About ten days ago, a personal trainer at my gym named Craig – as much a gym fixture as the bench press – died from complications after being stabbed just after Thanksgiving. He was working as a nightclub bouncer on Lansdowne Street when a man attacked him with a knife.
Reaction to Craig’s death ranges from shock to blinding rage. Craig’s injuries were deemed “non life threatening,” and the hospital released him in questionable condition two days before he died (apparently, Craig lacked health insurance – my gym took up a collection for his medical expenses). The man who stabbed Craig turned himself last week, maybe because dozens of vigilante bodybuilders were looking for him. The 20-year old murderer was involved in a fatal beating in 2001, but released as a youthful offender after he was deemed incompetent to stand trial.
The senselessness hits home as I play voyeur to the grief in Gold’s Gym (not to sound self-centered, but the bleak mood was affecting my workout). Craig was very attention-grabbing: 6 foot tall, 230 pound muscle man, striding through the gym unsmilingly, his brawny arms covered with tattoos. Fearless. One weekend morning, I came in wanting some coffee before my spinning class. I was surprised to see Craig at the reception desk. Up until that point, I didn’t know he worked there. I approached him with my dollar bill. “Hi,” I said brightly. He stared at me without malice, more like “what, dopey cardio girl?” I felt weird ordering a coffee as if I was at Starbucks. “I’m going to grab a coffee,” I said, dropping my dollar bill on the counter and hurrying over to the carafes. He grunted.
Obviously I hardly knew him, but I’ll eulogize him anyway. Because the fact that he was so devoted to his body, which gave him his life and living, strikes me as all the more tragic. He sculpted and tattooed himself into a work of art. But unlike a painting, song, or poem, his masterpiece cannot endure now that he is gone. Destroyed by a coward and a knife, and all that remains is a circle of grieving bodybuilders “hearing thunder in the skies, knowing it’s Craig working out in heaven”.
