story. The highlights of the evaluation were that I was highly intelligent, had anger management issues, hated authority, and had a pathological need to remain in control. I had been railroaded into juvie, but the psych eval was accurate.
I didn’t have a problem with my intelligence, hatred of authority, or my need for control. My anger bothered me. I made unforced errors when I got angry. For the last few years, I’ve been dealing with my temper with Tai Chi and meditation. Before I could deal with any of my current problems I needed to get my head on straight. I walked to the middle of the backyard. My shirt was soaking wet, yet I considered keeping it on; I was becoming self-conscious about how I looked. Fuck it. It was the way I looked—might as well get used to it. I stripped my shirt off and began the classical Yang style, the eighty-eight forms.
Within minutes, my heart rate slowed and my mind began to float. I was aware of everything but I didn’t care about anything. The trance state relaxes me; I have thoughts without emotions. For forty minutes I got lost in the forms. Tai Chi looks easy because the motions are so
B said Trolls were night creatures. I only needed to stay inside a threshold while the sun was down. It was a little past dawn, so I dressed and went outside. The morning temperature was still cool and the sky was a perfect blue. I turned on my phone running app to record my speed and distance, then took off. As expected, my feet didn’t hurt; I felt like I was running on padded carpet.
I was easily running a six minute mile compared to my normal ten. I sped up and ran as fast as I could. It was a struggle, and it hurt, but I was able to keep a four minute mile pace for two miles. In the past, I had never been able to crack five-and-a-half minutes. It was good to know my speed and endurance hadn’t dropped, and strangely reassuring to know my running speed wasn’t completely outside the boundaries of the humanly possible.
I dropped down to a five minute pace and made a fifteen mile loop. This pace wasn’t easy. I had to work to keep it up, but it was doable. Athletes who have both speed and endurance—whether they’re men like Lance Armstrong or horses like Secretariat— have oversized hearts. I placed my hand over my heart; I wasn’t sure but my heart felt like it was larger.
On the way back, I saw a bakery that was open for business. I bought a bunch of croissants and Danishes with different fillings along with four large cups of coffee. A peace offering to the Swenson girls wouldn’t hurt. I ran two miles back to the house, balancing the coffee tray in one hand like a waiter, and carrying the pastries in a bag with the other. My agility and coordination had also improved. I was never in danger of losing the coffee cups.
It was a little before 7:30 when I got back. I could hear Mina and Andi up in their respective bathrooms. Ben still wasn’t moving. I snuck into the kitchen and poured three of the coffee cups into an insulated coffee pot and left the pot and all the pastries on a plate on the breakfast table. I took a few seconds to gulp down the cup I hadn’t poured and then went back outside. I wasn’t up to facing the women just yet.
I had my first court-ordered psychological evaluation when I was thirteen. A visiting brother to the orphanage touched me; in response I crippled him. It had happened in the days before religious pedophilia made the news, and no one believed my story. The highlights of the evaluation were that I was highly intelligent, had anger management issues, hated authority, and had a pathological need to remain in control. I had been railroaded into juvie, but the psych eval was accurate.
I didn’t have a problem with my intelligence, hatred of authority, or my need for control. My anger bothered me. I made unforced errors when I got angry. For the last few years, I’ve been dealing with my temper with Tai Chi and meditation. Before I could deal with any of my current problems I needed to get my head on straight. I walked to the middle of the backyard. My shirt was soaking wet, yet I considered keeping it on; I was becoming self-conscious about how I looked. Fuck it. It was the way I looked—might as well get used to it. I stripped my shirt off and began the classical Yang style, the eighty-eight forms.
Within minutes, my heart rate slowed and my mind began to float. I was aware of everything but I didn’t care about anything. The trance state relaxes me; I have thoughts without emotions. For forty minutes I got lost in the forms. Tai Chi looks easy because the motions are so
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