Jolly Holiday Mumbo Jumbo
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We’re up to our ears in good cheer, jingle bells and jolly, ho ho TV ads featuring Wal-Mart, Macy’s, Target, Penney’s, K-Mart, Mervyn’s, Toyota, Ford, Chevy, GMC, Cadillac, Lexus and Honda for the entire family, including those that bark, purr and tweet. Bursting plastic snowmen are tethered to front yards and bulging Santas cling precariously from rooftops, while a team of puffy reindeer dislodged by winter winds dangle by an electric cord from a rooftop at the end of the block. Animal rights activists have formed a small, non-violent crowd.
What’s this, a lone nativity scene sharing a patchy lawn with a house-for-rent sign? Come all ye faithful.
We may be up to our ears, bombers, but we’re not buried. Not yet. That’s what the final two weeks of 2007 are for -- incontrovertible, indisputable, undeniable burial. Last-minute shopping, more wrapping, the office party, Christmas Eve here and Christmas Day there, the old year and the New Year and a candlelight vigil... all amid hard training, plenty of rest and right eating. Yeah, right!
Training hard and eating right? Ha! Rest? What’s that? You pause for a moment, trying to recall the friendly faces at the gym, the sounds, the feelings, the routine. Where is the old place anyhow, you wonder, as a warm and comfortable flush comes over your body? Curls, presses, the clang of plates and the rare unspoken bond you share with other lifters dance through your head like gingerbread. The imaginings are quickly replaced by a sense of loss and guilt, embarrassment and disappointment and chubbiness.
Did I touch a nerve, Lardo? The gym, the place with the barbells and benches... has it been a while? It’s not too late. It’s never too late. Unless you’re thinking of tomorrow, then it’s too late. Do not skip your workouts or smart eating another day, Chubs.
Till now your... umm... change of pace has sort of fit the festive holiday spirits; it’s excusable, forgivable and understandable. It is what it is. Done! Time to grasp the iron with a year-end expression of aggression and hail the New Year with supersonic commitment. Bomb it, blast it... or, at least, contain the reckless excess and adorn a stationary bike for five or ten, here and there... do some commemorative curls and presses for old time’s sake. Push ‘n pull, or you’ll forget how.
Of course, there are those who read my message and grin because they never miss their training. They miss work, their anniversary, the ferry, the target, alimony, child support and car payments, but there they are astride the bench, wrists strapped, elbows wrapped and bar in hand, on time, every time, eight days a week . “On three... one, two, three...oooff!”
And who are you, might I ask?
Johnny One Note here with another zealous endorsement of rippling muscles. Hold on to your rockets, boys and girls, we’re off to the dumbbell rack. You can’t go wrong at the dumbbell rack. It’s where the iron lines up like silent soldiers, noble warriors, staunch combatants. Or maybe they’re weapons, implements of war, and we’re the honorable warriors. We’re the ones engaged in battle, the good fight for the freedom of health and strength and un-caged muscle.
Some call dumbbells -- those awesome fistfuls of cold, gravity-packed steel -- defenders of life, guardians of honor and first-line protectors against the encroaching enemy. The enemy appears in numerous shapes and sizes, and the enemy is everywhere. A weak back is man’s obstinate foe, and a bulging belly and a jiggly butt are not far behind. He hides in heavy breathing, a racing heart and struggling lungs. Low self-esteem and poor disciplines join the cruel mob that rob. Beware!
The compact hand-held implements are no less builders and developers, artists and artisans. They make things, important things (strong backs and flat stomachs, horseshoe triceps and baseball biceps), and they make things happen (workouts rumble, muscles burn).
I stumbled upon dumbbells 55 years ago. I mistook them for toys (I suffer from poor perception, among other things) and like an overgrown kid, I’ve been playing with them ever since.
Here are my favorite five-star movements with the beloved devices. I do these exercises regularly and, come to think of it, have for 50 of those oddly-spent years. Those I don’t do, I can’t do because injury frustrates their performance, or they are just plain flat and undesirable.
Biceps:
~ Seated alternate curl
~ 20-degree incline curl
~ Standing thumbs-up curl
Triceps:
~ Two hand, one dumbbell, seated and back-supported, overhead triceps extension, or the THODSABSOTE for short.
~ Lying triceps extension, both arms at once
Pec and delt region:
~ Any dumbbell press, from flat bench to 75 degrees
~ Flat bench and low incline fly
~ Bent-over lateral raise
~ Leaning, one-arm lateral raise -- before torso and behind torso
Back and lat region:
~ Stiffarm pullover
~ One-arm row
~ Deadlift
~ Shrug
You can do the whole musclebuilding job with these dumbbell exercises, even legs by adding dumbbell-held squats, lunges and calf raises, without leaving the general vicinity. But there’s nothing like the adjunct of accessory equipment -- racks, appropriate benches and cable machines -- and the encouraging atmosphere of a good gym.
A good gym, you say, who can find one? There’s an increasingly perplexing problem. It’s near impossible to find a place where we are inspired to grab a pair of dumbbells and go hard, instincts and daring our guides, desire and need our stimuli, that homey, homely corner where we are bound to press on with resolve and intensity and a gritty grin. Do girls have gritty grins?
How hard, how daring and how intense, that is the question. That you press on is important, but there are too many variables for a single answer.
Some days I have the urge and the energy and, once warmed up, I train with all my might every rep, every set. Other days pain or injury or lack of muscle-response cause me to seek another route to training satisfaction -- focused and paced reps or limited exertion and range of motion to stimulate and heal, or concentration on form in discovery of a creative groove. Occasionally, it’s very good to simply observe yourself at three-quarter output and go home in one piece.
Certain exercises I take to failure with a groan of exhausted strength -- all pressing, for example. Other exercises, including all pulling exercises, I take to failure with the risk of overtraining, or overloading a muscle or tendon or joint. Here I moderate my intensity and approach maximum effort without risking damage. Finesse!
Some days my training methodology is modified to suit my multiple needs -- enjoyment, change of pace, freedom from pressure, cowardice. Stimulation and pace, feel and form take precedent over set-to-failure output. Still, training intensity is strived for or maintained.
Mostly I become my partner in training and we talk things over as we proceed. Intensity is always in the 8s and 9s, few 10s. If this practice becomes wrong, hateful or angry, I back off. I don’t enjoy backing off.
For a simple and basic and straight forward subject, this lifting stuff can sure get complicated. Sometimes it’s good to lift and shut up. That is, bombers, lift and keep your hatch shut.
Bombs away... DD
Merry Christmas, dear friends. Be joyful always.
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