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I’m still breathing heavily after today’s workout. It’s Sunday and, as it occasionally happens in the fall, I zipped to the gym, trained without interruption and zipped home. I flowed. Were I a poet I’d compose a rhyme. As it is I’m a musclehead and will make a tuna salad sandwich instead.
The workout was the right length (from here to there -- 60 solid minutes) with matching effort (enough -- no more, no less) and worked the regions of the body needing most attention (the bottoms of the feet to the top of the head). Were I a songwriter I’d write a love song. Instead, I whistled a happy tune as I rounded the bend for home.
This has been my third workout in five days, a noticeable achievement on the scale of recuperation, one worthy of a seven or eight. Low energy, nagging soreness, muscle fatigue or apathy; carelessness, a tinge of dread or an unfavorable seeking of comfort and distraction has limited me to a couple of workouts a week for more than five weeks, and they of a necessarily compromised structure.
Were I a magician I’d pull health, wealth and happiness from my hat. As it is I’m a dinged warrior snagging cool breezes that flow beneath my wings. I’m airborne, more than anyone can ask for. Soaring and climbing and gliding freely are the next maneuvers in my bag of tricks. Zoom zoom zip!
The most outstanding feature of the whole affair was I wanted to go to the gym. I didn’t go because I had to go, it was on my agenda, or I needed to go as part of my recovery. Neither did I go because of the silent urgency presented by chronic guilt, nor the casualness that accompanies the attitude “I’m in the area and have nothing else to do... why not jingle the iron.” When’s the last time we entertained the lattermost urge, the one of carefree looseness? I think I was 12.
I wanted to go to enjoy myself amid the neat, pure and orderly environment of benches and racks, the productive and positive atmosphere that is weight training. The clink, clank and clunk of metal against metal and metal against man are familiar sounds, safe and healing. Applying myself to the deed of moving the prescribed harmonic objects of force was systemically appealing. The action of the body, its muscle and mechanics, and the focus and will to attend their motion became essential to the moment.
There are jiggers of joy in the processes and I was thirsty.
How much weight, how many sets or reps were not important, thus did not blur the way. Is it or was it more and better than previous workouts? Who cares? I want to do what I do now, feel it, observe it, enjoy it. Striving, driving to excel, has its value, but to me today it would be destructive. Being where I am is where I want to be. I’m free from the past and the future. I’m here, now. I’m me... I am...
Zen Man!
Baloney! I want to be 20-something and a ripped 240 having just completed reps with 400 on the benchpress. And I wouldn’t mind a tall stack of cash. Alas, we move on by the grace of God.
By all gauges at hand, I’m on the mend.
I wish I could say that of the world around me, the very same world around you I might add. If I had money I’d really be bummed. As it is I hold my breath and onto my socks when I fill up at the pump, and I no longer cut the crust from a slice of bread.
Bombers, now is the time to pay particular attention to the resources around us. Fixing what is broken starts in our own backyard, with our own tongue, our compassion for everything and everyone outside us, and our vigilance and ready action. Do we need another reason to take care of our health, our bodies and our minds? Think survival of the fittest and our influence on those around us.
Train regularly, eat right, be responsible, be respectful, be generous, be aware and be happy. We’ll have a collection at the end of the service. At this time Laree will sing for us, page 119 in your book of songs.
I continue to see the ever-present bellies and the sloth, the smokes and the drugs, the hypocrisy and PC and lies, and it’s clear why we’re in a mess. Morals are in the tank, God’s in outer space and too many hands are in empty pockets. Heads are down, shoulders are slumped, cell phones grow from ears as circles are worn by pacing footsteps. Hellooo.... is anybody there?
You want to invest in a sure thing, Bub? Iron and steel, muscle and might. No risk. You control your investment and watch it grow daily. No middleman, no broker, no cons, no portfolio. Just you and your iron, anywhere, anytime. You can carry a gym bag for personal items of assurance.
I entered the gym at two in the afternoon with uncontained glee, evident by the broad smile across my mug. This item of adornment has been concealed in a small jar in the recesses of my gym bag and I wasn’t certain it was affixed correctly. Seems I stashed it back in early ’07 when mounting the rear entryway became an ever-increasing challenge.
Not even a mouse witnessed my joy. I knew the place was open because the door was unlocked and Fleetwood Mac filled the air. Jeff, about my age and mentality, must be at the front desk. I removed my smile so as not to waste it and replaced it with my personally popular cool and under-control face. What a relief. I thought I’d crack at the cheeks and chin.
What shall I do? Anything I want. Well, not anything. The bench from which I once pressed 400+ reminded me of my limitations. Scanning from the center of the gym floor my eyes encountered the sturdy racks which held 400+ not long ago on a good squat day. No, I’ll pass on those today. There, upon which my water bottle rested, was the designated lifting platform, often the support of 400+, a nifty weight to empower my back. Ah, deadlifts! I remember when.
I walked over, retrieved my water and took a slug. What shall I do? Same question, another time, same answer: Lift weights, hoist iron, toss steel, pump and burn.
I did rope tucks for the torso (can’t be beat), leg extensions supersetted with leg curls and calf work (healthy and exerting, complete and compact), Bodymaster squats (if I didn’t know better, I’d think I was squatting). Four sets of the required and desired reps KO’d the lower body with a neat and robust combination, just what I needed, just what I deserved.
Feeling good and yearning a touch of upper body stimulation, I added press-behind-necks with maximum form and focused muscle exertion combined with one-arm side lateral raises (if I didn’t know better, I’d think I was in the dungeon 40 years ago). Four sets of 6-8 reps made my day.
Keep it simple, blast it but don’t blow yourself away, smile and live another day.
It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s the bomb squad in tight formation.
They fly as one.
Go... Godspeed... Captain Draper, David P
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