The Needle’s on Empty, But There’s Gas in the Tank
For an exerpt from West Coast Bodybuilding Scene, by Dick Tyler,
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You can’t expect every workout to be a blast, bombers. Let’s face it, some of them are just plain old duds.
You’re rested, hydrated, carbed-up, on time, in place and at ease -- no anxiety, no bleeding and no excruciating pain. You’re innocent, sin-free and forgiven, but the iron is just heavy -- heavy, clumsy and dull. Clink and clank, two of your favorite sounds, are off by an octave, and that awesome thud, heavy metal exuberantly pounding the lifting platform, is more of a muted ooph, man-bent-over-immovable-bar, unable to budge it, nudge it, fudge it or yelp.
Woe is me, what am I to do?
Seriously? You have got to be kidding! You slap yourself upside the head and grasp the hefty curvaceous masses, honor their presence and commend your awareness of the power they possess, offer and afford. Rumors, tall tales, ancient history and fanciful scientific theory warn us the day will arrive when reaching for the barbells and dumbbells will be beyond our reach. It is very clear, “Reserve your strength, energy and facility for life’s essentials, old-timers: breathing, eating, resting and tweeting and sleeping. Do not expend thyself on vacuous deeds, lest you keel over and go splat.”
Yeah! And the moon’s made of cheese and the sun’s an anchovy.
I’m sitting here enduring a level of pain and stiffness I’ve never before experienced. Over a month out of the gym, mostly navigating around the house from the bed to the desk to the refrigerator to the powder-room (cute) to the TV to the recliner and to my hidden jet (not necessarily in that order), I secretly suppose sneaking off to the suspicious ’n seditious stacks of steel this Sunday. The place will be empty, no eyes upon my less-than-agile, once-powerful form. I love Sundays.
My countenance at this moment: Eyes narrowed, brow knitted and left hand to my stubbled chin, scratching thoughtfully, doubtfully, ‘Hmmm… I dunno, I don’t know, I just do not know.’
Que es su la hesitationa, Bombastico mucho?
No, it’s not vanity with which I contend. It’s the disruptive snorts, snarls and little yelps I’m certain to emit as I labor over the iron, offering no apology or explanation to my pumped and pumping amigos. It’s annoying, distracting and just plain rude.
About that Sunday. It hit me like an opening round with Mike Tyson. I didn’t have a chance to get up and get out of bed, never mind go to the gym, before hurt was all over me. My hair throbbed.
I have several plausible reasons, excuses and prevarications pertaining to and explaining why the condition of my condition is in the condition my condition is in. Wanna hear ’em? Sure ya do.
~ It’s been a tough winter. Winter months take their toll. However, spring has arrived in all its splendor -- sunshine, blue skies, warmth, longer days.
~ Doctors and hospitals, melanoma and excising are neither uplifting experiences nor noble habits to establish. Need time to repair and detoxify.
~ Two midnight falls to the floor, non-spectacular, but rocked the frame and flailing appendages. I’ll heal slowly but surely. Wince, ouch…
~ Some of you have similar harsh problems (I’m so, so sorry) and I, sensitive person I am, perceive your discomfort and endure sympathetic pain and infirmity on your accounts. It’s a heavy load we bear together.
~ The economy, stupid, and politics, dictatorship and other evil forces at large contribute to the general well-being, or lack thereof, of mankind of which I am a probationary member.
You think I’m killing time and wasting space, don’t you? Ha! I have one major, indisputable defense stashed in my kit, and it comes in two parts: One, I’m old, and two, I’m growing older. That’s it, isn’t it? But wait, my magnificent metal-mutts, you prodigious plate-piling pound-pushers. This isn’t where it ends. There’s more, much more.
I’m working on a new and affordable musclebuilding concept wherein you, the trainer, the trainee and the training gear are all-in-one and one-in-all. The trainer pits his strength against the strength of the trainee in remarkable compatibility. The mutual strength engaged and the various engagements are the very convenient and compact training implements.
I call it Bomber Affordable Muscle Care, aka Bombercare.
By next week at this time I’ll have words of instruction, inspiration and encouragement for you, even if I have to steal them from an old IronMan magazine.
God bless us big time… Bim Bam Boom
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