Camaro or Lamborghini…..

Every bodybuilder has two physiques; the Chevy Camaro, in which he his spends most of his days.  Or, the Lamborghini that he cruises around in every couple of years or so, but only for short stretches at a time.

The Camaro physique is not a bad one to go through life with.  It’s easy on the eyes, turns the occasional head and has some power when needed.  Though it might not be the shining star of every intersection, and may have occasional body damage, it’s better than what most folks get around in.  The bodybuilder maintains his Camaro physique with regular lifting, some occasional cardio and a mostly good diet.

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That said, when it comes to maintaining the Camaro physique, workouts are often skipped, cardio is always just an option, and the occasional or even daily ice cream or pizza won’t take too much away from the mystique of the Camaro physique.  In short, maintaining the Camaro physique is the act of being good enough and better than most – most of the time.  It isn’t though, the sum of one’s best efforts, and it ain’t world class.

Every so often though, the desire to take the Lamborghini physique out of the garage surfaces.  Unfortunately, it’s not as simple as pulling the cover off, charging the battery and checking the air in the tires.  Prepping the Lamborghini physique for a road trip takes weeks if not months.  This is a time when preparation is a 24/7 process, all the details matter and little attention can be given to too much else – which is why it doesn’t get driven too frequently or for long trips.

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To maximize the Lamborghini physique, there requires only the best fuel.  Constant attention must be paid to the surface – not a speck of dust anywhere.  Protection must be given from outside damage at any cost, so anything that is not consistent with keeping the body clean is left behind.

In short, maintaining the Lamborghini physique is the Siberia of living.  In exchange the sacrifices, one gets the luxury of being able to show off and blow off – anyone approaching or threatening to approach.  It’s a bobble of vanity, injects little value into society and lends nothing to the advancement of our species, but we all need hobbies and this one is mine.  Maybe, for short periods of time, it is a work of art.  The Greeks and the Romans thought so.

When it’s all said and done, the thing is this…

When one gets around in the Camaro physique, it’s a nice little car.  One wants to enjoy it – to fiercely accelerate on the freeway entrance ramp, change lanes with the flick of a wrist, leave the Prius at the red light in the dust, and draw looks from the lady getting out of the Mercedes in the grocery store parking lot.  Though it may not be Indy, driving a Camaro physique every day can be a lot of fun.  The Camaro physique is when most bodybuilders do most of their showing off in public.

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Driving the Lamborghini physique, despite its immaculate aesthetic and powerful engine, is a time when most bodybuilders drive 55 and keep it covered up.  The leaner I get, the more I tend to wear.  That’s the secret pleasure in possessing something so beautiful – so powerful yet not letting on to anyone what you have under the cover and under the hood.

For me, truth be told, I’ve only busted out my Lamborghini physique a half-dozen times in my adult life, most recently in 2013.  At that time, I kept it on the road for less than a year.  I’ve always been content in my Camaro physique, working hard enough most of the time, to keep it from turning into a ’67 Ford Falcon with one door caved in.  But it’s been calling me lately – the Lamborghini physique.  Perhaps it’s just some feelings of the unfinished business of my youth bubbling toward the surface.  Maybe I just need a distraction from a busy schedule and a home life with increasing demands.  But it’s calling me.  I’m already beginning to check the air in the tires, buff out the paint a little, fuel the engine well and may let it roar for a stretch.

This morning I was in the body shop – so to say.  Barbell rows and deadlifts to Supertramp’s Crime Of The Century album.  Breakfast was a variety of mixed vegetables and tofu.  And then it occurs to me; can a Lamborghini physique be vegan…?  Not sure.  Stay tuned…  Jhciacb.

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If you are not already a subscriber, please scroll up and do so.  Tell your friends about me — about what happens when I push the STOP button on the blender in my head.  Oh, and there’s this from The Farm.  Enjoy…

 

The Me I once was, Once Again, Maybe…

Last night I stepped into my weight room with all the fire of a teenage boy.  I approached my workout with wide eyes and wonder.  Energy was high and possibilities were endless. The consistency of both my eating and training over the past few weeks helped me to see edges and curves in my frame that have been hiding recently due to the stresses and time constraints of higher priorities.

Rather than stick to my usual workout soundtrack of books on religion and philosophy while I trained, George Harrison’s All Things Must Pass filled the room.  It was a measured, but serious 60-minute session of gravity management – a golden moment at the end of a challenging week.  I was completely dialed in to the moment.

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Throughout the workout though, as always, the cynicism of an old man was trying to douse that fire.  It was another epic battle between the me I once was, the me that I am, and the me I wish to be.  The me I wish to be, by the way, has always been the me I once was, only better.  Funny how that works.

Cynicism is like witchcraft in the wind.  It finds its way through the smallest of cracks.  Youthful ambitions be dammed, they are as porous as a picket fence.  In-between sets and exercises, I chuckled at the ridiculousness of it all – of the very act of lifting weights, and condemned myself repeatedly for my childish play.

How foolish this all is, I thought.  One hour at a time, 6 days per week and over a 43-year period in the gym, I could have earned a dozen college degrees with that time.  I could have done amazing work on behalf of the poor.   I could have volunteered in my community.  I could have.  I could have.  I could have.  Always bubbling under the surface when I am working out, are those thoughts of what else I could be doing with that time and energy.

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I reflected though, if only for a moment.  I do volunteer in my community, though I could do more.  I do give to the poor, though I could give more.  And through all the hundreds of books I have listened to during my workouts through the years, I have cultivated and customized an intelligence that no college program could have offered me.

In that moment – at least for that moment, I got good with my passion for iron, though I know I will question it again before day’s end.

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Spot me, Bro…?

Last night I stepped into my weight room with all the fire of a teenage boy.  I walked out with all the fire of a teenage man.  And perhaps that is another evolutionary step in becoming the me I once was once again, but only better this time…  Jhciacb

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If you are not already a subscriber, please scroll up and do so.  Tell your friends about me — about what happens when I push the STOP button on the blender in my head. Oh, and there’s this from George Harrison.  Enjoy…

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Throwback Thursday…

TBT…

Social media has given us Throwback Thursday; an idea from which we can reflect on and share people, moments, or situations from our past. I enjoy seeing what others have to share. I also sharing my own experiences. In times when social media can be chaotic, clumsy, and ridiculous, TBT is simple fun.

Like some kind deconstructive self-evolutionist, I spend much of my internal life reflecting on fingerprints of others; the persons and moments which have been most pivotal in my life. There is one person though, who has had more influence in my life than anyone.

The Person, The Place, And The Cause…

I was waiting outside Russel Dorren’s homeroom class in the west building of Cherry Creek High School in 1976. The kid standing next to me was a year older. He and I knew each other casually through the weight room of the local recreation center. He was short, had pale skin, wore tight fitting Levis, had a small waist, and shoulders so wide that they stretched the back of his tucked in flannel shirt to extremes. He was Scott Rupert.

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Cherry Creek West Senior High School

Scott was the only kid in school with that bodybuilder look; broad shoulders, a small waist, and round arms barely contained by sleeves. We see that look everywhere today, but in the 1970s it was rare, especially in high school.

Waiting for the classroom to open, Scott invited me to workout with him sometime at the 20th Street Gym in downtown Denver – a more serious weight room he had discovered. He described it as the “Gold’s Gym of Colorado”.

A week or so later, I stepped out of my comfort zone and went with Scott to the 20th Street Gym. It took 3 bus connections and about 90 minutes to get there one evening after school. I walked in and the place smelled of effort and intensity – what others might have called sweat. Disco music provided a faint soundtrack, but was good accompaniment behind the rhythm of clanging weights.

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20th Street: The Gold’s Gym Of Colorado…

I had never seen such a concentration of bodybuilders. I immediately keyed in on one man, John Suddemeyer. John wasn’t big, but he had a very tight physique; vascular, and athletic.  He had what bodybuilders of the day called the finished look.

Through the evening Scott would point out all the local bodybuilders and powerlifters who comprised the regulars. There was JT LaSasso, whose acne covered back left droplets of blood on the bench press after set he performed. Rich Clench, Mr. Colorado, with arms that looked more like adult water wings. Steve Ponzi, a local powerlifter who made his living bouncing at bars and collecting hard money loans. Finally, there was Al Mack. Al had a 22” neck and more resembled a brown bag full of bowling balls than a human being. Al Mack would become an early mentor to Scott.

My 132 lb. high school frame felt very out of place, but I stuck around and trained legs and shoulders, feeling inadequate while Scott and Al Mack did 45 minutes of uninterrupted pull-ups. Mostly, I used the time to observe. I learned more that night by watching others, than I had in my previous 2 years at my local rec center gym.

Fast Forward…

Sometime after that 1st workout at 20th Street, I decided I would put all my eggs in one basket, and cover that basket. Due to the long bus commute, I couldn’t train at 20th Street too often, but frequently enough so I could keep observing, and keep learning. Inspired and better educated, I would transfer what I learned at 20th Street to my rec center workouts. Within a year I weighed 165 lbs.

Scott would later runaway release himself from high school on his own recognizance, and head to Brownwood, TX to learn from world class powerlifter, Doug Young. When he returned from Texas Scott was larger, stronger, and better informed. Scott would share that knowledge with anyone who would listen. I listened.

Scott spoke of Doug Young’s unusually slow eccentric (negative) phase of the bench press. In Scott’s words (paraphrased), lowering the bar to the chest more slowly, provided a better opportunity to connect with one’s power zone for an increased maximum lift. That ideal – the slow negative, changed my life forever.

Over time I would make my own study of slow negatives based on Young’s technique. I dissected it, studied it, and applied slow negatives to virtually every strength exercise I would ever perform or teach.

From that study I would understand that slow negatives, a full range of motion, and a very slow transition during the cross-bridge cycle, are superior for stimulating muscular growth, increased strength, and the best dividend of all, an increased awareness and command of one’s physicality which applies to all functional movement beyond the gym doors.

I have made a good livelihood teaching the value of slow negatives in strength training.

Sir, Yes Sir…

Scott would go on the enlist in the United States Marine Corps, and have an excellent career. Now retired, Scott and his wife live in Las Vegas where he continues to powerlift and train with weights regularly. Through social media, Scott and I reconnected a few years back and I am grateful.

Nearly 40 years after he took me to the 20th Street Gym, and decades after he taught me about Doug Young’s slow bench press style, I can say Scott’s presence in my life has impacted me more, and steered the direction of my life more than any other influence.

Fingerprinting…

We are the sum of many influences; from the date and zip code of our birth, to who we meet and when we meet them. Whether we realize it or not, we are guided through life by the presence of others. I’m certain Scott will read this, though I’m pretty sure he’s had no idea how much his presence influenced my life.

As we are guided by the influence of others, we should care to remember that we also do a fair bit influencing – of leaving our own marks on others wherever we may go. I know the fingerprints I have left behind haven’t always been clean, but I try hard these days, to be cautious when I touch the lives of anyone else. Be well… rc

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Please check back in a few weeks to see what happens when I push the STOP button on the blender in my head. Oh, and there’s this from Bad Company – one more fingerprint Scott left on my life. Enjoy…

From Oddity To Commodity

Cleft Values…

The more available a commodity becomes, the less value it usually holds. Muscle seems to follow that axiom. At a time when lean muscle mass is more accessible and more prevalent than ever, I’ll suggest its value, in the way it is appreciated by its possessor and by those in the periphery, is on the decline.

In this era when round triceps and striated deltoids are the desired look for the 18-24 year old bro set, I liken muscles to cubic zirconia; readily available, the cheaper the better, fake is ok as long as it looks real, and at the end of the day it’s usually ill-used and underappreciated. Muscle has become a young man’s bobble.

What most attracted me to recreational bodybuilding in the 1970s was the rareness of human muscle as a commodity. The contrary nature of cleft muscle in a sea of otherwise ordinary beings was so compelling to me that I would build my entire life around attaining and preserving it. And because it has been a calling for me, I have never allowed myself to take it for granted.

It’s Time To Meat Up…

I currently split my workouts between my own studio, and a typical commercial gym in a nearby suburb. On any given week more quality physiques pass through that gym than existed in the entire city of Denver in 1977. That’s not an exaggeration. I see outstanding physiques on bros and buddies alike that would rival the competitive physiques at the highest levels in the 1970s.

Most of the physiques I see in this gym are not competitive bodybuilders. They are simply competitive followers, who wish to have what all the other young men have – even if they don’t understand what it does or why they want it.

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We first came to appreciate superhuman physiques with our superhuman heroes; Tarzan, Conan, and later on The Hulk, Superman, and GI Joe. Each new generation seems to have added a layer of muscle.

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Later on, superhero physiques with even greater proportions could be found in the ranks of the NFL, the UFC, and even the NBA became has become a domicile for action figures.

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Today ornamental muscle transcends sports. Actors, news anchors, and even comedians commonly display physiques that 30 years ago would have been considered out of the ordinary if not world class. Our social expectations have evolved that we equate muscle to male relevance. This often makes me wonder; what might we equate a lack of muscle to…? That question haunts me, ongoing…

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Earning Is Learning…

Clearly I’m not against the achievement or even the display of muscle. Cultivating functional and aesthetically pleasing muscle has been my occupation, my vocation, and the most grounding influence in my life. What it is that gives muscle a place of such esteem for me, comes down to a single word – appreciation. I appreciate the musculature of my body. Not just for how it looks, or how well it functions, but because I appreciate and enjoy the process of using and preserving it.

When I talk with young men in the gym I often hear of the pain, the suffering, and the long hours associated with making meat. Suffering…? Suffering is finding out your kids is dead. The tactile act of repeatedly extending and contracting my triceps, even to the point of a slight burning sensation is a luxury, but is nothing I grieve over. Long hours in the gym…? I’m done in 45-50 minutes. Pain…? My workouts help keep all those pains associated living everyday life at bay.

Despite my occasional suggestions otherwise, I regularly witness methods of exercise which defy science and logic, yet they have become central to the acquisition of muscle. The potential for physical and emotional injury seems to increase with every new bad idea. From excessive muscle overloading to squatting on a phisio-ball, there is much I just can’t reconcile with science, let alone common sense.

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Accidentally Jacked…

To me the biggest disconnect that I regularly see with young men and strength training is that they rely heavily, if not exclusively on blindly following others who blindly follow others, rather than exploring their own abilities as it relates to their physicality. They fail to connect their minds with their bodies.

Many of the young men I see boasting that meat-nouveau have attained it with little consideration for how they got there or what it’s really worth. In a frustrating irony, bad ideas, youth, and good genetics can still combine to create good results early on. A willingness to lean on extreme supplementation and pharmaceuticals can accelerate this process with even less thinking involved.

While youth, good genes, and drugs may combine to build a decent physique in the short term, to have intelligently pursued and acquired a lifestyle of well used muscle is a path of exploration worth knowing. For me, this quest has provided the foundation for all the subsequent intellectual journeys I have taken.

Possessing muscle in the long-term is a commitment that I’ll admit can sometimes be a burden. The dividends though, far exceed the investment for those willing to learn as they earn. I’ll also say that possessing muscle is a responsibility. It should be carried with dignity, used with respect, and displayed as art, not as something to be worn at spring break with a pooka shell necklace. Be well… rc

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please take a moment to scroll up and rate this. thank you.

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Please check back in a few weeks to see what happens when I push the STOP button in my head.

Oh, and there’s this: To this day, the biggest grossing private event held at the Whitney Museum Of American Art was to raise funds for the movie Pumping Iron. Today we can see comparable physiques in any gym in the country.  Sad…

It’s all about Roy…

A week in the life…

I’ve been corresponding with several friends, and clients recently who have been curious about my own dietary changes since January.  Since more than a few people have asked about this, I thought I would be a nice diversion this week, rather than writing my usual essay, to share my contest preparation here.

I currently estimate my body fat to be about 11%.  My weight this morning was 162 lbs.  For my bodybuilding competition in September, I should be 152 pounds, at (roughly) 7% body fat.

These pictures were taken about 2 weeks ago.  Clearly, I still have a long way to go, but the trail is straight, and quite easy to navigate.

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BackBi

My current eating schedule is not glamorous.  It varies little from day to day, as my body in contest preparation, responds extremely well to consistency in eating.  This means eating basically the exact same things at the exact same times each day.  This is correct for the goal, and for the moment, though I have no intentions of eating this way in the long-term.

The meals…

Breakfast:  6 egg whites, red cabbage, asparagus, some onion, 1 roma tomato, some spices

Four pounds of breakfast joy.  In this case, I uses EggBeaters in stead of egg whites.  On sale...

Four pounds of breakfast joy. In this case, I used EggBeaters in stead of egg whites. On sale…

Mid-Morning:  1 scoop of protein powder in water.  1 grapefruit

My mid-morning and mid-afternoon snacks...

My mid-morning and mid-afternoon snacks…

Lunch:  1.5 medium boneless/skinless chicken thighs, red cabbage, broccoli, 1 roma tomato, some onion, some spices

Lunch is usually some combination of vegetables, and chicken...

Lunch is usually some combination of vegetables, and chicken…

I would be lost without my two eating partners; Greek seasoning and California style garlic salt.  I put them on everything, in equal portion...

I would be lost without my two eating partners; Greek seasoning and California style garlic salt. I put them on everything, in equal portion…

Mid-Afternoon:  1 scoop of protein powder in water.  1 grapefruit

Dinner:  1.5 medium boneless/skinless chicken thighs or breasts, on top of a monster green salad.  Full-on loaded with veggies.  Sometimes this salad is homemade, often times it comes from one of the local restaurants I frequent.  Regardless, it’s usually filled with an ass-load of spring-mix, a few kalamata olives, sometimes spinach, cucumbers, tomato – just depends.

Fallbrook Cafe, I LOVE YOU!

Fallbrook Cafe, I LOVE YOU!

During the night:  1/2 cup oatmeal, l/2 tsp. ground flax, 1 scoop of protein powder.  I wake up naturally at 11:30 or so, and I keep this pre-made by my bed.  I eat it and go right back to sleep.

Living in a vegetative state…

 With the vegetables, I emphasize quantity and quality.  For a given meal, I may also include spinach, Brussels sprouts, and occasionally kale.  All these veggies are useful carbohydrates, and hard to digest.  My digestive organs earn their keep.

My morning scramble usually weighs over 4 pounds, and has been as heavy as 6 – that’s how many vegetables it contains.  The only non-vegetable carbohydrates I currently eat are the oats and flax seed I eat in the middle of the night.

I’m not counting calories at all right now, but guessing I’m in the 1800-1900 per day range.  As September gets closer, I will taper down to about 1,500, and perhaps 1,200 for the last few weeks before the show.   This will all be instinctive, based on how I feel on a given day/week.  If my body tells me I need more food, I add in more.  Conversely, if my body tells me I’m eating too much, I will taper in accordance with my intuition.  I only count grams of protein which, relative to my goal, is about 150-170 grams per day.

Hunger games…

Eating like this, I’m always a little bit hungry, but rarely am profoundly hungry.  It’s tolerable, and a sign that my objective, to live in a sustainable calorie deficit, is working.

The upside of the hunger is that every meal I eat tastes like it’s the best thing I have ever eaten.  My grapefruit tastes like candy.  Cabbage and eggs taste amazing.  My dinner salad is always the best salad I have ever eaten in my life.  This, in my opinion, is a good way to be.

Despite the calorie deficit, and the elimination of most non-vegetable carbohydrates, I have never felt better in my life.  My cognitive abilities seem improved, and my sleep doesn’t totally suck.

Movement games…

My body is functioning at its highest level in years.  My workouts are epic, and include poundages, in some cases, I have never used before.  My runs are strong, but I still think running is fucking stupid.

I strength train 5-6 days per week, 45-50 minutes per session when I’m alone, and 90 minutes or so when I train with my partner.

I'm not a paleo guy, but I do like to get outside from time to time...

I’m not a paleo guy, but I do like to get outside from time to time…

During the week a run 2.1 miles most days followed by some 70-80 yard sprints.  On the weekends I may go on longer runs at the beach or on trail.   Aside from my September bodybuilding competition, I also have have several competitive runs during the next 6 months, including two half-marathons, and a relay across Southern California. I fucking hate running.

That’s it.  A week in the life — for now. This time next year it could be all about Tai Chi, racquetball, or kayaking.  Sitting still is simulating death.

So I let you in a little deeper this week, please reciprocate.  Use the comments field and let me know what you’re up to these days, and WHY…  Be well.  rc

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Please check back in two weeks to see what happens when I hit the “stop” button on the bender in my head.  Oh, and there is this from Paul Weller — simply elegant.  Enjoy…

Guns And Moses…

For The Love Of Guns, And The Loathing Of Shackles

My relationship with bodybuilding is over 35 years old.  It was the mid-1970s, I was in my teens and big time competitive bodybuilding was in its prime.  Men like Frank Zane, Roby Robinson, Franco Columbu, Dave Draper, and Mike Katz captured my attention like fishing lures.  These were educated, avant-garde men who were as accomplished outside the gym as they were within it.  I thought that following them would lead me into the promised land, but I ended up in shackles for nearly a decade.

Bodybuilding at its highest level would soon begin to fade into the embarrassing elderly state it now displays.  What once seemed like a noble pursuit became increasing awkward, and clumsy to think about, let alone discuss with anyone outside the gym.

As competitive bodybuilding grew in one direction, I grew in another.  By early adulthood, I recognized that I wanted nothing to do with it – we had developed irreconcilable differences.  Bodybuilding was losing its intelligence, and I was inexplicably gaining some.  Unable to find middle ground, I began wanting a divorce from this stranger I no longer knew.

Of The Term, Bodybuilder

Just hearing or speaking the term, bodybuilder, has caused me to cringe.  I have hated that word.  It conjures images in my mind of modern bodybuilding which I now find embarrassing, and obtuse as a collective.  Big time competitive bodybuilding has outgrown itself, out thought itself, and become well representative of our western lust for excess, extremes, and single-mindedness in all other areas.  The modern bodybuilder’s credo is, go big or go home.  As that go big or go home way of life became more confined to the gym, and applied less to life beyond the workout, the men and women at the top became increasingly trite in my eyes.

Different Levels Of Heck

But there’s more than one kind of bodybuilding.  There are non-competitive bodybuilders; those who do it for very personal reasons, and of course those reasons can vary.  That kind of bodybuilding still seems noble to me.  It is most often pursued as a hobby, much like the running, surfing, or building model airplanes. I actually enjoy attending local level bodybuilding shows; the crowds are always enthusiastic and most of the athlete/artists are purely motivated, and are in it for the joy of training, not the result of competing.

At the end of the day, most people I know can be placed into three categories:

1)      Bodybuilders

2)      Body Acceptors

3)      Body Destroyers

Those terms speak for themselves.  When I think in those terms, the word bodybuilder becomes more appealing to me – I like it.  Given a choice between the three, I reckon this country would be much better off if we were all bodybuilders.  In that context, I’m proud to say I am one.

Two Sides To Every Roy

Even as a noncompetitive personal lifestyle, I can sometimes have mixed feelings on bodybuilding.  Mostly, I find it reinforcing, cleansing, and rewarding – a sustainable lifestyle.  Other times, it has been demanding, and has seemed like a giant waste of my time and efforts.  However, for better or worse, the ideal of bodybuilding has occupied a large share of my essence for most of my life.  Bodybuilding bit me at a young age, and all these years later I can’t tell if that bite was one of affection or one of aggression, but the teeth marks still show, and the venom is still in my blood.

Still In Love; Bodybuilding Light

There would be no official divorce, just an on again/off again relationship involving several trial separations through a couple of decades which lead me to running marathons, racing ocean-going paddleboards, cycling, kayaking, trail running, and even competitive stair climbing to the tops of skyscrapers.  Through these separations from bodybuilding, and despite relationships with other forms of action, I have come to realized I never left the concept of bodybuilding at all.

Through it all; running, paddling, and climbing, the weight room has been there most every day of my life, and the training never drifted too far from the kind of training serious bodybuilding requires.  At some point though, I gave up the idea of lifting big weights for big muscles, with a go big or go home attitude.  But I never let go of that connection that bodybuilding movements foster between the inner and the outer me.   Bodybuilding is the methadone of my existence.

Go Big or Go Home (Small)

Good Things Come In Slow Packages

To lift weights slowly, through a complete range of motion, in a quiet room, with absolute concentration on the muscles involved, is a way to connect the mind and body on a level that yoga and Pilates, would envy.  Though I use lighter weights these days, the term “lighter” is not to suggest that it’s easy.  I can make a lighter weight a whole lot heavier by slowing it down and applying a high level of concentration to it.  In my gym, in those moments when the eccentric phase of an exercise seamlessly transitions back to the concentric, the world outside the repetition seems far away from me as the most distant galaxies, and I am proud to be a bodybuilder.  In those moments, I am at my absolute happiest, and feel as blessed as a baby in a manger.  Be well.  rc

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Please check back in two weeks for to see what happens when I push the “stop” button on the blender in my head.  Oh, and there is this from the legendary Dale Watson, enjoy…

Love, Hate, And Bodybuilding: The Gemini Within…

A tease for my upcoming essay on my love/hate relationship with the ideal of bodybuilding.  Please check back this weekend for the completed essay.

In the mean time, here is an excerpt:

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Of The Term, Bodybuilder

Just hearing or speaking the term, bodybuilder, causes me to cringe.  I hate that word.  It’s a word which immediately conjures images in my mind of modern bodybuilding which, as an ideal, I find relentlessly embarrassing, and increasingly obtuse as a collective.  Big time competitive bodybuilding has outgrown itself, out-thought itself, and become well representative of our western lust for excess, extremes, and single-mindedness in all other areas.  The modern bodybuilder’s credo, “go big or go home”, should be printed on the backs of all U.S. currency – it is our national identity, and competitive bodybuilding has been just another Petri dish for that ideal to take form in.  Once though, big time bodybuilding, in that go big or go home kind of way, was my primary reason for being.

But there’s more than one kind of bodybuilding…

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Please check back this weekend for the finished product.  Oh, and there is this from Hothouse Flowers front man, Liam Ó Maonlaí.  Enjoy…