—Eddie Bunker HARDIE STARTED WITH something small: push-ups. One-armed, one-half push-ups, to be exact. His old man’s favorite exercise. The only exercise a man needed, he always said. And the old man’s favorite punishment was a half push-up. That’s when you started a traditional push-up, then stopped halfway through, with your arms nearly fully extended, back straight, knees locked, muscles working. And you stay that way for as long as you can take, or until the old man tells you to drop. Mouth off? Half push-up time. Forget to take out the trash? Half push-up time. Get your dumb ass thrown in a secret prison, causing you to have a complete mental breakdown and a resultant moment of clarity? Half push-up time. His body hated it at first. Absolutely hated it, because it had been softened by years of watching rich people’s homes and eating whatever and drinking whatever and reclining on whatever, confident that his years of strength training would still be there when he needed them.
