The mathematics of iron.

It's darker on my end of the gym. If there were fancy cable machines over here, I would probably end up tipping them over for practice, or just to see if I can. Here in the temple reason slips away about fifteen minutes into the workout, about the time I start one hand snatching the barbell and doing handstand push ups off of it with my feet planted on the power rack. A 32 kilo kettlebell, a box of chalk, barbells in various states of use, and my beloved broken barbell for grip training.
Yes I see you over there doing tricep cable push downs with one hand and talking on your phone with the other. You think I'm crazy. I think you're crazy.
Your genetics will only take you so far, eventually you have to pay the piper if you want the strength. Not fake strength to work a smith machine or move a cable. The strength you need to one hand deadlift 135 lbs. or more. The strength you need to claim dominance over an enemy that can never really be beaten, an enemy of unyielding cold iron. That's what makes you stronger, what forges you into someone who succeeds where lesser men or women would fail. You know that in the end you can never win, but you keep showing up for the fight. I know that in the end the kettlebell will take me out. If I can snatch it fifty times, it knows there is a higher number, and the mathematics of iron will always crush me. It will leave me limping out of the gym with trembling hands, but it knows I will be back. I always am.