Moving on with a Swagger Stagger
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Last week, for those of you who are just arriving at IronOnline, we hardy souls of rusting barbells addressed old age and how to receive and contend with the looming matter. A contentious topic of conversation indeed. For those of you who are just leaving (deserting) IOL, adios, good riddance, bye-bye and don’t let the stout ’n snarly bulldog bite you on your droopy butt as you depart. You can’t handle shrinking and shriveling -- take your jelly belly, wet diapers and false teeth downtown to Patty’s Senior Slurp ’n Burp Bar and Grille.
Bombers blast! Chumps chomp!
The article received more response than I expected, from a convivial and like-minded audience who dared to disclose they too had mild misgivings and grievances (horror, shock and panic) concerning the certain and swiftly approaching nags of maturing and the accompanying limitations (decay, decomposition and deterioration).
Irksome, indeed, we agreed.
I knew I wasn’t alone in my hopeful observations, old age having been around for a long, long time, but never did I imagine the sympathetic and supportive mob that would collect at my remote cyber doorway.
Encouraged and discouraged simultaneously, determination like that of the Battle of the Bulge, or the battle of balding and the war on wrinkles for that matter, was shared en masse.
“Oh, boy, we’re in deep dodo now,” was the expression on the assortment of pale faces and the tone in the drone of appalled voices.
“It’s not fair,” spoke out a gal wearing a leopard-skin leotard, lavender eye-liner, cherry red lipstick and black fingernail polish, “we come all this way and now look at the mess we’re in.”
A voice of reason was urgently needed. There was no time to waste. Something had to done… fast. Follow me and don’t look back, I declared with calm resolve, displaying the inborn decisiveness, boldness and wisdom for which I am universally and humbly acclaimed. Go, Bombo, Go!
The first thing we must do is slow down, don’t move too fast; you’ve got to make the moment last. Groovy, has a cutesy little ring to it… makes ya wanna reach out and touch someone.
Gag.
Better yet, grab a pair of dumbbells, the friendly ones on the far end of the rack beyond the floor mats, Life Steps and exerballs. The walk will do ya good.
Dumbbells in hand, locate an adjustable incline bench, sit and ready yourself for an XS extended set that will engage, energize, stretch, extend and contract, pump and burn an increasingly willing assortment of cooperative muscle, ligaments, tendons and insertions spread throughout the upper body, as well as stimulate the core muscles and athletically flex the thighs and calves.
Ready? Ready! Do a set of six alternate reps of every musclebuilder’s favorite exercise, the seated dumbbell curl. Well done, time bomb. Now, with little more than an agile readjustment, raise the left dumbbell overhead for a set of six reps of one-arm triceps extensions (oomph), switch handholds, left to right, and repeat. Breathe intentionally, sustain momentum, embrace the flow. Lie down, position your feet on a bench to accentuate muscle focus, form and exertion, and knock out six deliberate reps of flies (armph), followed by six presses, on to six straight-arm pullovers (ahhh), before standing to finalize the 6x6x6 consortium with six reps of shrugs, or idunnos, as you might be thinking right about now.
One XS set is stimulating, two sets are a worthy challenge, three become a struggle of considerable proportion and four XS sets have you crawling and drooling and begging. Five – I’ve done five sets, and the world dissolves into a hissing fiery liquid.
… Scuze me, that’s the Draper Hotline ringing… Yaahlo…
Just got off the phone with Leroy. Whaddaya mean, Leroy who? Leroy Colbert, the first man in the world with 20½ -inch arms. We joined forces in Jersey in ’62, where we worked for Joe Weider in the backroom of Joe’s seedling muscle empire, Weider Barbell Company. While coworkers went to lunch, Leroy and I bonded over endless sets of -- yes, you guessed it -- seated alternate dumbbell curls.
I first met Leroy when I turned 14 years old, in the spring of 1954. Needing a one-inch solid steel six-foot bar, like any greedy and precocious teenager I embarked one Saturday morning on a half-day expedition to Weider Barbell Co. The journey from Secaucus to Union City required two separate buses, a couple of 30-minute waits at lonely bus stops and a half-mile walk. Of course there was the victorious yet treacherous march homeward with the coveted spear-like implement of battle, in hand and at the ready. Thrust not till you see the peak of their biceps.
Leroy and I haven’t changed much ’ceptin’ we’re 52 years older… make that a half-century plus two. He’s 82, I’m 72, and together we’re dumbbells forever. Living outside Las Vegas, he was on his way to the gym in the retirement community where he resides. He faithfully clinks and clanks in the middle of the afternoon, and teaches spirited old clunkers a set or two about metal, muscle and might. Mercy, Leroy Colbert, my matchless main man.
Leroy’s on YouTube and talks pretty much nonstop about anything and everything; his viewership is broad, yet surprisingly uncommon. Ask him about politics or religion, ladies, race or nutrition. While he talks, I write. While he babbles, I scribble. Old bodybuilders never die, they’re just a click away.
Clunk… the Bomb
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