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I’d be lying if I said I do it for health—I’m doing it purely for the looks. When I was a teenager, I always insisted that having a strong, healthy body was all that mattered, regardless of appearance. I wasn’t wrong, nor was I lying; I genuinely believed it. But since physical training is and will always be a part of my life, and definitely being influenced by years of all those picture-perfect bodies presented in movies and social media, I started saying to myself, why not?

I used to go to the gym regularly before leaving Poland, but I never achieved the picture-perfect physique I envisioned. All that energy did not go to waste, however; I did, nonetheless, achieve a somewhat better appearance than before I started going to the gym.

Ever since I arrived in Ireland, I’ve been training again. For the past year, I’ve been working out at home, focusing on a cycle of back – abs – pecs – abs: repeat. I train one part of the body, then wait a few days to recover, and once the muscle pain is gone, I do it again.

Getting those visual results works for each body part but takes a lot of time (very surprising, isn’t it?), especially when dividing my effort across three areas. So now, I’ve shifted my focus solely to pectorals. I’ve always wanted a chest that looks like two flesh-metal plates. So I train every few days in an endless cycle of work, recover, work, recover. I attack my chest in different ways because I’ve been told so many times by YouTube coaches and trainers that the body adapts quickly to routines and mitigates my precious efforts. Right now, it’s all about the chest.

“What about the legs, though?” I hear your thought entering my consciousness through the power of time and space, unfairly called prediction. Nah, don’t worry—they’re fine. I trained parkour and martial arts obsessively as a teenager, dreaming of becoming a master-master and free-running ninja master. My legs are the legacy I inherited from that period of my earlier selves and a lifetime (so far) of not owning a car—riding my bicycle everywhere. These muscles are not going anywhere.

Once I achieve my chest goal, I’ll move on to building my back—making it broad and powerful like the eagle wings of my previous martial arts inspiration, Bruce Lee. Then, I’ll focus on my abs, the ultimate touch. The cherry on top. I’ve always wanted defined abs, even though I used to deny it for years because I couldn’t achieve them. Yes, that is exactly the “sour grapes” mentality you may have heard about when it comes to abs.

However, some parts of my mentality haven’t changed since my teenage years, except for my stance on protein powder. A little bit of protein powder in my shakes of fruits and nuts every time I make them? Sure, why not. But just as before (other than a bit of protein), I never did, and never will, accept anything that isn’t real food. No mixtures, no enhancers, and especially no steroids of any kind—nothing that makes muscles grow unnaturally. I always said I walk the stairs in terms of training; I refuse to take shortcuts.

One guy once said that if I wanted a full-blown physique, I’d need to take steroids and all that garbage. I told him I prefer the natural way, and if my body won’t give me that picturesque physique naturally? So be it. I’ll take what it gives. But that’s a line I’ll never cross. I don’t care if someone else takes it; I am in no position to dictate what anyone should do. But for my body, I set the rules.

Now, appearances. I’ve heard it too—that caring too much about appearance might become delusional, superficial, and empty. I’m not obsessed with my looks though; I just know what I like, and I know what’s possible if I’m willing to put in the effort. So yeah, genuinely, why not?

Imagine, all this effort, just so the tiny bacteria and other life forms have some better food once my entire system shuts down and gets buried somewhere among people with flowers and veils. One funeral and a preparation of a meal for those tiny ones who feast upon the flesh. Am I discouraged though? Ha, not a chance.