Prison made me realize how, not necessarily a job, but work gives your life purpose. There’s actual full-time jobs, like in the kitchen, washing dishes for 50 hours week for .17/ hour, but most prison jobs are like part-time gigs with some perks, it’s not about the money. Porters use the phone during count, yard crew comes out for early chow, and there’s extra servings in the kitchen. For the most part, they’re not the kinds of jobs that you’re gonna find lasting fulfillment in.
So there’s extra things I expect out of myself every day. I don’t have the luxury of going to an indoor gym, so I gotta take advantage when the weather’s nice. So, in addition to morning calisthenics, I hit the weight pit after dinner. There’s the little and big pit, both full of rusty benches and weights. The first one’s all dumbbells and the second has barbells and machines, and is far more intimidating.
For one, there’s twice as many prisoners inside, but a lot of them are huge from lifting weights on many different prison yards for over a dozen years. Plus, all gangs have “mandos” for their members, and some opt for the pit. Walking into the weight pit sometimes feels like walking straight into a NatGeo prison documentary.
As a bonus, lifting weights gives a different post-workout “glow” than other types of exercise, and maybe this is most evident in an environment drenched in and ruled by testosterone. It changes your personality gradually and subtly, like meditation, as long you regularly lift. You walk different. You definitely talk different. You kinda become a douche but it’s worth it.
Easy Trouble 