Ten Ways Not to Commit Suicide by Darryl "DMC" McDaniels

Author:Darryl "DMC" McDaniels
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-06-12T16:00:00+00:00

SIX

BALANCING ACT

FROM A STRONG BODY COMES A SOUND MIND

A blast of body heat and the clatter of iron greeted me as I walked through the door of the gym for the first time. All around, toned women in spandex and hulking dudes in tank-top shirts were grunting their way through push-ups and bench presses and carefully choreographed aerobic routines. Trainers barked instructions at sweaty middle-aged men struggling through gut-busting ab regimens. Fitness freaks with sculpted frames preened in the mirrors mounted throughout the place. They looked to be in the prime of their lives.

Me, I was there trying to avoid dying.

It was 1991, and, after a nearly two-month stay in the hospital for the pancreatitis that had resulted from my alcohol abuse, I was following up on my doctor’s directions to find something better to do than drink cases of Olde English 800. The warning he’d issued—“You drink, you die”—rang in my head in concert with the barbells clattering nearby. After two months in the hospital, I had decided that not only was I going to stop abusing alcohol, but I was also going to try to replace my bad habits with some good ones. I resolved to start exercising regularly.

But now, gawking at the towering stacks of iron plates and intimidating exercise machines and massive bodies running effortlessly through endless calisthenics, I just prayed I could get through the next hour without passing out. You know the saying that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger? Well, right then, I was hoping that what was supposed to make me stronger didn’t kill my ass.

Working out hurt like hell the first few days, but I stuck with it. Gradually, my routines intensified. I began lifting and running longer. Before I realized it, exercise had become a fundamental part of my lifestyle.

Aside from sending me to the hospital with pancreatitis, getting regularly drunk and high had also created a chemical imbalance in my body and, surely, my brain. I was using the substances to fight depression or loneliness or suicidal thoughts. It didn’t work, but the gym helped. I was sweating out the toxins from the alcohol, which meant my body was beginning to correct some of the imbalances that I had created with my abusive behavior. The gym high was actually better than the drink high. The gym high made me feel energetic and a little like I could do anything. At times while lifting weights, I had insights into my true personality. The thoughts were fleeting and came usually as I moved on to another machine. It was a good space for me. The gym offered structure and routine. It also allowed me to feel safe. I could set simple goals, such as one hundred push-ups. And when I accomplished them, I felt good. The gym was an immediate high.

Addressing my diet and getting into the gym meant that I was ready for a physical change. But I was still an emotional wreck. After all, my drinking had started as a substitute for the confidence I lacked when I was sober.

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