Do not be beguiled by this man’s gentle countenance; there lies in him, coiled beneath that composed exterior, the strength and ferocity of a dozen beasts. Indeed, to train under him is to contend not with one lion, but with the whole pride. I discovered this firsthand today in what I must call my initiation at his hands—a personal training session that could well have passed for a trial by fire.
And yet, paradoxically, it is in such a one—so fierce in discipline—that I have found the rarest of friends. Merv is not merely a master of physical form but a craftsman of character, and more—he is that once-in-a-lifetime sort of soul, the kind that one stumbles upon not in crowds, but in the quiet providences of fate. Genuine to the core, he is a man of whom it might be said, “Here walks one in whom there is no guile.”
The training he subjected me to was intense, no doubt, but carried out with a meticulous purpose. I could feel that he was studying the contours of my ability, not to boast of his own, but to tailor a regimen that would, in time, sculpt my body as one sculpts stone—with patience and vision. Somewhere in the midst of that trial, however, I began to falter. My lips turned dry, my head began to reel, and the world tilted as if on a drunken axis. I, who rarely betray weakness to the weights, felt undone.
But before I could speak or even raise a hand in protest, Merv—who reads distress like a connoisseur reads wine—had me seated and vanished. Moments later he returned, not with some concoction of powders or pills, but with the humble, life-giving banana, which he insisted I eat at once. Only afterward did he explain that what I had suffered was not due to weakness of will or muscle, but to a deficiency far more subtle and insidious: lack of sleep.
He spoke with the conviction of one who knows, not merely from books but from the school of experience, that sleep is not a luxury, but a law of nature, as intrinsic to human flourishing as breath itself. Modern science affirms what ancient wisdom intuited: the mind deprived of sleep begins to falter in judgment, lose emotional equilibrium, and erode its memory’s shores like waves do to cliffs. Sleep, in its silent ministry, restores the body’s tissues, consolidates learning, regulates metabolism, balances hormones, and shores up the immune system like a fortress against unseen foes.
Psychologically, sleep is the balm that soothes our inner tempest. Without it, anxiety sharpens its claws, depression creeps through the cracks, and even our social graces diminish. We become less capable of empathy, less able to distinguish friend from foe, intention from accident. The prefrontal cortex, seat of reason, yields to the primal brain, and we are driven more by impulse than insight.
As Merv gently rebuked me, he used a metaphor that lingers in my mind still: “Even a machine must be turned off to avoid overheating. A radiator, if left uncooled, begins to smoke. So too the human frame—body and soul—demands rest, else it unravels.”
To you, Merv—my brother in sweat and wisdom—thank you. Not merely for the punishing drills or your quiet acts of care, but for being a man whose presence reminds one that discipline and compassion are not rivals but partners. I promise to rise to the level of effort you are willing to pour into me—not only because it is your vocation, but because it is your nature to give so wholly. You are, indeed, the sort of friend one rarely finds outside the pages of stories.