What I am about to reveal will make me seem like a freak, so I won't state my name. I am fourteen years old and am a "jock football and boxer" type of guy. I am solidly built; I work out nearly every night—have been since I was ten years old.
This weird thing first started on October 16, around 6 o'clock in the evening; I was twelve years old then. I was midway in my lat pulldowns when I heard a voice in my head. It was loud, and it had a German accent—like Arnold the Terminator.
"I CAN LIFT MORE THAN YOU, LITTLE BOY!" He said.
The voice was so loud it startled me. I let go of the pullbar and pressed tightly onto my ears with both hands. The voice was ‘that' loud. Obviously, letting go of the pullbar meant the weights plates came crashing down—"Bam!" As the iron plates crashed onto the ones below, the locking pin somehow slipped out from the plates' keyhole and landed on the floor. Reposing myself after the shock, I went round the back and picked up the pin. As I was about to insert the pin back into plates' keyhole, I heard the voice again.
"PUT ON TWICE AS MUCH AS YOU HAD ON!"
Totally shocked, I dropped the pin and rushed to bed. I wondered seriously if all those years of head hitting I took playing football had resulted in some kind of brain damage.
The next evening, I was ready again for a work-out, and walked to my weight room. I stopped and stared at the equipment; I normally started with my lat pulls, but that evening, I was hesitant.
"Screw that, man," I said under my breath, and walked over to the dumbbells rack instead. Halfway through my curls, I heard it again— Arnold !
"IS THAT ALL YOU GOT, SISSY BOY!"
It was a yell that time. I sort of lost my cool and I slammed the dumbbells onto the floor. I yelled back.
"PISS OFF YA' P___K. I'M TWELVE YEARS OLD!"
I didn't want to admit then, but I was quite freaked out by the psychotic episode and stopped doing weights for a week. Soon, of course, it all seemed like a bad dream, and I got over it. I thought whatever cause the voice to be in my head must have healed by then.
After almost a week with no exercise, I felt lethargic and decided to start lifting weights again. I started, as always, with my lat pulldown.
Low and behold, the voice had not left me. It yelled!
"I CAN LIFT MORE THAN YOU LITTLE BOY!"
"F__K! DO IT THEN!"
I yelled back in anger, then stood up and went to stand behind the seat with my arms crossed. I waited for almost two minutes, then, I heard the voice whisper.
"Put the weight to maximum."
So, I did as he asked. Then, with arms crossed and foot tapping, I stood aside and waited in anticipation for what was to come. I waited for four or five minutes. Obviously I was fooling myself expecting something to happen; nothing at all materialised—no Arnold , nothing. Sighed, I thought I was surely going loony. I laughed to myself and walked over to the machine. As I put my butt down, I realised I didn't feel the seat cushion, instead, I felt something else—like someone's rock hard muscular thighs.
Immediately, I sprung up. I had sprung with such a force that I ended up seven feet across the room. It took me a couple of seconds to realise I had put my butt down on another male's lap, it disgusted me. I'm too macho to accept that, and it infuriated me. But what I saw next made me forget my anger. The full 200-pound-plates were being lifted effortlessly by the invisible force—the weights went up and down, up and down, with the pulldown bar yo-yoing like a bungee jumper would.
I was still on the floor, stunned out with mouth wide open and fear running through my veins. I was so fear struck thatI didn't even notice the excruciating pain of my "almonds" being crushed by a dumbbell that had fallen over me. I felt almost like a boy drugged to ecstasy—totally filled with adrenalin.
Then, the voice thundered. "I TOLD YOU I COULD LIFT MORE THAN YOU!"
I remember saying "yup you sure can" before blacking out on the floor of my home gym. I awoke in the hospital thinking I had just had a surgery or something, and that the whole ‘ Arnold ' thing was just a weird side effect of the anesthetics. But what surgery? I scrutinised myself and found I had bruises on my arms. I remembered I had hit the dumbbells rack when I flew seven feet across the room. Then I remembered the dumbbell that had squashed my balls; in a quick flash, I felt for them under the covers. Thank god my jewels were still there!
I had blacked out for more than two hours on the gym floor, with the dumbbell on my groins. If not for my father's quick decision to send me to the hospital, I think I would be a eunuch now—oh shit, thanks for saving my manhood, dad.
Every so often, I get a visit from the ‘ Arnold voice' but I do not let him bother me anymore. I have grown to accept him as part of my being. At times, I even compete with him, and truth be told, if he was not there to push me, I would slack for sure.
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