Tell it to the Good Fairy

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Despite untiring effort and creative experimentation, I have not been able to stop the wind nor the movement of time. Neither am I able to provide a sound new technique to accelerate muscle growth or promote the speedy loss of unwanted fat. I’m certain there are none, though like flies in a window we desperately look for a way to the other side. No buzzing or beating our heads will do and I suggest we save our energy for the inevitable, the real work ahead.

Here it is mid-winter, the third week of January. The days are getting longer, if that’s any consolation, and the drug store in our neighborhood has Valentine cards on display. Spring is in the air, if you insist, and maybe that’s a robin redbreast poking around in that barren field over there and not really a crumpled ball of paper tumbling in the wind. Maybe I’ll get a pump in the gym this afternoon and the stiffness in my joints will disappear as the temperatures soar into the 40s and the sun briefly glances my way.

Oh, my, it’s morning already. Time to rise and shine, up ‘n at ‘em, the early bird gets the worm, today is the first day of the rest of your life and all that stuff.

The average person wakes up, stretches, splashes around in the bathroom for ten minutes, has a cup of coffee and a bun and is off to slug it out with the rest of the world.

The average lifter wakes up, stretches, flexes, extends, reaches, bends and generally considers his mobility, muscle tone or lack thereof. He splashes around and sneaks a few quick peeks in the right bathroom mirror from the precise angle... hmmm... holding water, cut the late-night carbs, bring in the cardio later this month to attack the winter weight... the muscle’s there. Time. It’s happening. Time and courage. We’re gonna do this. Patience, pal, and discipline. Yes!

The pile of pills grows as he prepares his protein shake. The kitchen counter is cluttered with a blender of ice, a jug of low-fat milk, fertile eggs, a bottle of EFAs, protein powder and a banana. He mutters little muscle-building reminders: Don’t forget the creatine and the MSM; go for a pump today and maybe a single in the squat if the inflammation is down... better stick two thermogenics in my left front pocket for this afternoon’s workout... we’ll blast it. Let’s see... old brown bag packed with pop-top can of tuna, cooked steak -- slice it -- and small baked potato in Tupperware, cold quartered vegetables in a baggy and some fresh fruit and a liter of cool, clear water. Keep a bottle of aminos on hand and fill an empty vitamin bottle with protein powder just in case. Gonna be a long day and the muscles must remain in an anabolic environment without providing excess fat-storing calories.

He’s ready to hit the road after a cup of coffee and a bran muffin to top the protein shake... and the pills, capsules, nutritional powders and water. “By sweetheart, love ya, see ya at the gym. Don’t forget your Chondroitin.”

It’s worth the effort and what appear to be extra dollars and time, attention and foolishness. Health and strength come at a small price. The cost of sickness and frailty is enormous, too costly to be estimated.

What is the price of a shortened life? Or the value of one that is tired and broken and without vitality, a life that is limited by weakness, immobility, fatigue, a ravished self-image, lack of motivation, purpose and will? It’s prison in a free world, solitary confinement.

Let’s bust out of this joint.

I must admit I’m a little achy and disoriented lately. Each year is different -- events, job, finances, relationships, health, wins and losses, the good and the bad, the steps forward and the steps back. You add them up and what you get is who you are. Maybe I’m getting older? Nah. Maybe it’s been a goofy year. Whatever. The condition I’m in -- the mood or attitude, the slump or tilt, the chills or sweats -- suggests I try something different in my training. What? Not bulking up and going for heavy lifts -- too demanding, broad and cumbersome; not leaning down and going for cuts -- too demanding, narrow and defined.

The word “demanding” appeared twice and in bright red, yet I like demand in my life. I’ll temper it. I’m looking for growth and improvement (yeah, Bomber, tell it to the good fairy) with strain yet less pain. But pain must be accepted, nay, embraced. I’ll modify it. For one month I will do what I haven’t done for a long time in my training: reduce the weight used and increase the pace -- lighter weight, faster tempo, less pain, shorter workout, more pump.

Who can relate? In some movements lowering the weight 10 to 15 percent will eliminate (another word for “substantially reduce”) the strain and pain on the elbow, wrist or shoulder. This replaces the grimace on the face with a glowing smile and allows me to proceed more quickly. Flight, freedom, momentum, thrust and exhilaration define my workout and training misery is defeated.

I know what you’re thinking. Sounds kind of submissive for a bomber; replacing light weight for pain, tiptoeing in dainty circles instead of marching forward, prancing rather than galloping, ducking, not slugging. It’s only for a month, fighting comrades, like R 'n R, a trial run, a brave stray from the known, a daring and defining rebellion against convention, the risky maneuver of a fearless warrior, a noble experiment in discovery by a selfless leader... and you doubted me. How could you?

You’re right. I’m guilty. I’m copping out. But I had to let you know and I feel better for it. Confession -- admission of guilt -- is good for the soul. It reduces stress and thus reduces cortisol (a catabolic hormone), which reduces catabolism making way for the anabolic environment needed to heal injury and build muscle. I’m headed for the gym, prepared to lower the resistance on each exercise, yet seek training intensity through concentrated, maximum muscular effort with less load on the tender joints and less loathing in the mind. A shorter workout, while intense and all-out, will further contribute to the anti-cortisol campaign. I can’t wait to try the scheme, old as the hills though it might be, and reap its reward -- a grin if nothing else. I just might recuperate and go super-heavy next month.

This is cool. Perhaps when someone on the gym floor dares to say, “Hi, Dave,” I won’t tell him to “Buzz off, jerk.”

Shoulders, chest and back today, the toughest workout on my whimpering body, in a single breath goes as follows (with effort reduced from max to 80% max): 4 tri-sets of rope tucks x 30, hanging leg raise x 15, hyperextension x 15 followed by rotator cuff external rotation, 5 x 25, and internal rotation, 5 x 25 done with Exertube, which leads to 5 supersets of 45-degree incline Smith presses x 8 and lat pulldowns x 8-10; and onto 5 supersets of 15-degree incline dumbbell presses x 8 and seated lat rows x 10 to 15 (oops, went a little heavy in effort, couldn’t help myself). I’m rolling onto 30-degree incline flies x 10 for chest complemented with reverse pec-dec flies x 10 for rear delts and back, and finally a goofy combination of stiff-arm cable crossovers x 12 -15 and walking the dog (farmer walks) around the gym floor. I finish off with 45 minutes of HIIT cardio -- mopping the floor and polishing the mirrors non-stop.

That’s it. Feed me. As usual I drink a straight mix of Bomber Blend and low-fat milk and eat a can of Dave’s salmon with some cherry tomatoes.

Do you see anything slightly creative or novel about any of the above? Not exactly. You’re probably saying, “A lot of work, but it’s worth it for the scrumptious meal that follows.” Nobody said it was easy, and they didn’t say it was absolutely insane.

Yes, it’s true. The Bomber likes volume. I like to whittle away with sharp tools, always removing life’s daily buildup of debris and pigeon droppings, controlling deterioration and adding form, mass and density where I can, may or might. Low volume, for me, removes the pigeon only, adds mass and stirs my appetite for more… volume.

Another thing: though the exercises are the same old standards, each is performed with its own tracking uniqueness, resistance emphasis and pace variation. Like an infant learning to walk, he goes from a belly-squirm to a crawl before he stands upright and wobbles. When his walk becomes sure, he quickly advances to running. In time and with practice and to match his desire, energy and curiosity, he jumps, leaps, twirls and dances. Requirement, courage and determination define the rest.

Did I mention the days are getting longer? Before you know it, it’ll be summer.

Reach for the sky, pilots... That’s heaven up there... DD

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