I don't know what made me click it. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was divine nudging. The
thumbnail read:
"Your Workout Means Nothing Without Diet."
Bold red letters. A fitness guy pointing at a plate of grilled chicken and vegetables. I'd already
finished my 33 pushups, 33 sit-ups, and 33 squats for the day. I was drenched, as usual. I felt
like I was making progress. But that title dug into my head like a splinter.
I clicked.
The next five minutes broke something in me.
Protein. Calories. Macronutrients. Hydration. Sleep. Things I had never taken seriously.
I had always thought:
"Just work out. The rest doesn't matter."
But the way he explained it, it did.
It all mattered.
I sat there, mouth dry, and ironically thirsty as hell.
How long had it been since I drank a glass of water? A full one?
I rushed to the kitchen and gulped one down like it was the first time in my life. Then another.
And another.
"Three liters a day," the video had said. That was the new goal.
I wrote it down in the back of an old math notebook.
---
The change wasn't smooth.
That evening, my mom made spinach curry. Usually, I'd skip it. Hated the texture, hated the
taste. But I made myself eat it, slowly, bite by bite. It wasn't as bad as I remembered.
I stopped pouring extra sugar in my tea. I started reducing the oil in my omelets. I even ate a
boiled egg — no chili, no oil — just plain. My stomach ached less this time.
I didn't realize it, but something else started changing too:
My YouTube algorithm.
Fitness. Warm-ups. Protein-rich vegetarian foods. Back exercises. Stretching.
It was as if my phone had seen me evolve and was walking beside me now.
Recommending. Guiding. Watching.
The soreness never went away though.
Drinking 3 liters of water was harder than I thought. I'd forget. Or I'd chug too much at once and
feel sick.
Sometimes I stared at the food and felt like vomiting.
My tongue craved sugar. My brain begged for a phone in my hand at night.
My body fought the change.
But I pushed.
Even when I failed, I didn't stop.
---
And one night, while I lay half-asleep, I saw it again.
That white void. That endless silence. And the silhouette.
Still faceless. Still glowing. Still watching.
He didn't speak at first. Just looked at me, like a parent silently watching a child try to walk.
Then finally:
"The flame has caught on. But fire without direction burns everything, even its source."
I blinked. The silhouette faded. No answers. No instructions.
Just a message.
---
The next morning, something in me stirred. I stood in front of the mirror again. My chest had
form now. My stomach was tighter. My arms didn't dangle like wet noodles anymore.
I felt... good. Not perfect. But good.
For the first time in months, I smiled at my reflection without wincing.
But something was off.
My back... ached.
A weird kind of tightness.
I ignored it at first. But then I remembered — every video, every exercise, everything I'd done —
they were all push exercises.
Chest. Arms. Legs. Abs.
But nothing for the back.
No rows. No pull exercises. No posture training. No mobility.
I had never trained my back.
Not even once.
---
And that's when the realization hit me like a hammer to the spine:
"I've built a castle with no foundation."
The screen of my phone lit up with a new recommendation:
"Why Training Your Back Is Crucial – Avoid This Mistake."
My thumb hovered over it.
My heart raced.
Click.
To be continued...