"Strength does not come from winning. Your struggles develop your strengths. When you go through hardships and decide not to surrender, that is strength."
Monday morning came like all Monday's do; too soon, too early and with too much to do. I got up at my usual time; fixed Max his breakfast, hung out with him for a little while and then we got dressed and headed out the door for school. We have this morning routine down to a minute-by-minute science; like NASA does with a Shuttle launch. We got in the truck, I stuck the key in the ignition and when I twisted it, nothing happened. I twisted it back and forth a few times and I got nothing out of the old girl but a click. Damn....
We pushed the truck out of the driveway and alongside the curb across the street. Thank God I work out because, all jacked up on 33s, a 4x4 doesn't roll too easily - especially up hill. With the truck secured by the side of the road, I ran back in the house to get the keys to my car. We backed out of the garage and roared down the street in an effort to be the less late, but we were late all the same.
On my way back home I was troubleshooting the truck in my mind and had mentally narrowed the problem down to just a couple of items. Anyone one of them should be a quick fix. AutoZone was just a couple of miles away and I was sure I had all the tools I needed for even a worst case scenario. I got home, popped the hood of the truck and started trouble shooting. Ten minutes later I had deduced that my starter was bad and probably had to be replaced. I called Auto Zone and they had one in stock for $130.00 plus a $60.00 core charge that I would get back once I returned the old starter. Ouch...
So, to avoid the extra 60 bucks out of pocket, I decided to remove the old starter and bring it with me. This should have been a relatively easy operation since the truck sits so high on its trick off-road suspension I could access the starter through the fender well. I got out some tools and in ten minutes realized the cruel joke that the Japanese play on the round eye mechanics who work on their trucks. There were about 14 other locations under the truck where the Japanese engineers could have decided to locate the starter motor, and the bolts that attach it, and they chose the one spot that was the most inaccessible. To get at that thing I had to twist and contort my body in ways that made a NY pretzel look straight. I was under the truck, reaching and straining to reach one of the bolts, then up and into the fender well, stretching and squeezing my way in to try and reach. One of those freak'n bolts was on so tight I almost called up Jimmy the Bull and asked him to come over and crack that damn thing loose.
I finally got it, but not without incident; I gave up at least a square foot of skin to the jagged protuberances that the Japs installed right in line with where your knuckles or forearms will go when the wrench slips. What should have been a relatively straight forward and easy job turned into a veritable booby-trapped nightmare. I keep saying the physicality of this job was excessive, not because the actual fix was difficult. Replacing a starter motor is one of the easiest fixes you'll ever do on a car. It's just two bolts! Access to the damn thing is what makes that relatively simple fix so taxing. Everything was almost out of reach.
An hour and a-half later I was out of breath and expletives, sweat soaked, covered in black grime and I had raw weeping wounds on my hands and forearms where patches of skin used to be. But, we're used to pain, right? I had removed the starter, and then, foolishly, to further diagnose the problem, I removed the motor from the gear drive to see if all I needed were contacts; those would be much cheaper than a new starter. It turned out the contacts were fine; the whole armature was shot. So, to save time, I didn't bother bolting the motor back together. Why should I? They were only going to take it back apart to rebuild it. I put the two pieces into the truck of my car and got set to leave.
I went inside and washed off what grime I could and headed out to AutoZone. On my way through the kitchen I noticed the clock on the stove; 11:15. Fuck. I'm losing the whole day. I figured if I could get back home with the new starter in half an hour I could get it back in and leave for the gym by 1:00. I'd at least get shoulders out of the way and make it back to school to pick up Max at 3:00. I could do my cardio later at Dave's house. I was running over my schedule like I was doing that scene at the end of Goodfellas. But unfortunately, as my grandmother used to say, "We make plans and God laughs."
I hit 97 miles an hour on Sunrise Highway and braked hard in front of the Harley dealer. I made the light and U-turned hard screeching into the parking lot of AutoZone. With both halves of the starter motor in hand I went inside. A pudgy guy at the counter for some reason stuffed 15 potato chips into his mouth from the bag from which he was feeding when I interrupted him. He looked right at me and said, "can I help you?" Mr. G spits less food when he talks and that's saying something.
You'd think that when a guy asks if he can help you that he is interested in making something go easy, right? Not in New York. In NY, I was seen as having the audacity to interrupt a potato chip break. I backed up a couple of feet to get out of shooting range of the potato shards that were sure to fly my way and said, "I called about a starter motor for a 98 Toyota Tacoma 4x4." His eyes indicated that he may have remembered something, but his mouth was far too occupied to say anything, and he turned and walked into the stock area behind the counter. He returned a good while later carrying a tattered and opened Delco box that contained what should have been a rebuilt starter motor for my truck. There must have been more potato chips available back there too because he was still crunching when he handed it to me.
The guy rang up the sale and swallowed just in time to say, $203... whatever. Huh? I looked at him in shock and said, "Why are you charging me the core charge when I brought you the old starter?"
"Because it's in pieces." He replied like I should have known that.
"Are you serious?!"
"Yeah, the computer is asking me for the condition of the core and if it's taken apart it won't deduct the core charge."
Okay, now I'm getting heated... let me get this straight. "You're charging me 60 bucks because a broken starter is in two pieces?"
The guy pushed up his glasses with one finger and started blinking nervously and backed a step away from me. "Yeah, the computer is not letting me credit you for the core because it is not in one piece."
I tried to picture virtual arms emanating from his AutoZone computer screen and moving him around like a puppet. I mean, props to AutoZone for turning a human into a computer controlled moron. If that's their intent, fine. I can live with it. For 60 bucks I'll turn around and go home and put the dead starter back together so I can bring it back in one piece so someone else can take it apart. Yeah, that makes sense... Note to Auto Zone: if you're business model requires that you employ mindless policy enforcers devoid of reason, could you choose from the pool of hot bikini chicks rather than from a Star Trek convention? Thanks.
Don't think I wasn't pissed. I raced back home... the clock is really ticking right now. Because of how the armature fits in its bearing and pushes back the spring loaded contacts, putting the two halves of the starter back together is a tedious affair if after it is assembled it's going to work. Far more tedious than the quick job I did using a wire cutter and a pry bar; two tools not normally associated with the repair of a functioning starter motor.
I copied the exact same speed run down Sunrise highway as I had done earlier with a shaker cup in my hand and a plastic baggy of almonds on the seat between my knees. I was definitely rushing around, but in a controlled way. Like when I'm doing cardio on the tread mill. I was pacing myself.
The same nervous guy was still behind the counter. I held out the assembled starter and laid it on the counter in front of him. He didn't want to dirty his hands by touching it, so he asked me to place it in the box he was handing me. He retrieved the new starter and rung up the sale minus the discount for the core. I raced back home and immediately began installing the new part.
The new starter was a little smaller than the original, which made way for a little more much needed wiggle room in the installation. The hardest part required I hold up the starter into its mounting location with one hand and reach around with the other hand in an almost impossible contortion so that I could get that first bolt to bite. So simple, yet so hard. It took about four tries to finally get that first mounting bolt started. Along with the satisfaction of doing the job myself, I also got a chest pump.
As soon as the mounting bolts were tight, I went to connect the two wires that clip into the bottom of the starter motor and they wouldn't clip in. In fact I couldn't get the clip to even hold the wire. After several frustrating attempts I examined the connection more closely and discovered that the plastic connector on the new starter was broken! Fuck! I had to take it back out! Worse, I to go back to AutoZone and deal with that idiot and try to get another one. Damn! As much as I tried to believe this wasn't happening, reality was being written by the advancing clock. There was no time to bitch. With great disgust I started my second set of starter motor removal.
Well, now I was getting good at taking that thing out. Once back at AutoZone I was greeted this time by a Columbian with a far more tattered name tag than the hitherto Treky, who had gone to lunch. I guess the potato chips were an appetizer.
The banged up name tag indicated to me that Hector had been there a while and would probably be more competent. Considering the mind control of the computer, I wasn't so sure this was such a good thing. Turns out the Hector was a manager. As such he must have had a personal stake in the inventory, because he immediately accused me of breaking the contact when I installed the motor, and didn't want to take it back. I argued that wasn't even a remote possibility. He acted like I was taking food from his kids' mouths if he took back that fucked up starter his shop sold me less than two hours ago! Finally, he gave in and went to the computer to see if he had another one in stock. Naturally, he didn't - the computer was on his side - and he sent me to a store in Free Port, about five miles further away from home to swap it out.
I told Hector that I'd like to him to call ahead and set up the transaction. He did. When I got to the Freeport location Raul was waiting for me. Now, Raul is Puerto Rican, not Colombian like Hector, which meant he was much more high strung. He was adamant at the fact that the guys at the first store should have presented the part to me before I bought it so that both parties could visually inspect it and agree that it was in perfect shape. This point was apparently paramount to a sale because Raul immediately shouted out to all him employees for them to gather around and bear witness to what happens when a customer buys a part no one inspected. "How am I supposed to know you didn't break it?" While the question was rhetorical he kept asking it to me and to his guys, with lots of gesturing. I liked Raul. He is the real deal.
He grabbed a new starter from the back that was packaged in an unopened box. Raul called the attention of his subordinates once again as he ceremoniously unwrapped my new part. "This is what you do," He said. "You unwrap the part right in front of the customer and you show it to him. You SHOW it to him!" Raul held out the bare starter motor for me to inspect like a crown being presented during a coronation. He continued, "you show him the part." Then to me he said, "you see the connections?" he pointed to them, "see? No problem, right?"
I agreed.
"So, now, if you put the part on you car and something is broken, we both know the part left here in perfect condition, you follow me?"
Like I told you, Raul is real.
Then to his guys he boomed, "You see! There is a method to my madness! If you show him the part he can't come back later and say there was something wrong with it!" His crew seemed to be as attentive to Raul as recruits are to a drill sergeant. He dismissed them and set about ringing up the exchange. He asked me a few questions and plugged in my answers into the computer then asked me for my receipt. He scanned it, hit the "Enter" button, and guess what? The all knowing computer did not know I had bought that part! This got Raul very riled as it further exemplified the incompetence of the sister location. While he barked at the computer and cursed the guys in the other store, Raul tried every conceivable combination of data all to no avail.
After he hit "RETURN" for the 15th time he said, "I Used to work out." He grabbed his bicep as he flexed it against his side. "I was pretty big, like you."
Now, we all know I'm not big, but Raul was six feet tall and probably weighed 125. "Why did you stop?" I asked, then wished I hadn't. It was getting way too close to the time I'd have to be at Max's school to pick him up. Raul was having no luck getting the computer's permission to exchange the starter motor. "So what should I do to make my arms bigger?" He asked flexing his arm up and down. "I want to build up my arms."
How he could single out his arms was interesting I suppose, but I really needed to get out of there!
Just before I was going to break down and give Raul a training seminar, he cracked the code and the computer allowed the human to do something. The new and approved starter was mine and I got the hell out of there racing toward school.
I made it just in time, grabbed Max and drove home looking up out of the windshield for the helicopter I could swear was following me.
The second install went much faster than the first one. It was still a knuckle busting pain in the ass getting it in place and getting the first bolt started. When I finally finished it felt like I had bench pressed a Toyota. I pretty much had.
A twist of the key and the truck fired right up. I was on my way to the gym 10 hours late. But I was still going. When I got there and got lost among the iron, the frustrations of the day faded away and I had a great workout.
So, you've read down this far and now you're wondering WTF does this have to do with bodybuilding? Quite a bit actually. I kept thanking the fact that I workout all throughout my starter motor ordeal. Why? Well, I remember Arnold speaking once where he explained how much of his success in life was facilitated by the lessons learned in bodybuilding. He talked about the importance of setting goals, his ability to focus, his will to carry on during times of difficulty, to never quit, his management of time, and many more of life's lessons Arnold credits to having learned in bodybuilding. As Arnold says, struggle creates strength. That's what we learn building our bodies. And that's a powerful realization to carry through life. It's what makes us keep it together and not quit - at anything.
Much of the media portrays muscle heads as irrational hot heads when they go off and make headlines out of frustration coupled with performance enhancing drugs. Unfortunately, we only hear about the murderous attacks or the sordid stories of traffic incidences where motorists have been removed from their car through the driver's window. But these are rarely the case, they are just the most colorful. Most of the bodybuilders I know are cool calculating dudes who hold it together when most mortals would come apart at the seams. I could easily have been the guy up the street with the beer gut beating his car senseless with a tire iron when he realized the part he just installed was broken. And he'd be forgiven because of the heat, the physical strain and the beer. On the other hand, if I had broken under the stress, steroids would be to blame. No one really looks at us and sees a person never willing to surrender; a person accustomed to adversity, and who derives strength from hardship. I think we need to remind ourselves of that sometimes because that is who we are most of the time.
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