The Epic of Arshad

It is true that all myths have their roots in reality, and that all legends have their roots in a man. I know such a man. His day starts before the cock’s cry, when the night is at its darkest just before dawn. He hurdles out of bed, but then he proceeds to walk slowly to my room. For one week I was a part of my uncle’s fitness routine, and I expected daily to be lifted out of bed with one arm, carried to the shower, and then introduced to the cold water in my pajamas. Usually the first two steps of the wake up routine would not work, so I would be in the middle of a dream in which I am resting under the spring sky, trying to make shapes out of the clouds with some attractive female by my side when something would bite me, and then the cold water sprayed my face. I asked myself why I even had the audacity to think that I could survive a week of my uncle’s daily routine.

Unaware of my uncle following close behind, I stepped out of the tub, wiped my face, and waddled over to my room again. As soon as I saw the bed, I dove for it with my eyes shut, hoping that the sheets were still warm. But after a second I felt no such sensation. I opened my eyes and found that I was actually hovering over the bed, instead of in it. My uncle set me down. Afterwards he told me to stop goofing off, and get changed before the sun came up.

I fought with sleep as I put on my shorts and joggers, and dragged myself down the stairs. As I reached the kitchen my jaw dropped in awe and inspiration, kind of in the same way people look at a magic trick. My shirtless uncle ripped a lemon in half, and then used its juice as eye drops, and then poured that same juice into what seemed like a recent gash across his chest and shoulder. I assumed that since he lived in the White Mountains of Arizona, and had a wolf with one crystal blue eye for a pet, he had simply been engaged in a recent battle to the death with some ferocious mountain animal, probably a man-eating puma-bear. I decided it would be best not to ask. He glanced at me and said, “Now, I’m ready!” as he began his slow march towards the door.

On my way down the stairs I noticed that it was snowing out, and simply assumed that my uncle did not need a jacket, or shirt for that matter, for the early morning run. His husky frame and naked chest made me quite uncomfortable; however, it was impressive that he was over forty and still had the physique of a Spartan. I had heard rumors that his chest was so hard that if it was struck with a flint stone it could burn down the forest in his backyard. Also I noticed that the amount of chest and facial hair he had made Chuck Norris look like a newborn baby.

Behind his house there was mini-mountain so steep that it almost turned into a vertical line, and that was the hill that we conquered everyday for a week. Atop that hill Arshad uncle told me all of his outlooks on life, and all of the things that he would do over again. From him I learned that it is only people and moments that put you in awe. It was then that I realized that my epic uncle’s boot camp ended up building my brain as well as my body.