The True Story of an Extreme Journey Through Fitness, Curiosity, Hopelessness, Insecurity, Poverty, Anxiety, Pickup, and Self-education

I really am dumb as shit. So dumb it’s practically ridiculous.
It was never really given to humans to know a lot.
What curious people discover is that one of the most important lessons from the pursuit of knowledge is the realization of their ignorance.
Giving up the feeling of control and certainty and coming to terms with a deep feeling of uncertainty, perhaps panic.
But on the other side of it (if you persist and let go) — a MARVEL. A breath-taking sense of wonder so deep that you stop paying attention to anxieties, sorrows and depressions. They lose power.
Knowledgeable people don’t actually know much. They just know enough to know that they know very little. Other people might call them smart, but the moment they believe it, they start making dumb decisions.
Many of our dumbest mistakes come from assuming that we are smarter and know more than we do.
If we really understood how dumb we are, I think we might just die. We make all kinds of decisions based on shortcuts and insufficient information.
If it helps you survive, your brain will often reward you for feeling like you understand what’s going on, and make you feel bad if what you already know, and which your behavior is based on, is questioned.
Your loss-averse DNA will be very resistant to letting you do or consider anything other than what’s keeping your basic needs fulfilled.
I think in my case, an early combination of wiring and circumstances left me awfully aware of my insecurity and unknowing. The grounds beneath me kept constantly shifting, both literally and metaphorically.
We had moved and lived 5 different places by the time I was five years old. Every time I started to get a foothold, it all changed.
The parental stimulus ranged from ecstatic and deeply loving to directly hostile. Hard to understand. A new sibling was born. I changed school or kindergarten multiple times.
I coped in different ways. Partly I became very serious, restless, insecure and grasping. Sometimes I escaped into my imagination and into books.
Where I could invent a different set of rules. A different circumstance or identity. Where I could go on fantastic adventures. Be whoever I wanted.
Overcome great challenges. Meet my heroes. Gain love, admiration, and some sort of power or control.
Sometimes I found a way to overcompensate by acting and pretending. Assuming a different, almost opposite identity. Imitating someone who seemed confident or in control.
Other times I reached obsessively for anything that might distract or numb me from myself and the unacceptable. A person, movie, video game, sugar or other substance / influence.
Since I never knew when everything could change or be taken away, I often expected the worst. If I felt betrayed or abandoned, I became resentful and distrusting.
If I was never good enough, I would have to make myself better. Prepare and strengthen myself for the inevitable shock. Train.
If I couldn’t run away from my fear, weakness and inability to deal with the dangerous world, I would have to run into it.
So I did.
If I couldn’t trust or rely on people, I would at least defend myself. Stop them from hurting me. Harden myself. Overpower them.
Desperation, curiosity and OCD came in handy. I started training. Doing squats, push-ups and sit-ups every time before showering.
When I was thirteen, my friend took me to the gym to lift weights. I was hooked from the moment I stepped in. When my friend started slacking off, I kept going.
The internet became useful. I found a Norwegian website about training and spent hours on it every day until I had read almost every article. Nutrition. How to structure my training program. What exercises to do, how to do them and why.
I started modeling my routines and habits after the developing model in my head.
When my classmates went home and played video games I went to the gym. Four days a week. No matter what. Eating six times a day.
Even if my physical, social and emotional environment was scary, chaotic and uncertain — the weights were always there for me.
The dedication showed off. I went from being a skinny little kid getting pushed around, to being talked about and revered as the strongest and most fit guy in my school.
At age 15, I was the only one in my school who could bench 225 lbs (100kg).
My posture and self-image had improved, and contrary to what I had thought was possible, several cute girls were interested.
Being isolated and socially underdeveloped, I was either not able to realize it, or too afraid and uncertain to do anything about it.
Do you know what that feels like? When the girl you’ve been in love with for two years finally gives up and later sends you a long, anonymous message about how she was interested the whole time and tried to give you the signs, but you never made a move? And then she eventually goes with another guy?
Well. I never wanted to feel that ever again. So I went on the internet and found a guy on YouTube who was giving tips on how to talk to and get better with girls.
He also talked a lot about self development.
Being and becoming a better man. Understanding people’s psychology and how to communicate. Improving in all areas of life — health, wealth, love, relationships, spirituality.
I was hooked. I watched or listened to every course I could get my hands on. Read the books he recommended. Checked out the guest speakers. Tried different meditations. Tried challenging myself and experimenting in social situations.
Even went to the mall and tried talking to different girls and doing other comfort zone challenges to practice. Applying the same principles of resistance and progression I had learned in the gym.
Then I changed schools again. I had also taken a break from training for the first time in two years. I had attained the strength and physique I wanted, but for some reason thought that I no longer wanted to be so identified with that one thing.
The grounds shifted once again. I tried to hold on, but finally broke. Towards the end of my 16th year on earth, I was defeated.
When the summer came, I started smoking weed and isolating myself in my room. Not talking to anyone. Escaping.
I couldn’t understand why it was so hard for me to talk to people normally without feeling scared and insecure.
“If I can’t behave properly around people, I’ll just have to be alone.”
A seeking mind is not always a blessing. The internet confirmed my suspicions and explained everything I thought was wrong with me.
“I must be chronically depressed. Social anxiety disorder. I knew it. There is something fundamentally and irreparably wrong with me. I’M BROKEN.”
When school came around two months later, my self-fulfilling prophecy had come true.
There was no more joy or pleasure in anything. I smoked three times a day just to keep the feeling of hopelessness away. Eventually even that didn’t work.
I tried going to school. But even just walking into the room with people watching me was now enough to induce panic.
I smoked even at school to get through the day, but mostly just pretended to my mom I went to school in the morning, then went and smoked instead. Alone.
This couldn’t continue. I thought about killing myself. I had even written notes to my siblings, professing my love, saying sorry etc.
Something happened there. At the very bottom. Right when all hope had left.
It might have been that I just realized no one was gonna come and save me, and that I would have to do it myself or actually commit suicide.
“No man can survive the moment of pronouncing himself irredeemably evil; should he do it, his next moment is insanity or suicide.» — Ayn Rand
I chose life. Or it was chosen for me. I had fallen off the path, discovered why I was on it in the first place, and decided to return.
I started training again. Three times a week. Promising myself I would never quit again. I never missed a day in the gym.
I cut down on the weed and eventually quit completely.
My mom, who had been worried out of her mind through my dark phase, drove me to the gym and spent much of her hard-earned teacher’s salary buying me food. My stepfather was also an irreplaceable support.
My father was just dealing with his own shit. He never liked my lifting hobby anyways. In my teens, he was poor and sick, and often yelled at me for eating too much food or even looking in the fridge.
At one point he suspected and accused me of taking steroids, even though the thought had never even entered my mind. He made fun of me for reading so much about health and fitness on the internet.
In fact, I rarely ever heard an encouraging word from him for any of the things I did to survive or improve, relative to the constant critique and criticism.
Although it should be emphasized that there were some few moments of kindness and support, that he probably did significantly better than his own father did with him, and that hurt people hurt people.
In other words, some of the stuff he did to me was stuff that was done to him, but in many cases worse.
And I’ve noticed that in myself too.
One of the things I regret the most in my entire life is how I treated my little brother, who is now 12 years old, back when he was just a little kid and I was 14–17. It was horrible. I bullied the little guy.
I hated myself. And I took it out on him. He never deserved that. I love that boy more than almost anything in the world.
Why do we so often hurt the people we love the most?
In fact, I’m going to send him a message and tell him right now. I’ve done it before, but I think he understands more now.
He’s so sharp, that boy. Curious. Focused. Beautiful. Good. Sometimes annoying and difficult as hell.
But anyway. My dad also contributed largely to my early interest in books, my curiosity and love of nature, my outlook on the world, and the fact that I now play piano and guitar for life.
And I hope and think I’ve been able to set a better example for my brother and my other siblings in later years, and given them some love and value.
But yeah. Anyway. I started training again. And kept going. Aligning my whole life, every habit, thought and activity to a single purpose. It kept me sane.
I started going to school again. I told myself I would at least show up. Even if I talked to no one, I would be there. By going into the uncomfortable, I would become comfortable.
After some time, I started talking a bit more to my classmates. Being a little more social. The dark clouds sometimes departing just for a moment, enough to see a glimmer of blue skies.
I was determined as fuck. Driven by pain. I trained like my life depended on it. Consistency. Broke all my previous records of strength.
But then it was the girls. I had become pretty accustomed to seeing them run off with my friends at this point. But then there was the internet. I had turned 18 and could start going out.
I was watching a lot of Elliott Hulse on YouTube. A strength trainer and coach from the US who also gave very good and healthy life advice to young men in general.
I rediscovered the “pickup community”, but it had now progressed a lot. I found a guy called “Tyler” who was running a company called Real Social Dynamics (RSD).
In a few of his videos, he talked about how he had overcome massive social anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts and hopelessness through a combination of health, positive influences, self-development, meditation and pickup.
In other words, going out and talking to lots of girls (ooohhh, so scary and controversial, right? How could anything good come out of going out and introducing yourself to strangers?)
What he said resonated with me a lot. No one had spoken so directly to me about my social challenges and how to overcome them. I was sold.
I gradually kept doing a few more approaches. Mostly just going up to women in bars, clubs and parties, saying “hi, my name is Ask” (which, yes, for you non-Norwegians, that’s actually my name).
Then usually walking away immediately because I was so scared.
But it felt very liberating. Nothing bad really happened. The more I did it, the more I noticed that I was more relaxed and confident in normal social situations.
I could talk more fluidly, make jokes, relax. I slowly started to learn intuitively some of the things that socially well-adjusted people take for granted.
How to read my own emotional state and not try to hide or fake it. Reading people and responding. Knowing when to talk, when to listen and how.
Becoming aware of some of the toxic vibes and negative emotions I was carrying, so I could work through and release them.
Just actually opening my mouth, talking and looking into another person’s eyes. Having an interaction and exchange.
Opening up and connecting with them. Being interested in people and not just talking about myself. Asking questions.
I kept going all through the last summer of high school. Three nights a week. Sober. I had found a new obsession.
Every Thursday, Friday and Saturday, I went into town, to a bar or nightclub, alone, and tried to talk to as many people as I could. I was scared shitless. But oh, the rush when I did it anyway.
Sometimes I could borrow my mom’s car. Sometimes I drove my small motorbike.
Often I took the bus into Oslo, an hour away, went out, and then slept in McDonald’s or the bus station. I was gonna get it done no matter what.
After a night out, I could practically feel my brain rewiring itself to accommodate the new experiences, become more charismatic, work through negative emotions, understand social situations better etc. It was almost like tripping on a drug, even though I was completely sober.
After about three months of that, I moved to Elverum Folkhighschool, which is a one year boarding school where about a hundred young people come to live together, and you choose a course based on interest.
They had everything from photography to theatre, to outdoors, to the one I chose — Snowboard.
So there I was. In a new environment, not knowing anyone. But now at least I had tools to deal with it. I kept going with training.
And after a few months break from pickup because I thought the town was too small, I kept doing that too.
This time, I set the goal of talking to five new women a day.
Well, a goal is maybe not the right word. It wasn’t like I gave myself much choice.
I would tell myself stuff like “if you don’t talk to 5 women today, you have to jump under a train instead of coming home.”
My life was actually getting pretty good, so I wasn’t about to commit suicide or anything. I just knew that I had to give myself no option.
The women could be old, young, pretty, ugly, skinny or fat, but I had to talk to five every day. If I skipped one day for any reason, I had to do ten the next day.
I was also very determined to not be the shy, insecure and invisible guy I had been earlier at the new school.
So from the first day, I ran around talking to everyone, being very flirty with all the girls, introducing myself to everyone etc.
People thought I was kind of crazy. But some liked it, haha.
And as people got to know me and I got to know them, I developed closer relationships with people, guys and girls, and opened up to them in new ways. It was very liberating.
I even hooked up with some of the girls. I was still very needy, though. But with pickup, I could sort of counter the neediness.
Eventually I got into a relationship with the prettiest girl in the whole school. Now I was walking on pink clouds. I had never thought something like that could be possible. She seemed to be more than I could ever ask for. I was on top of life.
After the school year, when we no longer lived together, it slowly fell apart. I was destroyed inside, but coped with iron dedication and focused all the disappointment, hurt, confusion, sadness and anger into pickup, training, a new sales job and reading books. It took me almost two years to get over that breakup.
After working in sales for a few months and doing quite well, I had saved up some money and decided to move to Prague. Alone.
Mostly to do pickup. I had gotten the idea that getting really good at that was the holy grail and my life’s purpose at that point.
So I moved. Started going out 6 days AND nights, on streets, bars and nightclubs, just talking to hundreds and eventually thousands of people.
I got laid once in the six months I was there. I felt really bad a lot of the time. Lonely, even though I was talking to thousands of people. I lived in a single apartment, read a couple hours every day and went to the gym very consistently.
I think I was just hurt. And when you’re alone, there’s no one else to lift you up. You always gotta hold it together yourself.
I do think I came home from that with a different outlook and perhaps a bit of maturity. Being away from home and my family for so long made me appreciate them more. I got to read and think quite a bit. Maybe learn a few things about people, culture, myself and the world. I don’t know.
Anyway. This post is getting wayyy fucking long. This was not the plan. It’s been over two years since I came back from Prague.
Since then I worked in sales a bit longer. Traveled a bunch more. Did a looot of pickup. Then had a big breakdown where I started smoking a shit ton of weed again. But more socially this time. Living in Barcelona for a bit with some cool people.
Started reading ridiculous amounts of books, and getting away from the pickup obsession. Got interested in a whole bunch of topics like marketing, science, math, business, finance, history, technology and so on.
Read some Ayn Rand. Was angry at the victim-mentality, anti-capitalism and poverty I had seen, especially with my dad who had spent his life trying to save the world while not taking care of himself, then breaking down and not having money to feed his kids.
I thought fuck that. Whenever I had seen someone doing really well, being successful and wealthy etc, I had always admired it and got inspired.
But many people seemed to be mad at anyone who stuck out, took personal responsibility and tried to better themselves and win. Calling them greedy.
Having these naive, idealistic and (in my view) bullshit notions of how humans should behave, while secretly or openly thinking of themselves as better than others, blaming all their problems on the evil system and the greedy rich people, and taking no responsibility for their own conditions. I hated it.
All the wealthy people I studied seemed pretty smart, human and cool to me. I had seen and associated poverty with my mom being exhausted, having to work full time while taking care of five kids, sacrificing herself to always be there for us.
With my dad not allowing his growing, 14 year old son to eat an extra piece of meat on his bread without becoming furious.
I wouldn’t live like that. I would do better. I would accumulate an abundance of resources so I could take care of my whole family.
So my mom wouldn’t have to exhaust herself.
To never have to be a slave doing something I don’t wanna do 40 hours a week in order to feed myself and my kids.
I worked for about 7 months in a fitness brand/e-commerce startup called Famme Sportswear. Learned a lot from the people there. Unfortunately I made some really dumb mistakes and got fired.
I tried a semester in business school, but switched to math and now computer science this year. Feel pretty good about my studies and am motivated to finish.
Discovering how much shit I don’t know, how much exciting stuff there is to learn, and how limited and valuable our time to explore it could be.
I think a lot about the possibility of artificial intelligence making us irrelevant or otherwise creating massive upheavals in the coming few years or decades. Maybe it’s my constant paranoia.
Either way, I feel a sense of urgency. I think I can contribute to doing some interesting stuff within the next decade if fate would have it, based on the things going on in my life right now.
I still have that relentless drive and restlessness. And the ambition. I wonder if there will ever be another day in my life where I can say “Wow. Not only did I achieve my goals, but this is more/better than I could have imagined.”
And to be honest, I really doubt it. I think there’s about a 1% chance that happens. My goals are high. I’m either gonna win big, or it’s gonna be really ugly and humiliating.
Actually, it’s probably gonna be kind of ugly and humiliating either way. But if I’m lucky and do it right, there’s also gonna be some glory and exceptional heights.
But it’s not gonna be normal or a middle path. It’s not gonna happen.
People should only really invest in me if the circumstances and their judgment give them a favo rable calculation of expected return.
I hope one person finds something interesting or valuable in this post. Good night, peoples.
