Breaking Bubbles in the Hall

 I'm continually struck by people who drift into gymrats and say things to this effect:  "I'm new/returning to the gym after a long layoff/looking to lose weight/hoping to get hyooge and I have a BILLION questions about what I should eat, when, where, why, how I should train and all kinds of other shit that I must know."

I sit there and just think that this person is doomed to fail.  I don't know the answers to their questions... some people do, but I'm just baffled.  If you need this much help, you'll never get anything done... just do it! (yeah, I know..)

A few years ago, I said fuckit I'm sick of being chubby and I'm getting chubbier, so I lost 45 lbs.  That revealed that I had some serious musculature under the fat.  I had always been big, but now I was cut.  I still am.  I'm healthy and strong and very athletic.  I am 6'3" tall, weigh around 210 lbs., have a 31-inch waist and 20.5 inch biceps.  

...and it's easy to be this way.  Granted, genetics play a role, but not wholly.  I just walk into the gym and work out based on some very simple and sound guidance.  I eat healthfully and not to excess.  I do not use supplements (though I did try creatine for a month last October) and using roids would just make me totally blown out and absurd.

I don't get this tendency to ask, ask, ask.  To microanalyze and seek help for every fucking thing.  There are no miraculous secrets to being fit... it's all out there, just choose your sources wisely.

..and softly spoken lies.. Ya never know just how you look through other people's eyes..

(I don't often quote The Butthole Surfers, but it seems to fit this moment)

My daughters love when I come home from the gym with a new "boyfriend" story.  It amuses them to no end that guys will come up to me at random and compliment my body.  I play it up, because I have no problem entertaining my girls at the expense of my dignity.  I love their happiness.. their joy is my joy.

One thing to note, though... is that I did receive one... just one compliment from a woman.  From a woman who is very likely the most beautiful human being who is currently a member of the gym.  This is a very nice and respectable woman, not a predatory chick at all.  She is a nurse and a mom.  She works hard at the gym and gets results.  I almost never speak to her, but my wife does.

She said these words: "When I first saw your husband, I thought he had the most beautiful arms I'd ever seen."

When I heard that, I sort of shrugged it off with a "whatever" type response... but I'm telling you, it put me into the stratosphere.  Inside, I was like "really?... she said that?  about ME????"  It's a fucking miracle that I didn't skip out of the gym that day. 

I always make it a point to try to compliment somebody I see in the gym who is truly accomplishing something.  If it's sombody with great form or somebody who has clearly been working hard and has made tangible gains, I say it.  After receiving the above-noted compliment, I just hope that I can make someone feel as good about themselves as I felt in that moment. 

Three days have passed and my calves (and now the smaller muscles in my feet) are STILL sore, though it's finally subsiding.  Jesus, basketball is a great workout.  I've gotta find a way to play two days a week rather than one.  I cannot wait until the snow melts so that I can go to the track to run fartleks with my daughter... Sprinting is just a blast, whether it's during a game or on the track.  I'd rather drive spikes in my kneecaps than foot-slap on a treadmill.  Put me in spikes, give me an outdoor track and I'm in heaven.

Hmm.. welcome to my internal monologue.  I think I'm typing just to type... stream of consciousness... too much caffeine.

 

Basketball season started for me yesterday.  For the first time in about 11 months, I was going to walk onto the court and run with a bunch of college students.. some grad, some faculty and staff, but mostly people 20 years old, give or take.  I will be 42 next month.

 

I had two consecutive games to play and was approaching these games with dread as I have not run a step since probably last July.  So gametime arrives and I grab their biggest player to cover… he’s gotta be slow.  Wrong.  In fact, he turns out to be Mr. Everything… running everywhere, shooting, driving, rebounding, EVERYTHING!  But to my delighted surprise, my legs allowed me hang with him.. my heart pumped and my lungs kept the oxygen coming.  I was running step-for-step with Mr. Everything.  So I survived, I shut down Mr. Everything (not quite, but he was not having fun) and we won the game.

 

Then I had to pass my own personal test.  It was December 1980 when I first dunked a basketball.  Here I am in January 2008 and I had to see if I still could.  Turns out that I can.  27 years and counting.  I wonder how many other 6’3” white guys can say that.

 

Alright, why do I blast my own horn so unabashedly?  Because the only thing I do for fitness is weight training.  It is one of my true joys in life, but it doesn’t dominate my life.  Four hours in the gym per week is probably my average… sometimes more, sometimes less.  Sometimes I lift for power, sometimes for hypertrophy… and sometimes just to maintain.

 

I can say with absolute certainty, however, that what happened yesterday would not have been possible were it not for those hours spent battling gravity.     

Okay, at the urging of a delightfully brilliant and beautiful human being, I shall post here unabashedly... nobody's listening, but it will feel good to get this shit off my chest.  How many blogs have I let languish... I shall endeavor to never do that again.

Today's beefs:

- How does the most powerful nation in the history of the known university select its leader?  We let IOWA set the tone... if that's not bad enough, we then go to New Hampshire for perspective.  Brilliant... SO fucking representative of our population.  Christ, I hate the policital process... stinks to high heaven.

- My ass is sore.  Did Bulgarians yesterday coupled with SLDLs and it hurts... Granted, I'm building buns-o-steel, but for now every time I stand up, I walk like an old man until I get moving.

- It's going up to 60 today.  Um... it's January.  One week ago, we were under a winter storm warning.  Could we simply stick with winter, please?  Who do I complain to about the weather?

- I'm pissed at hair.  I don't get it... I want hair on my head, yet my hairline recedes.  I don't want it on my chest, yet there it grows.  Who the hell decided THIS was a good plan?  Who do I complain to about hair growth?

I'm already running out of complaints... this will do.  Now I remember why I deleted all of my old journal entries.

Yesterday at the gym, I was working out… wasn’t even doing arms yet, when this guy comes up and introduces himself and asks how I got such big arms.  My usual reaction is discomfort and a polite "lots of hard work" type thing.  Well, this time was different.  Turns out that his name is Jason and I immediately realized that he’s got Down Syndrome.  It was a very nice interaction and he was socially appropriate and fully capable of conversation.  He then went away with some dumbbells.  He returned about five minutes later and actually came over and put his hands around my arm, which was uncomfortable, but of course I understood and laughed it off.

He then did a set of curls for me with very good form.  I told him that he has great form.. asked how old he is (29) and told him to keep at it.  He was very happy.. put his dumbbells back (in the proper place) and said “see ya later!” and he was gone.  I saw him walking out with his dad a few minutes later.

A first for me:  That brought me to tears.  I just started thinking of my girls… and how fortunate I am… I mean, Jason is SO mildly Down, but he clearly is.  He’s undersized and has a speech impediment… the tell-tale eye shape.  He’s probably 8 or 9 years old mentally… I just wonder what minute quirk of chromosomal shift might have made him be perfectly normal… I just wonder what parents feel when they see their child that way, ya know?  They love them with all their heart, but do they mourn the person that they might have been?  I haven't a clue... but that brief meeting with Jason hit me hard.

Jesus fucking Christ, I sat there with my head down, feigning that I was recovering from a set, for what must have been a full 20 seconds desperately trying not to cry IN THE GYM.

I hope his dad brings him back.  He’s a great kid. 

Is Bill Martin singlehandedly killing both Michigan basketball and football?

Oh yeah... that has to be a resounding yes.