Holy
Swole.

The body is the temple. You are the contractor. Nobody else is showing up.

A monastery for the body. Swear the daily contract at dawn. Drink the water, eat the protein, lift the iron, lie down on time, refuse the poison. Attest at dusk. Be better than yesterday. Repeat until you are closer to God than you were.

Hosannas in the last 24 hoursSouls who swore the contract today.
Souls in the OrderNames that took the vows.
Hosannas, all timeEvery dawn anyone ever swore.

The Five Vows

Sworn daily. Attested nightly.
Vow I

TRAIN

I will move this body with intent. Iron, road, or floor — there is no day of nothing.

Vow II

HYDRATE

I will drink the water. The gallon is the goal. The tap is the altar.

Vow III

PROTEIN

I will feed the temple what it is built from. Protein at every meal, no excuses at any.

Vow IV

SLEEP

I will lie down on time. The temple is rebuilt in the dark, and only in the dark.

Vow V

ABSTAIN

I will refuse the poison — the junk, the booze, the 1 a.m. scroll. Not today.

And the sixth thing, which is the whole point

The Increment.

Every dawn you name one way today will beat yesterday. One more rep. One more glass. Fifteen minutes earlier to bed. Small enough that you cannot weasel out of it, specific enough that you will know at midnight whether you did it. Then you do it. One percent a day is thirty-seven times a year. That is the arithmetic of the Order.

The Liturgy of a Day

Dawn. Work. Dusk. Repeat.
  1. Dawn — Swear

    Open the contract. Choose your vows for the day. Name the increment. Put your name on it. That is a Hosanna, and it extends your streak by one.

  2. Day — Do the work

    Nothing here helps you with this part. Nothing anywhere does. Drink, eat, lift, refuse. The temple does not build itself and the Order does not send reminders.

  3. Dusk — Attest

    Come back and tell the truth: which vows held, whether the increment happened. Nobody is watching. That is exactly why it counts. Then the Ledger remembers it forever.

The Creed

We hold no theology. We hold a barbell.

We believe the body is the only temple you are guaranteed to live in, that most people leave theirs under construction, and that the work of building it — the water, the protein, the sleep, the iron, the daily refusal of poison — is the closest a person gets to God without dying first.

We do not know what God is. We know what a squat is. Start there.