#ritualtraining

This totem isn’t carved in cedar. It’s carved in sweat, breath, and motion.

Your body is the scroll. Your training is the carving. Each rep, each stretch, each sprint — a glyph of protection, legacy, and sacred rage.

🔥 Ritual Framework

Warm-Up as Awakening: You don’t “get ready.” You summon the ancestral fire. Breathwork, dynamic stretches, joint activation — this is invocation.

Strength as Shieldcraft: Deadlifts, squats, presses — these are not exercises. They are the forging of tribal armor. You lift not for aesthetics, but for protection.

Mobility as Memory: Assisted stretching, primal flows, and recovery rituals restore ancestral range. You reclaim motion stolen by stress and stagnation.

Cardio as Drumbeat: Sprints, circuits, battle ropes — each heartbeat syncs with tribal rhythm. You don’t run to escape. You run to remember.

🧠 Mindset Totem

Every session is ceremony.

Every sweat drop is sacred ink.

Every failure is a carving deeper into your myth.

“ENDURANCE ASCENSION”

48 minutes // shirtless // soaked by the end

Started dry. Ended transformed.

Today’s training wasn’t just physical—it was devotional. Two rounds of legwork, cardio, and core, followed by a slow burn that took me past muscle and into something deeper. No shirt. No hiding. Just breath, tension, and a will that refused to quit.

By the time I folded into my cooldown, I was drenched. My body throbbed from the inside out—sweat rolling, heart pounding, something sacred brewing in the silence. I let go in the stretch. Let it flood through. Heat, scent, pressure—everything I’d built rising to the surface.

I sat with it after. Let it settle. No need to finish the feeling. Sometimes the real power is in holding it.

🟨 Badge Earned: The Reservoir Sigil

For restraint. For reverence. For honoring the tension without release.

This is more than fitness.

It’s ritual.

It’s reclamation.

And today, I walked the line between discipline and desire—and didn’t flinch.

I didn’t start this journey because I wanted to look a certain way. I started because I needed to feel something real—something rooted, something mine.

I was raised Southern Baptist, adopted into a world where shame was baked into every lesson. Neurodivergent before anyone knew the term. Queer before I had the safety to claim it. Sensory-oriented in ways I was taught were sinful.

I didn’t grow up with the language to describe myself—only with the silence I was told to keep.

Kink found me early, and I carried that weight alone for years. Not because it was wrong, but because I was told I was. I felt things deeply. My body responded to things I couldn’t explain. And instead of being met with understanding, I was met with fear, punishment, and isolation.

That does something to you.

It wires you to believe your instincts are dangerous. That your softness is weakness. That your hunger for touch, scent, control, surrender—whatever it may be—is something you’ll always have to hide.

But I’m done hiding.

I box now, not just to get stronger, but to reconnect with the body I was taught to fear. I train through ritual—geared not for appearance, but for presence. I use scent, weight, repetition, layers—because for me, training isn’t just physical. It’s a kind of liturgy.

I don’t have a six-pack. I have stretch marks. A gut. A complicated relationship with the mirror. But I show up anyway. Because healing doesn’t wait for you to look like a magazine cover.

I don’t want to be a fitness influencer. I want to be real.

If you’re still figuring out how to live inside yourself, you’re not alone.

If you’ve ever felt broken for what you crave, soft in a world that demands hardness, or wired differently than what’s considered “normal”—I see you.

You’re not wrong. You’re not weak. You’re sacred.

Week 2, I’m coming in with my full self. Not cleaned up. Not cut down. Just here.