Light Weight -- Heavy Exertion
Download the full Draper here newsletter
in printable, live-link, pdf format, here.
Each week I write to eager kids of all ages, budding perennials from 15 to 75 years old. A lot of the kids 50 years old prefer to say, “I’m 50 years young.” They’re very touchy about the “old” thing, which I could never understand. It’s not how old you are, bombers, it’s how old you feel.
Well, then, I must be 100. I guess this is good news; I never thought I’d make it to 50 years young.
I know this for sure, it’s Sunday and after a blast of Bomber Blend I’m off to the gym in the old ‘93 pickup (I’d get a new one, but I’m not sure they make them anymore, plus, I’m broke and my credit’s bad). Once there I shall bound out of the cab and dash up the rear staircase and bolt through the double glass doors. A looming silhouette in cool silence, I’ll just stand there in my muscle-T with my lats flexed and tris in bold relief.
And then the theme from Rocky resounds from the boom box in my gym bag.
No one speaks when I enter the gym -- no one. Actually, no one is there at two on a sunny Sunday afternoon. They’re outdoors having fun with their friends and dogs. I’m alone, me and my tight T and, of course, my shabby, moldy, cluttered gym bag (no boom box). The only companions I have are barbells perched on benches, plates scattered around the floor and dumbbells resting on racks... and one never knows where their heads are at.
The gym is my home away from home, my castle and domain, my workplace and assembly line, my theater and stage, my circus and sideshow.
During the one or two hours I’m there, a few regulars will filter in, welcome faces in the barrens of iron. The gym floor bustles with sporadic nods and intermittent grunts and several thuds.
Occasionally someone will ask what keeps me going after all these years. My first reaction is, duh, like, this rugged and powerful body, Dude. Whadaya think? However, my smooth and savvy character insists I offer a more motivational and instructional answer, one spiced with inspiration and wisdom. I start with something lyrical, like the iron is part of me. It’s my purpose, it’s my center; it’s my blood, flesh and bone. It’s the very breath I take. It’s my soul.
I come to the fields of steel to think, to sense, to be; to settle disputes and solve problems and prevent wrongs from happening. The gym is my sanctuary, my refuge, that private place where I dwell fully and express myself completely.
The painful exertion of each desperate rep, the unnerving cacophony of clanking plates, the tedium of repetitious movements, the vanishing egocentric presence of me: They are strange and elaborate reprieves from the convention of daily living. Training is transcendental.
And let’s not forget muscle and might and everything right, health and well-being and all that’s full-meaning. A light jingly rhyme is always kinda cute.
It’s the truth that hurts: I continue to train year after year because I don’t know anything else and when I miss a workout my self esteem tanks big and I grow sullen and resentful. I don’t want to train; I’ve got to train. What am I going to do -- the laundry, get a job?
I’ve been experimenting lately. Humph... getting out of bed each morning is an experiment, but I’m referring to my exercise methodology. I change my training approach once a week to give us something to talk about and because it works. Anything that works, or seems to work, is more valuable than gold, more precious than fine silk undies.
I’m comparing the use of heavy weight, relatively speaking, to light weight when exercising, and their effects on the muscle and overall well-being. There comes a time in everyone’s pursuit when training light is training right; when enduring and rehabilitating an injury at any age or when illness strikes; when overtraining bears its fangs or the overstressed mind has had it and needs a break.
Light weights with due diligence do the trick. They are effective without unkind pain, daring without threatening risk, fulfilling without proud excess. Light weights afford the serious and attentive lifter the time and space to notice the deed before him, it’s purpose, its action, its cause and effects; the muscle and the exercise and their engagement, the demand and its worthiness; the options of performance -- groove, intensity, set- and rep-variety -- and their efficacy.
Heavy weights, though often profitable and desirable, do not allow these responsive features. Training inspection, observation and evaluation are precluded. The lifter’s attention, his whole being, is consumed by maximum effort, intense concentration on the ultimate goal and the execution and completion of the last rep -- as it should and must be. All else is obliterated or left to the unconscious mind, the lifter’s capable partner.
A guy, probably my age, once said I should not advise folks to bomb it and blast it, that in doing so I’m persuading them to risk their health and burn themselves out -- wear their bodies down. I’m off to the gym in ten minutes and I shall bomb it and blast it, yet with a mature understanding of the encouraging terminology. The act will be the same in all characteristics, yet proportioned to fit the wiser and always-eager kid. The heart is there, the drive, the willingness... only the mere externals are modified.
Guess what? Ah, come on, take a guess. It’s not going to kill you.
No, I wasn’t selected as Obama’s Health Czar; as soon as they asked for my income tax report I was out of there.
I went to the gym, worked out for 90 minutes and I’m back. It was good, no traffic, a few weekend regulars, no pressure or anxiety. I bombed it and I blasted it.
I have a shoulder that’s been howling; I worked around it. No pain that wasn’t worthwhile and no damage. My biceps felt like knots, so I stimulated them with low-voltage reps and high-amp concentration. They burned like candles and cast warm light. I tri-setted the torso and tri-setted the arms and did singles for the shoulders, pecs and thighs.
I moved. I moved well, though not heavy weight nor at the speed or manner of a charging bear. I cooked... medium rare, as I like it... just right. I did not boil, burn, singe or sear. Plenty of heat, no smoke, no fire. Now, as I write, I feel just right.
This is what I did:
Triset 1) Full-experience rope tucks, machine dips, seated lat rows
(3 sets of 35, 15, 12 reps respectively)
Triset 2) Wrist curls, standing barbell curls, seated one-arm triceps extensions
(3 x 15, 8, 12 reps respectively)
Single sets) Smith front press (4 x 10-12), alternate one-arm cable crossover (4 x 10), free-weight full squats (not much x very little)
Doesn’t sound like much, but with focus and finesse and well-placed bombing and accurate blasting, the enemy ate it and I came home the victor one more time.
Day after tomorrow I’ll be a wreck. DOMS away (similar to bombs away only action delayed). Anything for the cause.
Bombed and blasted... Draper <Godspeed>
Did you know Bomber Blend will provide the least expensive and most nutritious meals in your daily eating regimen? It’s not an added extravagance to your food budget; it reduces your budget and improves your nutritional intake. It builds lean, strong and shapely muscle. Regular servings of Bomber Blend raise your IQ and enable you to time travel. Made into a poultice and smeared on the scalp will prevent baldness and kill tics. Good stuff.
Scoop the blend into a glass, stir and drink with pleasure and satisfaction, when you need to, want to or should. All the time.
Soak yourself in a taste of bodybuilding’s Golden Era with Dick Tyler’s on-the-scene record, written in his easy-going, one-of-a-kind style, West Coast Bodybuilding Scene.
Take a trip over to our
New Musclebuilding Q&A Blog
... where Dave allows us a peek into his email outbox.
Did you sign up for Dave's expanded email yet?
It's free, motivating and priceless!
We'll also send you a link to Dave's free
Body Revival Tips and Hints e-report with your confirmation notice.