Sunday, May 29, 2005
Anyone have a band-aid? Cause I'm CUT
When I was a child, my parents kept me in a small box with a single holes punched in it for air and a small trap-door they only opened to throw in scraps of meat from time to time. It is no small surprise then that I turned out to be healthy an tall as I am by the time high school came to a close.
However, in the history of 6' 3'' tall men, I will not be historically revered as a beast that struck fear in the hearts of other 6' 3'' tall men. I could hardly strike fear in the hearts of a kindergarten classroom, much less scare anyone with my computer geek arms. Thanks to the interference of some of my female friends, I began running, which suddenly threw me into the world of quasi-athleticism, but failed to solve the strength problem.
When my compadres began visiting the Clemson gym, I scoffed at their attempts to give in to social demand that men have big bulging biceps. However, only a few days later, news of the impending arrival of who eventually became my first girlfriend sent me packing to the gym with them.
After a semester on and off there, I was a little stronger, and certainly felt better about myself, however my dedication waned as my studies grew more intense. So when graduation was over, I declared that it was time to get serious and start going to the Coastal gym on a regular basis. I started last Wednesday.
Now, Clemson's gym, Fike, was always quite big. There were always a number of people there, ranging from likewise geeks trying out their first 5 pound weights to battle-hardened goliaths bench-pressing their girlfriends, so I never felt too out of place.
However, at Coastal this is not the case. Whether or not the summer weather drives away the less dedicated, or that Coastal doesn't let most puny weaklings work out is a mystery, but the truth is that I am by far the weakest guy there. Case in point: On my second day of working out there, I was attempting to defibrillate my poor biceps back into the material world. While I'm much better on machines, I have to turn to free-weights quite often there, so I picked up two 25 lbs weights and started, slowly, to do bicep curls with them.
Of course, at Coastal, I do this while looking into a large mirror on the wall, just so I can see how pathetic this all is. As I watched myself squirm, another guy walked up, picked up two 45ers, stood right next to me, and proceeded to work out at twice the pace and the set length that I was managing.
As you might guess, I was deeply perturbed at this situation. However soon things seemed to get much better: a friend and colleague of my father named Jeff walked in. Now, I know that he worked out, but Jeff was a good bit shorter than me, and frankly, he didn't look that tough, but I was still happy to see him. He not only greeted me, but decided to show me some of the machines he uses.
"Here," said Jeff, "I think this one is good for biceps, I'll put it on this weight, now watch me. You see? it's not that bad. Now you try!"
Of course I didn't last nearly as long as Jeff.
I think Coastal should install a sand pit in their weight room so everyone else can kick sand in my face, it would be more appropriate. Oh well, back to it tomorrow!
However, in the history of 6' 3'' tall men, I will not be historically revered as a beast that struck fear in the hearts of other 6' 3'' tall men. I could hardly strike fear in the hearts of a kindergarten classroom, much less scare anyone with my computer geek arms. Thanks to the interference of some of my female friends, I began running, which suddenly threw me into the world of quasi-athleticism, but failed to solve the strength problem.
When my compadres began visiting the Clemson gym, I scoffed at their attempts to give in to social demand that men have big bulging biceps. However, only a few days later, news of the impending arrival of who eventually became my first girlfriend sent me packing to the gym with them.
After a semester on and off there, I was a little stronger, and certainly felt better about myself, however my dedication waned as my studies grew more intense. So when graduation was over, I declared that it was time to get serious and start going to the Coastal gym on a regular basis. I started last Wednesday.
Now, Clemson's gym, Fike, was always quite big. There were always a number of people there, ranging from likewise geeks trying out their first 5 pound weights to battle-hardened goliaths bench-pressing their girlfriends, so I never felt too out of place.
However, at Coastal this is not the case. Whether or not the summer weather drives away the less dedicated, or that Coastal doesn't let most puny weaklings work out is a mystery, but the truth is that I am by far the weakest guy there. Case in point: On my second day of working out there, I was attempting to defibrillate my poor biceps back into the material world. While I'm much better on machines, I have to turn to free-weights quite often there, so I picked up two 25 lbs weights and started, slowly, to do bicep curls with them.
Of course, at Coastal, I do this while looking into a large mirror on the wall, just so I can see how pathetic this all is. As I watched myself squirm, another guy walked up, picked up two 45ers, stood right next to me, and proceeded to work out at twice the pace and the set length that I was managing.
As you might guess, I was deeply perturbed at this situation. However soon things seemed to get much better: a friend and colleague of my father named Jeff walked in. Now, I know that he worked out, but Jeff was a good bit shorter than me, and frankly, he didn't look that tough, but I was still happy to see him. He not only greeted me, but decided to show me some of the machines he uses.
"Here," said Jeff, "I think this one is good for biceps, I'll put it on this weight, now watch me. You see? it's not that bad. Now you try!"
Of course I didn't last nearly as long as Jeff.
I think Coastal should install a sand pit in their weight room so everyone else can kick sand in my face, it would be more appropriate. Oh well, back to it tomorrow!
