The Most Forgettable Characters I’ve Met
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I appear here each and every week for a variety of reasons: to relate, to inform, to motivate, to challenge, to discover, to reveal, to invent, to entertain, to rave and rage, to convict and confess, to relieve life’s burdens, to express my deep innermost provocative self and, of course, to maintain the promise I made at our secret underground meetings: to persist despite the warnings, threats, curses and lawsuits.
I am a fellow ironhead on a mission of benevolence, bounteousness and altruism.
This week, in response to last week’s mystery poll, I’ve congregated the variety of personalities I’ve observed over the years in gyms across the world. See if you can guess their type. For the astute, I’ve cleverly buried a clue in the text.
Oh, my aching skin… do I hafta work out today? Clue: pitiful
I feel great… can’t wait to blast the weights. Clue: gleeful
I look great… can’t wait to exhibit my adorable pump. Clue: conceited
I love this stuff… can’t wait to embrace the iron. Clue: passionate
I’m restless… think I’ll hit the gym. Clue: zealous
My shoulder is killing me… lift or die, shall I. Clue: ruthless
It’s drizzling… To gain I deign to train in the rain despite the pain. Clue: poetic
There’s a gym… I must lift. Clue: compulsive
Time to party… I’ll meet you at the club, ya big lug. Clue: bar belle
Lift, don’t lift, lift, don’t lift, lift… Hmmm. Clue: clueless
Bis and tris day… I’m off to the steel mill to blast it. Clue: cannons
Darling, it’s our anniversary… Whatever. I’ll be in the garage. Clue: arm day
Squats and deadlifts… Oh, no!! Clue: ER
Deadlifts and squats… Shoot me. Clue: RIP
Recognize anyone?
Let’s face it, gang. Whether it’s a stack of steel in the garage or a mound of metal at the In ‘N Out Muscle Joint on South Main, the gym is where our hearts beat and our muscles come alive. Though, some argue it’s the place where our hearts pound like broken drums and our muscles are torn mercilessly from the bones, or tedium infects our frontal lobe and cerebral cortex.
Gee, might I remind us it all begins with attitude. Our point of view, state of mind, concept of the task, our incalculable physical-mental-emotional-spiritual ratios of perception over pi-squared, while lugging the heavy stuff has an extraordinary effect on our absolute input and output. Think about it for a sec.
I’m good for 10 workouts a month, that’s a workout every third day, or one-on and two-off. Pretty cheesy! I don’t like it, but it’s the best I can do. More -- every other day, for example -- is just plain too much. I ache, I injure, I fatigue, I lose spirit and I’m the last one to be picked for dodge ball.
When training schedules are limited, agreeable aerobic activity and particularly smart eating habits are off-day indispensables to fortify the system, energize and repair muscles and prevent body fat accumulation. I stay active chasing the wind, my preference to riding a wheel-challenged bike to nowhere or traipsing along a wheezing, yet obliging rubberized surface amid fixed scenery as life goes by.
Honk! Outta my way, comin’ through, move it. Are we there yet?
The real predicament is this: Two days a week under the curvaceous iron doesn’t provide enough time to work everything, particularly, thoroughly, or in a mentally satisfying way. Three days a week is better on paper, but in real life I must concede to nudging the muscles only, coaxing them, reminding them, often chasing them, instead of bombing and blasting them.
I’ve tried the three day less-than-max-effort methodology occasionally, but fail miserably. As the old Chinese proverb goes, “No bomby, no shirty.” I’ve spent too many years under the iron seeking one-more-rep to accept one-rep-less. I’m smitten.
I shoot for 25 sets of high and low reps (six to 35) of about six movements for however long it takes in 75 minutes. Remember, I’m a candidate for a cane and an oxygen tank, and Marie – what a cutie -- at the gym has been kind enough to clearly label the equipment in bold black print on white cards.
I try to hit everything twice a week, though the old muscle-priority training principle went south with the record-setting maxes and marathon workout sessions. I rely on the substantial worth of indirect sinew engagement when calculating the construct of long-established tissues – those older biceps and triceps, grumpy and grouchy, for example.
The arms can’t handle as much work as they did before the realization of the trusty age-curve. [Warning: I’m full of disturbing declarations and startling revelations. Have a seat. Breathe in with your nose -- breathe out with your mouth. Water?] Pressing for the chest and back nudges the tris, while pulling for the back and lats coaxes the bis. Bingo. Presto! That and one direct shot of the iron every third workout should do the trick for the ole axle rods.
On the other hand -- or is it, foot? – don’t neglect the legs. This is iffy. Thighs tend to take a hike if you don’t stand up for them. Leg presses, extensions and sissy squats work if you don’t dare squat. Walk hills and stairs if you can. March on, bombers. Good for the system: total muscle refreshment, bodyweight maintenance, heart and lung goodness and that sexy swagger.
My last workout, the Bomb:
> Leg press, torso rope-tucks, truck pushes -- five trisets x 15 to 50 reps
> Thick-bar bench press, widegrip pulldown – five supersets x 6 to 15 reps
> Machine dips – four sets x 12 reps
My next workout, the Blast:
> Incline leg raise, hanging leg raise, barbell wrist curl – 5 trisets x 15 to 25 reps
> Dumbbell incline, seated lat row
> One-arm lateral raise
The workout after that, the Big Bang:
> Barbell curl, overhead triceps extension – five supersets x 6 to 12 reps
> Rear lateral and cable crossover – four sets x 6 to 12 reps
> One-arm dumbbell row – four sets x 6 to 12 reps
Five years ago I called these workouts a zero. Today I call 911.
“Hello. This is 911. What’s your emergency?”
“I’ve been bombed and blasted.”
The Drapes <<<Godspeed>>>
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