BUBBLE GYM - TRAIN IN THE OPEN!
The idea of building a mobile gym came to me unexpectedly, although now it feels as though it had always been there, quietly walking beside me, never more than an arm's length away.
As a child, I was frail and dreamy. On the trolleybus people often mistook me for a girl when they saw me from behind. "Miss, could you pass the fare, please?" they would say. I was offended and secretly dreamed of getting even with the whole world. At the time, I believed that intelligence and sport simply could not coexist. My parents wanted me to become a clever man. Instead, I managed to collect both bruises and failing grades, endlessly disappointing my grandmother. I drew constantly and spent most of my time reading. In books, everything was different. Heroes were always strong, and they always prevailed. The world of art was filled with endless colors and subtle shades, while the real world outside seemed black and white.
After the army, I joined a weightlifting gym. The guys I trained with used to joke, "You're the strongest... among artists!" As far as they knew, there were no other artists lifting weights. Back then everyone wanted to become a gangster, collecting tribute from market traders and settling disputes at criminal meetings. They didn't invite me. They said I didn't have the right look.
Not long afterward I injured my back, and the doctors

diagnosed me with severe scoliosis, along with everything that came with it. They forbade me from lifting heavy weights. So I turned to pull-up bars, parallel bars, and running. For more than thirty years I stayed away from gyms and barbells. Every morning began with a run followed by bodyweight exercises. At first it felt strange to run through the park beneath the blazing sun, when even breathing seemed difficult. Other days I ran through pouring rain or blizzards. Eventually I grew accustomed to exercising in any weather. The more unpleasant the conditions outside, the better breakfast tasted afterward.
When I turned fifty-three, yoga and cycling joined my routine. For me, this was never about athletic achievement; it was simply therapeutic exercise. I was trying to preserve my skeleton before it fell apart. From the outside I probably looked like a self-absorbed sports enthusiast, but I preferred to think of it as a mutually beneficial agreement between my body and me. Unfortunately, the contract eventually expired. The price went up.
Time bent my spine despite every effort I had made. I realized I had to increase my resistance, but I also understood something else: I needed to learn to look upward. As a child I spent countless hours dreaming, and nowhere did that come more naturally than in the forest. It was the perfect place to lose yourself in imagination. Yet forests are full of branches, tree

stumps, and fallen trunks, so while dreaming you must constantly watch your footing. That habit stayed with me. I grew used to walking with my eyes fixed on the ground, absorbed in my own thoughts. And yet it feels strange to dream while staring only at your feet.
One of the fundamental principles of performing a barbell squat is to keep your gaze as high as possible. Looking upward naturally straightens the spine as you rise under heavy weight, reducing the risk of injury. Even placing a loaded bar across your shoulders becomes difficult for someone who is habitually hunched over. The same applies to the deadlift. These two exercises are indispensable for people whose backs have curved with time. The overhead press behind the neck belongs to that category as well.
At the same time, I realized that I had finally earned the right to devote more time to myself. At least it had become harder to accuse myself of selfishness or of wasting precious hours. Some people begin their mornings at a medical clinic; others begin them in the gym. Of course everything hurts in the morning. To be honest, sometimes it hurts in the evening as well. The only solution is to make peace with pain.
A marathon runner once said, "Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional." I choose suffering-but with a smile stretched across my straining face.