I'm The Blond Bomber

Out-of-town and training in an unfamiliar gym, I was content to accept anything that resembled a workout; I was content to accept no workout at all. I have a few minor discomforts to negotiate when training in a strange gym: self-consciousness, privacy, workout effectiveness and�um�ego. What if they recognize me and I have to maintain an image? I thought he was taller, younger, bigger and stronger. That's a drag. Worse yet, what if they don't recognize me? Hi, I'm the Bomber. The what? I'm the original Blond Bomber and I've been blasting the gyms for years. Proud of it and I'm famous, too. Can you imagine the misunderstandings and explanations just trying to get a pump?

Still, an itch of curiosity and challenge twitched in my bones. I got past the front counter and stood at the edge of a comfortable, well equipped and energetic but packed gym. Just the right size work area with all the tools, only there were people everywhere; some sort of hometown weekend celebration had them all amped up. They weaved between the machines and gathered by the squat racks and water fountain. I spied a bench about to be vacated and casually darted to it snagging a pair of matching 25's along the way; they were light, but they were there. The point now was to keep moving so no one asked to work in or borrow my puny yet precious dumbbells. Sitting on the end of the bench and looking downward to avoid eye contact, I scanned the scene to get my bearings; the dumbbells hung by my side. A twelve-inch block lay near a column three feet to my left. I needed it to raise my bench and add some originality to the beginnings of what appeared to be a feeble workout. How do I get the block without leaving my post? I want that block.

I assumed a mildly transfixed expression and did a seated variation of rolling shoulder shrugs to warm up and position myself advantageously in the direction of the block. It had a cutout on the side that served as a handle. Shrugs completed, I placed the 25's on the floor and rolled them to within inches of the block, very carefully arranged my feet on the bench and proceeded to do a set of medium grip pushups, dumbbells still in hand. On the last rep I released my left-hand grip and snatched the block like a lizard snatching an insect for diner. I up-righted myself and planted the block under one end of the bench as if it had been forever attached. Now we're ready to blast.

Blasting with twenty-five pounders requires some improvising. I laid back on the incline, put my feet up on the bench and lowered the dumbbells toward the floor. From that position, with my palms forward, I raised the weights in a curling movement, a nice tight contraction at the chest and shoulders and a slow full extension down, pause and up. A set of ten and I press the dumbbells overhead palms facing each other to starting position number two. From the overhead position I lower both weights with concentration in a perfect triceps extension movement to burn and pump the back of the arms, ten reps and mission accomplished. I slightly rearrange my extended arms allowing them to reach back and outward as I lower the weights in a fly movement to affect the pecs and lats at once. This action is difficult, done precisely with a three-count pause at its peak of extension followed by a slow return, pause and continuation for another ten reps.

The timing is right to sit up, shift to the end of the bench, bend forward and allow the not-so-puny twenty-fives to hang to the floor. My legs are together and I'm resting my torso on the thighs. The breaths are coming on strong and the pump is solidifying. The burn is being chased about the upper body like a scalded hound dog. I'm in heaven. I tug the dumbbells from a palm-counterpoised placement into a rear deltoid-slash-back movement and knock out ten mean reps.

I sit up calmly and place the weights on my thighs as I review the room lost to me for the past 5 minutes. It's looking a whole lot better after a pump, a burn and some sweat. No stopping. I shake my hands one by one as I resume my easy breathing. The dumbbell rack is still bare except for some cute pink things nobody'll go near. Fine by me. I've got my hands full. I start the process again: shrugs, curls, extensions, flys, bentover laterals. A total of five delirious sets with minor pauses for minor adjustments and its time to move on.

Is that an eighty-pounder that young man is about to unloose? If I coordinate this move just right I can replace the 25's, descend upon that big thing and drag it over here before the crowd notices. I can do this. Done.

Heavy compared to the 25's, I prepare to do one-arm dumbbell rows for some full back work. Knee up on the bench is not my style but by employing the technique I retain possession of the object, as I require it for the stiffarm pullovers that will follow in my favorite superset fashion. Five sets of 6-8 reps. I'm all smiles.

Excuse me, are you finished with the eighty? Oh, yeah. Sure, Pal. Help yourself. Anytime. I lay back on the bench, feet up and knock out 25 slow contractions in the ab-crunch followed by 25 leg raises followed by 25 tucks off the end of the bench. Ten minutes of this act and I am done. I may take the bench home with me; tell them I came in with it. Might work.

The bench is bolted to the floor. I decide to leave it. Does anyone know where I can get some protein?

I'M THE BOMBER