"Haven't you heard? Everyone is lifting now. Men have traded their gaming setups for home gyms; they're working on their delts and their pecs; they're bulk ordering protein bars and beetroot powder; they're setting new PRs in the weight room every single day. Some of them are even listening to podcasts about Marcus Aurelius and Julius Caesar, men who understood the importance of making yourself strong in a world of weaklings."
"This is necessary, according to some male influencers, because modern life makes people weak. Harold, an English professor and the protagonist of Jordan Castro's new novel, Muscle Man, would certainly agree. He's felt off ever since he arrived at Shepherd, the liberal-arts college where he works-and which he finds eerily oppressive. His co-workers' ideas are as flabby to him as their bodies; the students cling to their safe spaces and marginalized identities; the academic buildings inspire dread. Working out offers proactive health care for Harold. During a good lift, "the blood pumping through his muscles created a kind of inner motion that protected him from the usual stagnant, cyclical sensations the college unusually instilled.""
Weightlifting has become a widespread cultural trend as men replace sedentary habits with home gyms, supplements, and stoic-influenced podcasts. Influencers promote strength as an antidote to contemporary weakness. Harold, an English professor at Shepherd liberal-arts college, experiences the campus as oppressive: colleagues and students provoke dread and disdain, and academic spaces feel stifling. Exercise provides a protective, kinetic relief; intense lifts produce an inner motion that shields him from stagnant collegiate sensations. Despite physical gains, Harold remains mentally fragile and neurotic. The focus rests on exhaustive internal ruminations rather than conventional plot movement, exemplified by extended preparatory sequences for minor encounters.
Read at The Atlantic
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