Jack Garbarino - The Movement: How I got this body by never going to the gym in my life.

How I got this body by never going to the gym in my life.

Written by Jack Garbarino

Some names and characteristics of people, places, and things have been changed or fictionalized to protect the privacy of the individuals involved.

The exercises present in this book are to be performed at your own risk. Always consult with your physician before beginning any workout regimen.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

Something that was mine

Steps. Four seemed like fourteen to me. It was hard with legs like mine. Most middle kid students headed to gym class had thin legs. Some had muscles, like, defined muscles. Those were the ones that would torment me fairly soon, straight through to high school. Needless to say, I was that kid. The one fat kid in every school that was unfortunate enough to not have something to make himself stand out from my weight.

Some kids have awesome baseball cards, or a rich parent to brag about me. I was lucky to even have one of those- parents- but she was not rich. Not even enough to purchase baseball cards. All of our money- some kids would say too much of it- went to feeding the two of us. Ill tell you what we had that most children, jungle children, as Id come to learn, were starved of even more than food.

Fun.
I pulled open the classroom door.

Hey, Jack Porker, shouted one of the kids. Following the announcement was the typical chorus of students laughter. At that point, I would normally puff up my round cheeks and shuffle the sandy brown hair from my face. This time, I let it slide. He actually mentioned my first name, so that was a plus. Better to know that I wasnt just a big round ball to them.

Hi, I said meekly. I shuffled through the not-as-quiet giggling to my seat in the front of the class. And yes, I knew what I was doing. Setting myself up to be an even bigger target. The fat kid who was also super studious and the teachers pet. Like with my weight, I refused to defend myself. In actuality, I only sat up front because of my poor vision.

On days like these, when the cold outside caused my breath to fog up my glasses, it was better not to wear them at all. But I was quickly regretting that decision. The teacher, Mr. James, had scripted some- thing onto the chalkboard. To me it read something along the lines of lawn of motives. I regretted what I did next, but it was too late. My hand was raised.

Another round of laughter resonated through the class. This time my cheeks had puffed up.

This, Mr. Garbarino, says laws of motion, not lawn of motives. I would suggest bringing your glasses from now on, Mr. James said coldly. He wasnt the nicest teacher, but he was the smartest. He knew his sciences. Chemistry. Biology. Anatomy. I hope you read the homework, because I want you to recite before the class what the first law is. Stand up and say it, please.

The please was unexpected, but even without that addition, I wouldve stood anyway.

Newtons first law of motion states that unless an external force acts upon an object, it is at a constant rate of motion, or inertia.

Very good. You may sit.

And like that, the bullying me portion of class was over. Mr. James, in his trademark labcoat with his initials M.J. stitched into the breast pocket, resumed to teach us all about movement, how it never truly rests. He called inertia a subjective reference for those who rely on their naked eyes. He said how, even if unseen, inertia only applies to two things: rocks and religion. I never understood the religion part, but he clearly thought it was applicable.

Mr. James explained that even though our bodies may not be moving, as in by our own feet, the insides are always in action. He explained how cell processes perpetually run, how blood does not stop flowing, and how the brain- unless dead- always sends signals to the rest of the body. When one student challenged his assumption, he countered with Your brain belongs to you, does it not. The brain runs your systems, even without your conscious command. Right now, even in your stupor, it is working hard. Do not interrupt me again.

That was a swifter defeat than most. I guess Mr. James was fed up

after our first period class. He never snapped like that before. Anyway, he gave us our assignment. Read chapter four and be prepared for a quiz on Monday. At least he gave us fair warning.

We all rose and exited the class, most of us heading for the same third period class, the one I dreaded so much. I was hoping that with my poor sight, the teacher would just let me skip out. For once, I was lucky.

I sat there in on the sidelines of the gym, watching all the other boys build up a sweat playing basketball. All of them taller than me, and based off the group of girls watching them on the opposite side of the gym, cuter. They went back and forth in the school jerseys provided us, the gilded lion emblazoned on the backs, below their numbers. With leaps, sprints, and serpentine movements, their arms and legs looked as incredible as they likely felt. With each dunk or lay-up, the girls would cheer. Each almost slip up or brick, I would snort under my breath.

The gym teacher, Mr. Edwards, walked up to me, a soccer ball under his arm. He was more friendly than Mr. James, but just as smart. He was dressed in his Friday referee outfit, a tradition he made back before I started to attend Lowen Middle School. It was complete with the whistle he had draped round his neck.

Hey, Jack, how you doing? he said softly.
Im fine, I responded. Im sorry I forgot my glasses.

Are you?
I suddenly felt guilty. I was hoping he wouldnt see through my

plan, but the fact was that Mr. Edwards was smart in very different sense than Mr. James. Mr. Edwards was great at picking up on little subtleties, and mine were an open book today.

What do you mean? I said to try and disarm the speech I felt coming on. My luck had officially run out.

Youve been sitting here mocking them this entire hour. Instead, you should be playing with them, he told me with a stern look on his face.

But theyll just call me Porker and then refuse to pass me the ball. Then take the ball from them. Its a legitimate part of basketball. If

you dont have the ball, simply take it.

But Im not fast like any of them. I pointed out at the court and

Mr. Edwards followed my finger. The center for our basketball team, Harrison Legend, leaped above the other boys and ripped the ball out of the air like it had hands on it. He stomped down on the court with his size eleven feet and went right back up for a quick lay-up. By the way he was celebrating with chest slaps and roaring, he had secured victory for his team. They all swarmed him and lifted up both of his arms. Neither were particularly big, but they were definitely toned. Fully erect, they looked like spaghetti strands with pieces of burger meat to simulate the grooves of muscle of his forearms and biceps.

Or strong, I finally said.

Then get faster and stronger. It may sound hard to you, but you just havent found your way yet. Once you start trying, itll hit you, he paused and snapped, like that.

With the ring of the bell, the most painful half of the day was over. It was time for my favorite part of school: lunch.

The line was always short in the schools basement cafeteria. This lunch room was reserved for students with good grade point averages. I was horrified to learn that this semester, a few of my tormentors proved to be buckling down on their studies. I saw their predatory eyes set on me as they waited just beyond the end of line, trays of food in their hands. I put them out of my mind and focused on the food. That was something that didnt take much work.