IOL Strength and Conditioning

Dave’s genius lies in seeing what we all see, but being able to describe it in a way few of the rest of us had considered. That’s why I don’t want his musings of the internal coaching personalities from the column a few weeks to disappear into the depths of the archives, now reaching a thickness of over 500 columns, without calling out those familiar nags.

Before sending them off to history, which of your internal advisers is your favorite, which visits the most often or is the most destructive? And I wonder this: Do we have the skills to bring a more positive and more successful internal coach to the forefront?

Can we send the faulty ones to the rear?

Quoting Dave Draper:

Me, the pragmatist: Ask yourself, “What if I don’t go?” That dopey question usually works. I let the five one-syllable words tumble around my head for a few agonizing minutes and…

Off to the gym I go like a scolded child.

Myself, the negotiator: Think of how much better you feel when you’re done. Go. Set yourself free. The clever statements trick me every time. I’m dimwitted. I admit it.

Off to the gym with a sappy grin.

I, the ego: Oh, no! The arms are the first to go. They hang like buggy whips in the wind. Then the shoulders, slumping forward, narrow, bony and powerless. Loose fat collects immediately around the navel and love handles. The pecs droop, airless balloons.

Absolutely unbearable. Zoom. Gone to the gym.

College professor: Now is not the time to pause, neglect or doubt, my good man. With haste summon your discipline and perseverance, your most precious assets long in development. Let this day not pass without continuous and virtuous triumph. Live, lift, learn and grow.

Off to the gym I go, a brilliant and assiduous student of life… D-

Fatherly persuasion: Be brave and courageous, my son. You’re in the shadow of the valley of tedium that must be traversed before ascending the noble and exciting mountains ahead.

I hike to the gym in mountaineering boots.

Street talker: Don’t think about it, man. Just do it, you’ll like it.

Off to the gym I go, a free spirit… with a millstone chained to his ankle.

Philosopher: Be strong. These are the times that test the soul.

I go boldly to the gym, heart in hand.

Big brother talk: Nerve and guts, that rebellious pair of wiseguys, can always be counted on when the going gets tough, you little punk. You got any nerve… any guts?

I squeeze into a tanktop and shuffle off to the gym.

Cheerleader: No wimps allowed. I’m counting on you, Double D. You can do this. You’re the man. Let’s make this work big time. Go get ‘em, Bomber. Give me a B, Give me an O, Give me an M, Give me a B.

Gym-bound, pompoms in hand.

Burly coach: Listen up, Draper, and the rest of you lugs out there. Treat every workout like it’s your last workout. Every workout counts. Never say, “I’m not up to it, I can’t do it, I don’t have it in me.” Stand tall, throw your shoulders back, spread those lats, flex those tris, grab the iron and push. Never quit! Never surrender! Never give up! Squats and Deadlifts and Presses and Curls.

Me, gym. Coach’s orders.

Fatalist: Miss one workout, miss two. The terrifying training gap has been established. Miss two workouts, miss three. You’re a goner. There’s no recovery, no turning back, you’re a dead man walking. You cannot let this happen. Do something. Do something now or we all die… aaarrrgh!

Off to the gym or I’m dead meat.

Psychiatrist: You’re crazy if you go, you’re crazy if you don’t go. Don’t go, they throw away the key and you can’t get in. Go, they throw away the key and you can’t get out.

Goodbye, cruel world. Admit me to the Dumbbell Ward.

Psychoanalyst: You think you’re depressed now; forego your workout and the world will come tumbling down on you. Hope surrenders to despair, compassion morphs into anger, enthusiasm dissolves into apathy, fear thwarts joy and light fades to darkness.

The gym, now, or I shrivel.

Cop: Drop the Bomber Blend, hands behind your head, down on the floor, spread ‘em and don’t say a word or it will be held against you. What’s this about not going to the gym? Don’t answer that. Get in the patrol car and watch your head… kaboink… you’re going to the gym. 90 minutes, hard labor.

Off to the Iron House: Voluntary incarceration.

Any more ironheads to the rescue?