Transcend 5

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If I had knew what I was getting myself into, I would’ve had second thoughts. But in the end, growing up to be like Sarge was what I wanted most out of life. But it was tough.

The next day, Sarge started to help me towards my goal. It started at four in the morning. He came in the room and with his drill instructor voice, which I came to love for its beautiful depth, woke me from my sleep. He had me up and dressed in five minutes, ready for a jog. It was colder than a witch’s teat that early in the morning, and there was still a light layer of snow covering the road as we ran. We started slow, but gradually sped up until we were at a brisk pace, running along the road. I found out later that the oval that we lived on was a mile and a half, so that first morning I had ran three miles.

When we stopped back at the house, I was bent over panting like a race horse. I knew we were gradually going faster and faster, but at the end it was wearing me out. I looked up at Sarge in between breaths and he was just looking at me with a huge smile on his face. As he stood there with his hands on his hips, I couldn’t help but compare him to a super hero; Tall and broad chested, narrow waist and giant legs, muscled packed on to his amazing physique, yet such a kind and gentle look on his face, one of love instead of malice.

After I caught my breath, we did some calisthenics. He said that we would be doing the same routine every day except Sunday and it was the same routine that he took all his jarheads went through. It was a lot of push ups, jumping jacks, and crunches. I could tell he was going easy on me because he allowed me a good bit of rest between exercises. As I rested, he continued going and going and it awed me just how strong and athletic he really was.

After the calisthenics, we went back into the house where he cooked up some breakfast. A normal kid probably would’ve hated what Sarge was making, but I was simply too happy just to be getting real food again. Sarge cooked up some oatmeal for the both of us, then handed me a glass of egg whites. He poured himself around the same amount of egg whites and downed them in one shot. I looked at the glass, then back at him before following suit. It didn’t taste nearly as disgusting as I thought it would. It tasted pretty much like skim milk. Sarge smiled at me, obviously knowing what I was thinking, before serving me some oatmeal with brown sugar and Splenda.

After breakfast and the quick cleaning of dishes, he led the way to the basement weight room. He promised me that he would slowly ease me into the serious lifting that he normally did but he was confident I would catch on easily. The first day was chest and biceps and it was one of the most wonderful sights I had ever seen.

He took off his shirt and tossed it to the side when we first entered the room. Sarge said, “I want you to watch closely. I want you to see how every muscle works as I’m working it. Don’t be afraid to get up close or ask questions while we’re here. The most important thing is that you understand the mechanics of the lift and have proper form. Weight will come later.”

He loaded the bar with three forty-five pound plates, and then laid on the bench. He motioned for me to come closer, so I stood next to him as he wrapped his huge hands around the bar. I watched as he lifted it up, his muscles swelling in response. Then, he slowly lowered the bar to his chest before powering it back up. I could see his muscles roll and the striations in his chest as it flexed and relaxed. He repeated the motion a total of fifteen times before he sat up and faced me. His chest was flush with blood and swollen with mass and I was just awed by his size and strength.

He explained to me what muscles he had just worked and told me to remember their specific names. Flat bench press, he said, worked mainly the pectorals. He then let me feel his chest. My small hands barely could dent the mound of muscle that sat atop his massive chest and I was more than sporting a boner at that point. But, Sarge being the great man that he is, didn’t make me feel bad about it or anything. In fact, he said that he expected me to be hard the whole time. After some exploration and teaching, he took off all the weight on the bar and instructed me. It took a little while for me to get the hang of it, especially with Sarge making sure that I was working the muscle that I was supposed to.

After flat bench, we did incline benches, incline dumbbell flyes, and decline bench press. I really liked the flyes. After he showed me how to do it, he would keep saying, “Ok, hug the bear. Hug the bear.” Every rep, every time I brought the dumbbells up, I imagined I was hugging my bear, my big beautiful daddy Sarge.

Then after that we did bicep work. I don’t think I could’ve gotten any harder than I was while I watched him work. He started with standing barbell curls. He loaded the bar with a 45 lb plate and a 25 lb plate and then leaned against the mirror. With his back flat against the mirror, he started to curl the heavy bar up solely with his biceps, no momentum at all in the exercise. I moaned aloud, awed by the strength of his arms. From the first rep, I could see veins burst to the surface. His arms seemed to swell with each rep, from his wrists, up his thick forearms and on to his bulging biceps. I could see him smile as I watched his arms work, and sooner than I would’ve liked, he was done.

He unloaded the bar for me before he named the muscles I would be working and showed them with a quick flex. Another moan escaped my lips and another smile appeared on his face. He then leaned me against the wall, adjusting my feet and stance before handing me the bar.

Trying to curl the bar like him was tough, even with it being empty. My body kept naturally coming off the wall as I tried to use my back to sling the weight up. Sarge noticed and placed his beefy hand in the middle of my chest. The pressure he applied allowed me to breathe but kept me from using my body English to get the bar up. When he did that, the exercise became a lot harder. I grunted loudly and gritted my teeth, straining hard to get the bar up. Sarge would take his free hand and give the bar just a little boost to help me get past the sticking points. He smiled when my arms collapsed from fatigue and said, “That’s exactly what we want every time you work out, to push yourself all the way to failure and beyond. That’s what’s gonna get you to grow.”

Barbell curls were followed by seated dumbbell curls, then preacher curls and finally concentration curls. My senses were overloaded from the visual stimulation that day. Watching him do preacher curls was amazing. When he placed his arms on the preacher station, the triceps seemed to push the biceps up even further, making them look even bigger and more beautiful.

He showed me the proper form for all the exercises, drilling into my head that weight didn’t matter. Wondering how much you could lift just brought ego into it. Ego made you try to lift more than you should and lead to injury and that was the last thing we wanted to happen. If I could get a good workout with ten pounds, then I should do ten pounds and not worry.

Then after the workout in the basement, it was time for him to go to his construction job. I went with him, mainly because there was no school during those winter weeks, but the real reason was because I didn’t really feel like leaving his side. I had finally found someone that I felt I truly belonged with and I was really reluctant to let him go. In fact, it completely scared me to be without Sarge. It was completely illogical, but those fears were still deep inside of me, the scars of betrayal still etched on my soul and the fear of abandonment deep in my heart.

I spent most of the days inside the trailer on site. I wanted to work hard and be strong like Sarge, but I knew I was underage and couldn’t legally work. Sometimes, I would be the gopher and get stuff like coffee or mail for Sarge and his crew. I was happy to do it; anything I could do to be helpful was perfectly alright in my mind. When he would come in the trailer, he would test me on what I learned earlier that day, asking me what muscles we worked and what was the proper form. It was great to have someone care about my learning, even if it was just gym stuff.

After work, we would head home for another jog. After the second jog, we would go shower, then have dinner. I would set the table and make a few protein shakes while Sarge cooked dinner. We would enjoy each other’s company while we ate, then after dinner, we would watch a little t.v. before bed.

Every day went just like the first day. We would get up early, jog, calisthenics, then breakfast. He would then show me various exercises, making sure I watched how the muscle was engaged. Then he would teach me the muscle, how to do the exercises properly and then make me do it. I think I was boned up the entire week just from watching him work.

I especially enjoyed leg day. He put on a pair of shorts that seemed to barely cover his huge basket and nothing else. He said that he usually wore just a jock strap so he could see the muscle work when he did squats. He promised me that when I could handle it, we would start working out that way. That day was great. Even with the shorts on, I could really see those muscles work. His legs were already thick and powerful, but seeing how his quads jumped to attention when he lowered himself with all that weight took my breath away. I literally could run my fingers along the grooves that his muscles made in his leg. They were just so strong and sturdy. Seeing his jock covered balls and cock slip out of the shorts every time he went down was also a treat. I told him I would love to be just like that when I worked out. He smiled and said ok. Later that day, we cut up a pair of shorts for me and went and bought some jock straps so I could be just like him.

Back day, on the other hand, was by far the hardest day. He knew it was going to be tough too, but as he said, it was one more barrier that I would have to overcome. It started with deadlifts. Sarge had put the bar on the floor and put four forty-five pound plates on each side. Then he came and stood next to me, pressing me into his side. His muscular presence did a lot to calm me as we stood there. Just staring at the bar that reminded me of so much pain but having Sarge there with me made all the difference in the world. Instead of completely paralyzing fear, I felt just a bit of anxiety. After about ten minutes of looking at the bar, my heart rate finally started to slow down and I felt that I would not fall into another panic attack. The rest of the workout went great after that point.

After that first week, we quickly fell into our routine. And every day when I got up, I said to myself, “I want to grow up to be like Sarge.” It was my mantra as we jogged and worked out. It would make Sarge smile every time I said it to get through a tough set. He knew I was completely serious about my desire, and I think that he did his best to become an even better example because of it.

I followed him everywhere. We didn’t do too many things outside of his job and our workouts, but when we did do something like go to a bowling alley with his employees or hung out with some of his marine friends, I was right beside him. I got my hair cut just like his and I started to work on growing a beard just like him. I would dress just like him when I could and I even started to adopt his tendencies like how he stood, talked and walked. He was just the perfect man and I wanted to grow and become huge just like him. He had truly become my idol and mentor in my life, not to mention my dad.

But he wasn’t the only driving force in my life. As much as I hated to admit it, Sean still existed in my memories. I wanted to completely forget about him, but the pain of his betrayal drove me to become better every day. Every day I wanted to be better than Sean was and I strived to be like Sarge because of he was the one person in the world that I believed to be better than everyone else I had met, especially Sean. The combination of those two driving forces pushed me harder than I would’ve thought possible.

Sarge and I found out that I wouldn’t be able to get into school that year because it was over half completed. I didn’t mind at all though. I wanted to start the school year fresh and new, just like I started this new life. I wanted to grow out of my awkward body inot something a bit bigger. Plus, without having to worry about school, I could focus completely on growing to be as much like Sarge as I could. Sarge understood completely, and we spent the eight months before the new school year doing the same thing every day. After I had gotten used to the weight lifting and calisthenics, he introduced football, wrestling, and even some Marine hand to hand combat training. Some people would have crazy with the mundane schedule we had, but I loved every moment of the structure and routine. Every day, I fell more and more in love with my dad, more and more like I belonged with him.

What was best about that time was that I started growing like a weed during that time. My body seemed to respond well to all the weight lifting and high protein. That combined with me going through puberty made me grow really quick. Granted, I was still a far cry from Sarge’s 325 lbs of muscle with around eight percent body fat. But we both were quite proud of what I had accomplished.

Gone was the 5’4” 100 lb kid that could be knocked over by a stiff breeze. In his place now was a 5’10” 195 lb, well muscled teen. And I knew I wasn’t done growing. I had a feeling that I could get closer to what Sarge was. I still had a lot of work to do, but Sarge was proud of me and nothing made me happier.

I started high school that August. My first day was interesting to say the least. As usual, we had got up around 4 that morning and did our normal routine. I refused to stay in bed, refused to change the routine that kept me sane for so long. After our workout and breakfast, I went to get dressed. We had bought me clothes and school supplies, but it was an interesting endeavor. Neither of us had much in the way of fashion sense. One of Sarge’s friends said about us one day, “You two would fail a gay test.” We both laughed about that.

I looked at my wardrobe. All that I saw were black, grey, white, and other solid color t-shirts, several UMSC outfits (all well worn because when I wore them, I felt more like Sarge), and camo pants and shorts. I grabbed a black t-shirt and threw it on. It felt a bit tight, but not too confining. The best thing about it was that it showed off my pecs fairly well, pumped from the workout we did. I put on a pair of my camo shorts, socks and boots. Looking in the mirror, I smiled. The military haircut, combined with the outfit made me look like I was headed to the service instead of high school. But I didn’t mind. All I saw was a kid who was growing up to be like his dad.

Speaking of which, Sarge came into the room as I stood in front of the mirror. I looked up into his bearded face and smiled. He came behind me and placed his beefy hand on my shoulder. I reminisced on how huge it used to look and how I had grown just a little. I still had a long way to go to get to be like my dad, but I had also come a long way.

“Looking good there son,” he said with pride. I smiled up at him. His praise was always sincere and it meant the world to me. “Thanks dad,” I said. He squeezed my shoulder gently and said, “Ok boy, it’s ‘bout time for us to head out. You ready?”

I took a deep breath and grabbed my backpack. “Sir, yes sir, Sir!”

My dad chuckled, “Yeah, looking like that, some people might think you’re off to the service. You sure you don’t wanna grow your hair out or anything?”

“No way dad,” I said. “If I never grew hair again, I wouldn’t mind. I want to be just like you, including how you cut your hair. Besides, it’s real easy to keep it neat like this.” I rubbed my short hair for emphasis.

Dad laughed aloud and said, “Ok boy, first day of school. Time to knock ‘em dead.”

I followed him out of my room and to the truck. I had no idea what to expect, but I was ready to tackle it and whatever came along.

To be continued?