She Ate Popcorn,
I Had Humble Pie
Another workout is about to unfold. It’s the week’s end, Friday about noon, and I’m gearing up for my trek to the gym. With an hour before departure time, I thought I’d jot down a few words and see where they take me. I’m not buckling up or holding on for dear life because I don’t expect a wild and crazy ride. Nor am I taking extra provisions, water or changes of clothes, as I doubt I’ll be going far or for very long.
That doesn’t mean it won’t be an adventure. My life, as you know, is one amazing experience after another, an almost endless rush of thrills and escapades -- the stuff that makes bombers agile, versatile and strong. Just last week there were the riveting moments when the overly long laces of my sneakers got tangled. Laree and I were out for a big night on the town and I had parked in a disabled-only space, the only remaining parking spot in the lot, and stepped from my vehicle before a long line of theatre goers. I left the engine running, as I only intended to pick up tickets at the ticket window.
My ensnarled feet resisted forward movement and I stumbled to my knees like a wounded water buffalo. Unable to right myself, I crawled to a convenient curbside bench. There, after painfully pulling myself to a seated position, I began to unknot my hobbled footwear. "What the heck... how did this... I must’ve..." My darling wife remained in the passenger seat.
Several people came to my aid (Tsk, tsk... poor folks, these handicapped... they try so hard... a vet, perhaps), eager to attend the apparently complicated task of fixing my mess. The manager of the theater suddenly appeared and apologized for the unlikely position of the one-and-only wheelchair-accessible parking space. "I’ve asked them on numerous occasions to properly stripe the space." I gallantly insisted it was nothing and I could handle the matter. "I’m used to it." A little girl fidgeted with her coat zipper and stared at me. From the corner of my eye I watched Laree sink slowly out of sight... down, down, down behind the dashboard.
In answer to desperate prayers, the theater doors opened and the crowd vanished into the land of make-believe -- leaving me in a land of make-believe of my own. Accompanied by thin shadows, I slipped into the driver’s seat, shot Sweet Pea a glance -- she was on the floor in a pile -- and we were off to the movies in the next town over. She ate popcorn, I had humble pie; we watched alien robots exterminate a city.
Time flies, gotta go. Iron waits for no man. In the words of a popular politician, "I’ll be back!"
Clank, toil, groan, burn, pump!
Swell. You’re still here! I’ve gone to the gym... been there, did that.
Friday workouts are free-for-alls -- I do what I want, need or feel like. That doesn’t make them cheap or in any way free. I spend the last of my private energy reserves and leave the gym broke. But the training sessions are a fascinating, unfurling event. Since I have three powerhouse workouts behind me and it’s Friday (a welcome relief, the week’s end), I’m not anxious, pressured or doubtful. Quite the opposite, I’m confident, invested and hopeful and that promising stretch of Saturday and Sunday looms before me.
With the speed of light and an imaginary shake of the body, I assess my needs and let 'er roll -- two hours to cruise the floor and do what will be done. Today, it started with overgrip deadlifts supersetted with stiff-arm pullovers.
Yeah, I know, you heard it all before. What did you expect, something new and original? There isn’t anything new and original. If there was, I’d have been doing it for 45 years and it would by now be old, tried and true. It’s not the exercises or combination of exercises, bombers, it’s the doing them that counts: how, how hard, how often, how consistently, how attentively, how precisely, completely and wisely.
And then there’s this; too few trainees from any era work their lower backs regularly or sufficiently and I’m here to remind you. You’re welcome.
I applied the overgrip, rather than opposing grip, to accentuate the engagement of the hand – hand and forearm strength -- and to keep me within a moderate weight range, performing high reps for exercise form, and back and grip conditioning. The stiff-arm pullover keeps me moving, oxygenizing and stretching, as I load the lats and stimulate the tris and bis. Five supersets, as follows: Power-style deadlift -- 135 x 10 reps, adding 20 pounds each subsequent set for 10 reps, final set 225 x 10 reps. Dumbbell pullover -- 75 x 10 reps, adding five pounds each subsequent set for 10 reps, final set 90 x 10 reps.
Now, that’s nothing to write home about, but the reps were clean, thoughtful and deliberate. If you can’t lift a mountain, lift a bucket of earth with purpose and determination... again and again. The mountain will surely move and not by itself.
I felt good then and I feel good now. The weight load overcame me like a stalking lion whose intent wasn’t to devour. Tire the prey only.
The lower back was tight and the quads and hams were springy. With the comprehensive core work and abundant torso action completed -- 100 serious reps -- I sensed some pressing coming on. Pressing is wonderful: barbell, dumbbell, flat, incline, clean 'n' press. However, we invariable we make the mistake of punishing ourselves with the musclebuilding, power-demonstrating motion in all its varieties. The superior benefits of pressing elude us as the injuries line up.
When we’re young we complain like brats that we’re not strong enough, everyone’s stronger, and, in fact, we’re miserable wrecks. We don’t warm up; we use more weight than we can handle, we bounce the bar, tilt it this way and that, struggle till it pins us to the bench and we push till we burst. And, alas, burst we do -- one day, somehow, somewhere. The rotator cuff is the most common loser in our battle against the iron. I know and, perhaps, you do too.
I sat on a bench with a back support and pressed the bar straight overhead from behind my neck. The earth did not tremble, no thunder, no lightening. I love this old movement, the press behind neck (PBN), and had put it on ice to prevent it from growing mold. Bill Pearl recently told me it was his favorite shoulder movement, (Yours, too, said I?) and I retrieved it from the dark, cold place and applied heat -- make that warmth of body temperature. Putting it through the motions, I thought, will cheer my spirits and stimulate the tissues the memories of which are still sharp. Where muscle strength fails us, power of the mind performs wonders.
Press-behind-necks are most gratifying at the movement’s peak of contraction. At this all-consuming point of extension the tris and delts are particularly defined and each rep feels like a straight-edge razor etching another fine line.
My natural urge was to complement the critical contraction of the deltoids and triceps by pulling with all my might -- balance the fiery extension and satisfy the biceps' need for attention. I attached the two-inch-thick, foot-long straight handle to the overhead cable system, grasped it at its center with an under-grip and performed close-grip pulldowns -- full extension and full contraction and full intensity. The simple movement mimics a close-grip chin with a more control. What a combination; whole deltoid, upper back and tris complimented by peak biceps, lat isolation, serratus concentration and minor pec actuation.
Another 100 reps for those loose screws who are counting; 8s on the press and 12s on the under-grip pulldown x 5 supersets. I’m glowing! Steam’s rising from my shoulders and back. There’s an imperceptible hiss... Sssss. The fun-loving gang in line at the theater should see me now.
No, I’m not obsessed with supersets. They are not my signature. I’m not stuck with them. Thing is they work best for me and other bright eyed and bushy tailed bombers eager to build muscle while the B-51s come home from their mission. Given time and practice and conditioning, each exercise of the superset can be isolated for peak performance and strength exhibition, and at once synchronized to accentuate its counterpart’s worth. They are two separate exercises and yet together they are one, a greater one. I practice single sets when single-set focus calls out.
Yo, Dave. Over here on the lifting platform. Bring your belt and straps and defibrillator.
Sniff, sniff!! Something’s missing and it’s not garlic seasoning, something in the front and something in the back. This is not complicated. How complicated can it be? I sent the rocket scientists home for the day -- get some sleep, girls.
Flat-bench dumbbell presses (front something) supersetted with seated lat rows (back something). Flat dumbbell presses are devilish on my wrist, so I fly low and slow, hell for bombers. I pump, I burn and I squirm. The rows I can take to grand heights where the oxygen is rare and the view is spectacular. I lean forward and engage the lower back and the complete length of the lat, and this feels great, indeed. I pull without excessive tugging, moving the handle by muscle madness to my fully contracted midsection. The back arches mightily. I repeat again and again with pleasure, power and purpose till there isn’t any more.
Gut -- 15 minutes -- and I’m outta here; rope tucks and hanging leg raises are not exactly tea and crumpets in the garden. I believe it’s during these final sets that the whites of my eyes turn red and blisters form on my hands
I’m exhausted and fatigued. Comes with the performance, sheer walls, steep heights, cold shadows and craggy surfaces. I could take an all-terrain vehicle; join a Bally’s or a 24-Hour. I could eat hot dogs, drink coke and root for the home team from the easy chair. I could roll over and play dead.
No, not me... not us. Not sky divers.
Have Bomber, Will Travel. Take 'er wherever she goes.
God’s speed... Dave Draper
----
Note from Laree: Wait, stop! Before you jab at that email button, do I need to tell you that the opening of Dave's article above was a pack of lies? You don't really think Dave commandeered a disabled parking spot, do you? I mean, really. It couldn't have happened; his sneakers don't even have laces.
Once he finished dreaming up that fishy scenario and made his way to the gym, one of the tools he used and that I don't think he's talked about before is his new Max Mini thick-bar pulley handle. Most of you reading today don't have a home gym, but that shouldn't stop you from training with these great handles. Pass along our thickbarhandles.com website to your gym owner or manager; these handles will stand out in your gym -- no common pulley handles compare. Here's the Max-Mini handle page.
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