The Body Builder: A short story about hard work

James Elsley had made his billions in the stock market, moving money from one pile to another.

Standing just 5 feet 2 inches tall with a bony frame and thick horn-rimmed glasses, Elsley was well suited to the financial markets. His mind was sharp and strong, while his body could barely huff out a single pushup.

Despite his limitations, Elsley dreamed of someday entering the World’s Strongest Man contest and winning the coveted title.

He’d seen an article in “SuXess” magazine about Dr. Alan Sheffield, a surgeon who used limbs and organs grown in a laboratory to restore American soldiers back to health after battle. An Army Ranger who’d lost both of his legs in an artillery fight was not only made whole again, but his new legs were stronger and more powerful than the ones he was born with.

Sheffield made small incisions around each of the major muscle groups and inserted small synthetic muscle fibers. The synthetics contained a genetically modified virus designed to supercharge dormant muscles, making them stronger and more efficient to maximize hypertrophy.

Shortly after reading the article, Elsley scheduled a meeting with Dr. Sheffield at his New York clinic. Elsley explained his farfetched goal to the doctor.

“It’s possible,” Sheffield said. “But I don’t know why you would want to go through it.”

“Your work up to now has been to bring superheroes back from the ashes,” Elsley said. “What would happen if you could make make superheroes out of ordinary schlubs?”

Sheffield’s eyes wandered out the window as an air taxi zoomed by at high speed. The Newton’s Cradle on his desk began to clack back and forth.

“You believe stronger muscles will make you into a superhero?”

“Of course they will,” Elsley said. “I’ve yet to see a headline that says, ‘Bespectacled investment banker saves the day.’”

Sheffield thumbed through a folder stuffed with papers. He pulled out a single sheet with a diagram of the human muscular system on one side and list of complex formulas on the other side.

“The muscular system is binary, like a computer,” Sheffield said. “Ones and zeros. Contraction and relaxation. Simple, yet there is so much we don’t understand about it.”

He flipped the sheet to show Elsley the equations, which described calorie requirements and ratios for macronutrients, vitamins and minerals. Elsley rolled his eyes.

“What am I supposed to do with all this?” Elsley said.

“Learn it,” Sheffield said. “If you learn it well, you might not want the surgery anymore. You can become 10 times stronger than you are now. Well on your way to superhero status.”

Elsley adjusted his glasses and placed the sheet on Sheffield’s desk. He thought for a moment

“And if you go through with the procedure, you’ll need to follow a strict nutrition plan. Imagine putting a V-8 engine in a small passenger vehicle without upgrading the intake or the exhaust systems.”

At this point Elsley was imagining himself speeding down a country road in a yellow Ferrari with a muscled arm hanging out the window. A robbery-in-progress call blared over the police scanner. He slammed on the brakes and spun the car a 180 degrees.

“I’m on my way,” he said in a gravelly voice.

Elsley liked to daydream. His imagination had more than once caused him to botch multimillion-dollar securities trades. Fortunately, the error rate in his industry was so poor that no one questioned his blunders.

“Do you understand what I’m saying, Mr. Elsley?” Sheffield said, snapping his fingers to pull Elsley from his fantasy.

“Of course,” he said. “Where do I sign? I only have six months to prepare for the World’s Strongest Man contest.”

A few days after their meeting, Elsley returned to Sheffield’s clinic for the procedure. The whole thing took about four hours after the anesthesia set in.

Elsley awoke dizzy, in a fog from the anesthesia. He tried to move but couldn’t. His limbs felt as if they had large boulders hanging from them.

“So nice of you to join us, Mr. Elsley,” a woman’s voice said. “I’ll fetch the doctor.”

At last he managed to wiggle his fingers. His eyesight was extremely blurred, well beyond what was typical without his glasses. He could make out basic shapes, but everything had a slight yellow glow.

“Mr. Elsley, you’re awake,” Sheffield’s voice said with a slight echo. “How are you feeling?”

Elsley forced out a slight moan.

“Well at least you’re responsive,” Sheffield said. “You should regain some basic motor skills over the next few days. This feeding tube will ensure you get exact nutrition while your body adapts to hypersynthesis.”

Elsley nodded off again. When he next awoke it was nighttime, although he wasn’t sure if it was the same day. A cool breeze blew in through the air vent. He swatted at the air.

His fist struck the wall behind him with a “whack” that rang throughout the building. Elsley jumped out of bed.

A stream of white light poured in through a fist-sized hole in the wall. Elsley attempted to walk but was restrained by about a half dozen tubes hanging from his body. His stomach growled with a hunger unlike any he’d ever felt.

The next morning Elsley was discharged from the clinic. It turned out that he’d been asleep for about four days, which was longer than he’d expected to be away from the office. His limbs were swollen and sor, but he could tell that he was considerably stronger.

Dr. Sheffield had provided him with a large drum of powdered nutritional supplements. Elsley was expected to take two scoops three times per day to promote speedy recovery.

The powder sufficed for a few days. Then he began to feel hunger pangs much like he’d felt that night at the clinic. Despite Sheffield’s orders to rely solely on the supplements for six weeks, one morning Elsley ate a whole jar of peanut butter, a couple sleeves of cookies and a loaf of bread.

Elsley also started to test out his newfound strength, defying the doctor’s orders to “take it easy.”

One morning he found a car that had double parked outside his apartment building. He calmly lifted the rear bumper and dragged the car to a tow-away zone across the street. A couple weeks earlier he could barely do a single push-up.

Perhaps he’d adapted faster than Dr. Sheffield expected. Maybe he was already a superhero.

Someone had caught Elsley’s car stunt on video. Newspapers and morning TV shows all wanted to speak with him. He granted interviews to almost all of them, boasting about Sheffield’s brilliant work and his plans for the World’s Strongest Man contest.

Elsley even agreed to go on live television to demonstrate his strength.

The night before his scheduled appearance, Elsley felt the most intense hunger he’d ever had. It was as if his stomach had turned inside out. He plowed through a few steaks, a couple dozen eggs and a medium pizza. By this point he was only occasionally remembering to take his supplement powder, but it didn’t really seem necessary.

Hundreds of people packed the studio for the “Morning Hour” show. The soundstage was lined with several large, increasingly heavy objects for Elsely to lift.

“So tell us about your transformation, Mr. Elsley,” the host said. “I understand you went from the fabled 98-pound weakling to Hercules in a matter of weeks.”

“That’s right,” Elsley said, brimming with confidence. “I went from being a Wall Street banker sitting at a desk all day, to being a miracle of science.”

The crowd applauded as the video of his car removal stunt played on the screen behind the stage.

“I understand you’re prepared to give us a little demonstration today,” the host said. “Is that right?”

The crowd cheered as Elsley walked across the stage to a barbell loaded with 800 pounds. He gripped the bar and coiled his body toward the ground before effortlessly deadlifting the weight.

The applause crescendoed to a roar.

Next in line was a small car labeled as weighing 1,232 pounds. Elsley squatted down in front of the vehicle and gripped the underside of the steel frame. He began to feel hungry. His stomach felt like a cement mixer, heavy and turning.

The front of the car came up off the ground with ease. His knees started to wobble. Elsley tried to let go but his hands were frozen. Cracking and popping and red-hot pain. He collapsed.

When he awoke, Elsley was back in the recovery room at Sheffield’s clinic. The same tubes poked and prodded his muscular body.

Sheffield’s voice echoed from his bedside.

“The human body is truly a miraculous thing,” Sheffield said. “We can build it or break it down. You, however, nearly killed yourself.”

Elsley moaned, wiggling the fingers on his left hand. That was all the strength he could muster. Church bells clanged in the distance. This was the first time he’d noticed them. He again lost consciousness.