Plenty Enough
Link to Dick Tyler's Iron Memories Talk
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Yeah, I know, you heard it all before. A few weeks ago I said I was discontinuing the weekly IronOnline newsletter, an obsolete tool of communication, in favor of Facebook and Twitter. Having little to say lately, I feared the weekly e-rag was becoming a threebie: boring, bland and burdensome. I could easily spit out a word or two (a face, a tweet) on health and strength in mini-blasts to keep in touch.
Not.
I felt as though I was standing on the roadside throwing mud pies at a blank billboard. Splat. Mud and me, we don’t get along. Besides, I was almost mashed by a 16-wheeler… honk-honk!
So, here I am, back at the drawing board. Any suggestions? No, no, no… forget that. You’ll come up with a bunch of Qs and I’ll have to come up with a bunch of As. Providing I don't have to concoct bright answers, new training ideas or secret exercises each week, I'll carry on my nonsense, a half-pile of misplaced words about nothing in particular.
A blatant illustration, allow me to boast about the weather. It is, and has been, absolutely gorgeous these days on the central coast of western America: golden sunshine, azure blue skies, warm air delicately blended with fresh breezes, and evening daylight till 8:30.
Of course this is in sharp contrast to the golden state’s golden economy, with its dull florescence of fool’s gold, toxic environment, hot air, cold blasts and sleepless nights. No worries: Taxes are going up, employment is going down, folks are exiting the state and a 100-billion dollar railroad from San Francisco to Los Angeles is in the works. All aboard. Laree and I are looking south of the border. Tijuana, maybe.
Inspired by the beauty of nature and distressed by the beast of man, I’m off to the gym to tangle with both characters, Jekyll and Hyde. See ya later, there’s metal to move.
Clinky-dinky!
I’m back.
“He’s back.”
I delighted in a superior workout, the one you reach for with outstretched hands and clutch with ready arms. Imagine a one-hour training strategy of clearly focused, tightly paced and perfectly performed movements, modified precisely and instantaneously to match my muscles’ requirements and my heart’s desire. Engaging and entertaining, affirming and assertive, the sort that set the mark. It was remarkable enough to tempt pride, yet, in its contagious goodness, it inspired humility and gratefulness instead.
The exercises I applied are not as important as how I applied them. One of the bountiful benefits of growing older and slowing down is I’ve become increasingly resourceful. I’m almost greedy with energy and movement, time and space.
Waste not; take advantage of every movement; every action must be maximized; exact the most action from the least weight; every set counts more than yesterday’s; every rep counts more today; pull with all you have; push till it hurts but doesn’t break; endure exotic pain and embrace harmonic throbbing, and smile above it all.
Go home, eat well, rest lots, pet the cat, hug the dog and kiss your sweetie.
God bless ironheads. We are magnetic. My back’s killing me.
The Bomb
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