The Fountain of Truth

St. Nick's Gym (Part 1)

When he was but a youth, the world had not yet heard of the name of "St. Nicholas." No, not even a whisper nor a shout could be heard among the villagers, nor the townsfolk, nor the city dwellers across the land, claiming that a man such as he had lived or breathed, much less traveled the globe to work where they worked, or eat where they ate, or dance where they danced. Not so much as a rumor nor a fleeting thought had his name written upon it, built to infect conversation or shape the behavior of children. To the world around him, the name of St. Nicholas did not exist, nor did anyone believe it should exist. In those days, he was no more famous than you or I. To all but a select few, he was simply a nobody, a commoner, a snowflake to melt under the sun.

No, when he was but a young man, approximately two hundred years of age (or about twenty-five in mortal years), "Jolly" St. Nick, or Santa Claus as he is known today, was an unknown to children, to chimneys, and to the spirit of Christmas the world over. When the kiddies spoke of presents and holiday wishes, writing their requests in intelligible scribble on long scrolls of parchment, they submitted their wish lists to the unlikeliest of Christmas deliverymen, their parents. And in those days of old, when parents were poor, and a good year was a year that no one died, expecting a gift for Christmas was a long-shot, and receiving one was a miracle. Yes, the children would ask for presents anyway, and sometimes they even asked for something fun, like a toy, but, alas, the Christmas spirit was weak, for the children would wake up on that cold December morning with naught in their stockings but a lump of coal, and not for a lack of goodness, but rather for the good of the oven in which they needed fuel to keep warm.

No, the name of St. Nick was absent from the lips of all who would one day come to believe. His name was spoken only among those circles of elite who dwelled in the deep north, and only out of rumor, not of fact. Yes, he was still known by a select few. But he was not known as the figure of charity that he has become today. He was known simply for his niche specialties as a power-lifter of reindeer and a hobbyist toymaker, and, according to the world stage, these things were not yet that important, to the world, or in general.

In those early days, St. Nick did not have a toy workshop, per se, but he did own a gym that was slightly larger than the average northern bedroom. Because he was reclusive, he kept his gym private, and because the building was so small, he owned only one piece of equipment, a treadmill. But every month he would add another extension to the building that would increase its original size by 50%, and with each extension he would add a new piece of equipment—a weightlifting bench, a leg press, a dry canoe—so that he could build up not only his gym, but his body, too! Of course, he would work out night and day, day and night, buffing his biceps, toning his pecs, and sculpting his abs like a champion. He would lift reindeer from his weight bench, push his legs against an iceberg tip tilted ominously over a log, and simulate paddling in the canoe that never moved in order to increase his mass. He would tell himself at the height of his pain, "You can do it, Nick! Never give up!" And he would work out, night and day, day and night, until his body was dehydrated but undoubtedly looking good.