Deciding When to Pump

I remember that Christmas as a teenager, when I received a book that I asked for: "Arnold's Bodybuilding for Men." 

I had just developed an interest in weight-lifting, and someone (I no longer remember their name) told me that this was the book of all books; the perfect way to get started.  Why not learn from one of the best, right?  The book detailed all the exercises, provided photos so as to understand the proper form, and was simply a well loved book in my library. 

This was a significant point for me, as it helped me start a fitness routine that I have maintained ever since. 

As I went through high school,  there was a certain intimidation factor that involved the so called "jocks," which for the most part meant the guys that played American football, though basketball came into play, too.  Those guys tended to commandeer the weight room, and tended to look down on anyone who was not part of their group.  

For me, this did not prove to me too much of an issue.  I already disliked a lot of people at school, particularly anyone in a "click," and truth be told, I had no need of the school weight room, as I was quietly investing in my own equipment at home. 

By the time of high school graduation, I was training regularly at home, using my own weights, of which I had carefully purchased at a local fitness store.  I say carefully, because weights are not inexpensive, and as I was getting stronger, I was having to invest in more iron plates.  Doing this on a fixed budget was a bit tricky, but thankfully I was working at the local supermarket, so had regular pocket money. 

Around this time, I discovered a monthly magazine called "Muscle and Fitness," and started buying this regularly.  It was heavy on glossy photos of bodybuilders who (frequently) were pretty souped up with various supplements. 

What I found, though, was that there was some science and intelligence in many of the articles.  I learned a whole lot more about nutrition and the finer points of anatomy and physiology.  I never felt inclined to jump on the steroid kick, and truth be told, already realized that there was no way I was ever going to reach the size of many of the bodybuilders shown in the magazine.  

In college, I initially felt intimated by the "jocks," but also realized that I actually had more knowledge about the weight room than many of the other guys in there.  Freshman year, I went in the gym one afternoon, and encountered some guys that I knew from the dorms.  They were all playing basketball, and thought pretty highly of themselves.  I was on my own, because I have never felt the need to have a workout buddy, and just got on with things. 

Within a few minutes, one or two of the guys acknowledged that I seemed to know what I was doing, and furthermore, was lifting a lot heavier than they were able to. 

It is somewhat sad that egos play such a big part in the lives of males, but sometimes you just have to accept it, and decide how you want to stick to your guns, and just get on with things. 

And that is what I did. 

As a member of the tennis team, I was one of the few that was actively working out with weights.  Sure, I was far from the best tennis player, but I was sure as shit stronger than they were.  But it was relative, and I did not really care one way or the other what the other guys did. 

Throughout college, I continued my workouts, and frequently friends would join me.  I recognized that some of them just needed a workout buddy, and others did it just because we were friends and we did stuff together.  Still, I stuck to my guns and continued my routines on my own schedule.  

And after college?  I kept right on working out.  I used the weight room at my apartment complex as often as I could, both in Dallas and in Massachusetts.  When I returned to Dallas at the end of the 90s, I dragged some of my old barbells over to Little Goliad, but quickly realized that I needed more equipment, so joined the 24 hour gym down the street. 

This was my first experience in a setting that was almost as much about socializing as it was about fitness.  True, the gym was coed, and combine a bunch of guys with big egos (regardless of their size or muscular shape) and a bunch of girls who were particularly interested in getting picked up, and you get a real interesting situation.  But, if you look closely, as I did, you did recognize that there were a fair share of men and women there just to get their exercises done.  They, too, were just as frustrated by the people who spent more time looking at themselves in the mirror, or posing on a machine, or simply acting like a dipshit. 

Throughout this time, I continued reading M&F magazine, and noticed that the publication was evolving.  There were more and more interesting articles with information and studies that showed, that proved how effective various techniques really were.  

I utilize a lot of these techniques, and welcomed the new bits of information.   I regularly changed up my routines, training splits, and muscle confusion tactics.  I had learned all of this from the get go back when I first read Arnold's book, and the facts continue to prove why this all works. 

For a brief time after I moved to Spain, I continued reading M&F Español, but once I got to Germany, I kind of stopped picking up a monthly copy of the magazine.   Part of this was due to the gym I was using.  

One of the things I have always done in gyms is pay attention to who is there, and how they are training.  If you are serious about training, then you tend to notice the other people who are equally serious.  And that habit tends to go in both directions.  Once or twice when I was in the gym in Dallas, someone might come up to me and ask me about an exercise I was doing.  And visa versa.  I was able to pick up on new exercises, new techniques that were coming from advances in creativity and technology. 

This happened to me in Spain, and again in Germany. 

Meanwhile, as I was getting older, my priorities were changing.  The ultimate goal remained the same, but you have to bring that into context.  Between the age of 18 and 30, I was still regularly shooting for a "max," like max bench press, squat, or whatever. 

As I reached my forties and fifties, it was more about maintaining size and strength, but also adapting to the changes that come with aging. 

Then, around 5 years ago, I experienced some issues with my back, which resulted in me visiting a physical therapist.  The guy was knowledgeable, and while I am thankful for his treatment, guidance, and advice, I took one of his points a little too seriously.  At one point, he told me that a back could take 18 months to recover, and that I should avoid lifting weights during that time. 

That was a real challenge for me, because of all of what I have just written.  I was not used to NOT working out, and unfortunately, I allowed myself to believe that I could further injure myself if I were to lift weights during this time.  

I will skip on through to a few years later, when I got myself back on to a no fear training routine, which involved starting slow and working my way back up.  

Since the beginning, I keep a journal of my exercise routines, so I can document reps, sets, weight, and all the things needed to measure progress.  And the best way to measure the results is by listening to the body in the first place.  

A few years ago, I purchased some adjustable dumbbells for home use, and since then have not been back to my fitness studio.  I finally terminated my membership there late last year, and meanwhile have made really good use of my investment of the dumbbells.  They are more than sufficient for the type of exercising I need to be doing.  Maxing out is a thing of the past. 

Pandemic or not, since I have been working from home for so many years, I take advantage of the  flexibility, and can do my daily training whenever there is a break in the action of work.  

For new information and variety, I found a few sources on the internet about workouts, training ideas, etc.  Indeed, many of the dipshits that I used to see in the gym have helped develop a constant flood of people with YT channels that are always the experts on exercise.  As entertaining as that may be, I found myself regularly frustrated by the various floods of misinformation.  And there is only so much time you really should allow yourself to watch someone who is wearing a t-shirt 2 sizes too small talk about pumping up.  

I finally found a source that I could connect with, a regular guy who spent a lot of time explaining about the science of working out, then would go on to show clearly how to perform various exercises.  This is kind of an advantage, and is better than the ways of old, when I had to learn about form by a written description.  In fairness, many of the M&F articles did a really good job of describing how to perform an exercise, but sometimes seeing the actual performance helps the brain. 

Unfortunately, there was a bit of a scandal last year when some of the other YTers who were touting their own channels tried to poke holes in my source channel, on the grounds that the guy was not actually lifting the amount of weight that he said he was. 

Funny how the egos never seem to go away, eh?

For me, I learned from the very beginning the importance of form, holding the ego in check, and understanding how the body works, particularly with regard to all the techniques associated with building muscle.   I am proud of the discipline I have held, even while being able to laugh at my own habits.  I never wanted to socialize at the gym, because that would cut into pub time, for example.  Working out with great frequency means that I can (should I decide to) eat cheese fries as often as I want.  And I tend to want to eat cheese fries often.  (sorry, I dreamed about Snuffer's last night)

One morning this past week, I woke up with a feeling that perhaps I should take a body break for the day, and simply skip the exercises.  I thought about it while I was making my first coffee of the day, and in the end, embraced the philosophy "listen to the body," and simply took the day off from training. 

It was the prudent thing to do, and my body really appreciated it.  

The next morning, I was right back on track, and continuing on my way. 

So, I will close off this ramble, and get cracking. 

Today is goblet squat and back day.  

see you out there

Bryan

Just Letting the Music Shuffle

 I was rummaging through a drawerful of old electronics the other week when I came across my old ipod.  It was not was I was immediately looking for, but I still pulled it out, thinking I might put it back into action.  The trouble was, I did not find the cable needed to connect it to my laptop. 

Each drawer in the bureau was already too full, and was a little intimidating.  Long story short, I had limited time to continue looking for the cable, so added the task to my to-do list, and went on about my business. 

Then, two weeks ago, I rallied myself and did a bit of clean up in the bureau.  Only a bit, mind you, because my heart was not really in it; I just wanted to get a little of the junk out.  Things took a little longer, but I eventually found the yellowing ipod cable, and connected the device to my laptop. 

As much as I love music, I am not listening as avidly as I used to in years past.  And, in those moments where I have wanted to sit down and listen, I have tended to go to a streaming web site, where I can immediately hear the artist, the song, or the album that I want to. 

For starters, I was pleased that my device was still working; I had heard that an ancient ipod may no longer be compatible with newer laptop operating systems.  I did have to download itunes onto my computer, and within a few minutes had my full ipod collection on display:  28.6 days of music for my listening pleasure. 

Over 30 years ago, halfway through my college career, I purchased my first 5 CD changer, and developed a really annoying habit of putting the setting on shuffle, then proceeding to use the remote to advance to the next track.  Five CDs with an average of eight tracks each gave me about forty total songs.  The problem was, I tended to be finicky, and never listened to one track all the way through.  I just could not settle on what I wanted to hear. 

A few friends made the odd comment about this, but I still found it difficult to break the habit. 

40 tracks at average 3 minutes each amounts to about 2 hours of material.  I could scan through it in 5 minutes. 

28.6 days?  With a calculator we can quickly determine the exact amount of minutes, but for the sake of this post, let us just say shitloads. 

The first Saturday morning I listened to my tunes from my ipod, I spent too much time clicking my mouse to advance to the next song instead of simply listening to what was playing.  I was skipping 20 songs, then got to the track I wanted to hear at that given moment, then repeated the exercise, for most of the day.  Old habits can certainly be difficult to break.

Last Saturday was very similar.  Sometimes you need a certain song to serve as the soundtrack for the blog post, and considering the topic from last week, some might find it unusual that it was written with songs from the 4-Skins, Minor Threat, and Thrice all playing in the background.  With a bit of Chopin thrown in for good measure.

This week, I decided to just take things as they came, and allow my ipod to just shuffle along.  It took some effort on my part not to skip to another track, but with one exception, I stayed true, and just let things play. 

I made the one exception because I did not think it very fitting to listen to a Christmas song sung by Diana Ross.  Certainly not when I was enjoying one of the first springlike days we are experiencing in Frankfurt. 

So, my Saturday and Sunday this weekend have been filled with a variety (if not eyebrow raising) of music from a wide selection:  Kate Nash, followed by Ministry, followed by Pete Townshend, followed by a bootleg track I bought at a local show 25 years ago by some artist whose name I can no longer remember. 

And it has been great.  

I am fortunate that good friends have shared great music with me through the years, and diversity is something that I appreciate all the more.  I like Bad Religion quite a bit, but I can no longer listen to their entire catalog in one sitting.  

Perhaps my neighbors might have found the playlist a little herky-jerky, but I would argue that we are going through some pretty herky-jerky times right now, so why not?

From Stiff Little Fingers to Skinny Puppy, Saint Etienne to an electronica cover of "Ain't Talkin About Love," Dubstar to tons of Movida, a bit of Skunk Anansie, and yeah, even the odd Christmas song.  

It just makes sense. 

See you out there

Bryan 

Keeping my Königin in Check, and Picking Nits

Several years ago during a conversation with my father, he commented about how much he enjoyed the film, "Bohemian Rhapsody."  

This came as a great surprise to me; neither of my parents had ever really expressed any interest in popular music that was prevalent in the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s.  Like most people in their generation, their music tastes developed earlier in their lives, and after college, never really developed further. 

Once, after going to one of their pops concerts that the local symphony performed each month, my mom asked me if I knew who Rod Stewart was, as he had spent the evening crooning to the audience, accompanied by the DSO.  "Sure, I know him," I responded to my mom's question, relating that one could not help growing up in the 70s and 80s without having heard his hits. 

I was not particularly a fan of Mr Stewart, but I am a fan of Queen. 

Hence the curiosity about how my father enjoyed the film so much.  One of the first records I bought was News of the World, an album that leads off with two of the most recognizable songs in the, erm, world. 

Timing has a lot to do with it, but 7 year olds are pretty impressionable.  The whole school was pretty much spent stomping and clapping to "We Will Rock You," and for any and all sporting events, whether it be local soccer league for the under-8s, or any collegiate or professional event, regardless of the sport, we (sometimes just one person, sometimes many) would launch into a rousing chorus of  "We Are the Champions." 

And my father hated that record.  At the time, I was carefully spending my small pocket allowance on only really important things.  Playing a record on the home stereo system meant that everyone in the household had to listen, including my father, who always had something negative to say about it. 

A few years later, "Another One Bites the Dust," was released, and my father disliked that song even more.  Meanwhile, all of us finishing up 5th and 6th grade had a new thing to shout on the playground. 

My music tastes continued developing as I got more exposure to various genres, and suddenly, David Bowie produced a single with Queen.  Mr. Bowie was another musician that had already captured my interest, but a couple of years later, his album "Let's Dance," really had everyone in junior high talking.  

Then, a few years later, came Live Aid.  I actually took my final exam in drivers education on that Saturday morning.  Everyone sat that exam with jitters about the test, and all the while were thinking about the concert being shown on live TV.  I was rolling tape the whole time, and as soon as I finished the test, raced home (on my bike) and parked myself in front of the family television to watch history.  

I got home in time to catch, among others, the performance by Queen, and by David Bowie.  

I still get goose bumps when thinking about that day.  

By this time, my music tastes were pretty diverse, and pretty well documented.  While I was no longer avidly listening to Queen, they were never too far off my radar.  They did the soundtrack for Highlander, a film I really enjoyed, particularly for the music. 

Suddenly, I was in college, and spent my share of time sitting around listening to music with my friends.  Once people started living off campus, we regularly gathered at someone's house, to listen to music, drink beer, and stare at MTV.  

In November 1991, a few of us were at a friend's house when the broadcast was interrupted.  Freddie Mercury had died.  

I felt devastated, and the emotions were flowing as I jumped out of my seat, not knowing what to do. 

Several friends were also there, one of which jumped up with me.  Apparently, as I was reminded a couple of days later by another friend who was also present (and had found the incident slightly humorous, just the way it played out) I turned to the guy and shouted, "Sit down, you ain't no Queen fan!"

That is probably the first time in my life I used improper grammar, and for the life of me still do not know why I lashed out at the guy.  

I choose to think that it was simply because I was overwhelmed with grief; a great performer had died ahead of his time.  And he had had such an influence on the music I had been listening to over the past 15 years.  

Recently, Pablo shared access to his film library, and as I scrolled through the selection, I saw "Bohemian Rhapsody" and flagged it as something I would like to watch during the next weekend. 

When the movie first came out, I did not feel inclined to rush off and see it.  Instead, I figured I would just check it out once the time was right.  I knew it had won some awards, and had received positive reviews, not least of all from my father.  

So, I watched the film, and was disappointed. 

I liked the casting, once I got over the fact that the guy from Midsomer Murders played Brian May.  The overall story was fine, as movie plots go. 

What bugged me, however, was the artistic license used in the film.  I know that this is a bit unfair on my part, especially as I generally support such use in various works. 

I think I was a little too persnickety when it came to the sequence of events in the film, and this really hindered my appreciation for the film.  The music (no surprise) was great, and I have to think that had I never heard of the band or its music before, I would have enjoyed the film a lot more. 

But, just as it is totally acceptable that I have my own opinion about the film, I respect that the movie makers simply made a movie, and a pretty good one at that. 

With that, I am going to go ride my bicycle (because I want to).  No Pressure. 

see you out there

Bryan

A Busy Week of Being Unproductive

 I was really glad when Friday afternoon came around yesterday, as it just was not a great week.  Nothing seemed to be clicking along, and it was all kind of disjointed, as sometimes happens.  True, the world events are proving to be a very sad distraction, but besides that, I just could not seem to get anything done.  

Rather than get bogged down on all the things that created frustration, I have acknowledged them and am preferring to find those bits of humor that helped me get through. 

For example, I was experimenting with a new app on my television, one that enabled me to participate in "transatlantic streaming."  I normally pride myself on being resourceful to get these things working, but I was stuck for several days, unable to access the library.  In the end, it was a rather simple thing, and once I made the adjustment on the setting, I was back on track.  Finally. 

No sooner had I got the app working, I got registered for some online classes, but due to lack of communication and failure on my part to follow up, I inadvertently missed my first class.  Nice. 

By Wednesday, I was desperate for the weekend, but had to settle for running out to do some errands right around 17h.  I had arranged an appointment to get my glasses adjusted, and that 5 minute appointment went well.  From there, I visited a little wine shop to purchase a birthday gift, and that, too, was a nice experience; I had not known that the shop was located in my neighborhood, and the guy really knew his stuff. 

As always, when running errands, I go to the furthest point, then work my way back in the homeward direction.  Thus, the eyeglasses place was a 10 minute walk from my house, the wine place 9 minutes, and my next stop, the hardware store, was 7 minutes.  All pretty much on the same street. (gotta love my neighborhood.)

The hardware store was where I wanted to purchase a replacement toilet seat.  This visit took a little longer, because, well, there is not much to a toilet seat, but the variety on display led me to think otherwise.  

I think it is funny how none of us ever really stop and think about what it is that we look for in that perfect toilet seat.  I certainly don't, at least.   When shopping for other items for the household, sure.  I always know what features and stuff I want for the television, or microwave oven, and am always willing to put in the time to research before I make the purchase.  My espresso machine purchase came after hours of comparison and contemplation. 

But to spend so much time thinking about the purchase of a Klobrille?  Never. 

I first learned the word Klobrille at the fitness studio I used in the first years I lived in Frankfurt.  I knew the term Toilettensitz, of course, and that was a logical translation.  Klo was also a word I was familiar with, as it is the colloquial word for toilet.  But Klobrille thew me, as Brille is the word for eyeglasses. 

But, there I was one day in the bathroom stall at my gym, and I noticed a sign on the door saying, "Please do not stand on the Klobrille."

I can only say that I was rather confused for days (if not weeks) as wondered why they called it a Klobrille, and perhaps more concerning was the fact that they needed to post a sign like that in the first place.  What kind of gym was I working out at, where people felt inclined to stand around on the toilet seats?

But, I digress. 

When shopping for such item, no one really gives it much thought.  Unlike espresso machines, smart tvs, or microwaves, it is an insignificant purchase which requires little thought prior to making the selection.  That being said, it is a product that we do start thinking about, especially when we have a particularly good (or bad) experience on one. 

Other times in my life, I have finished my business (seen a man about a horse, if you will) and minutes later am thinking to myself, "wow, that was a good experience.  The toilet seat was just right."

Or sometimes it is the complete opposite, and the experience was less enjoyable due to the poor quality of the seat. 

Since we cannot pull a Goldilocks and the Three Bears in the toilet seat store, we tend just to grab one and go to the checkout counter, which is precisely what I did. 

The man at the cashier looked at the bottle of champagne in my hand that was not carrying the Klobrille, and quipped, "would you like to exchange that?" and we had a little chuckle together as I paid. 

The return home was the aforementioned 7 minute walk through the market square.  I think I maintained my dignity as well as one could hope while carrying a bottle of champagne and a toilet seat through the neighborhood as many pedestrians were finishing their shopping at the outdoor market and heading home from work.  

Of course as I got closer to home, I ran into a friend of mine sitting outside a restaurant while enjoying a beer.  "Hey, nice toilet seat," he could not help remarking, then realized what I held in my other hand. "Even better."

I responded that I had been out buying a birthday gift, and he jokingly asked me which one was the gift, or were both of them to be given.  (I always like those brief moments where there is some confusion that comes from different thought patterns from questions that are not specific:  "where did you get hit?"  "on the head."  "no, i meant, where location?"  and so on....)

At any rate, we clarified the confusion, he complimented me on the choice of champagne, and I continued home. 

For sure, that was probably the highlight of the week.  Thursday was not a good day at work, though I did manage to get my classes sorted out.  

Friday did not get off to a roaring start, either, but at least the weekend was soon upon us.  After finishing my last conference call in the early afternoon, I decided to install my new toilet seat, and after a few minutes of struggle getting the old one removed, did just that. 

No, it was not that super week that I had hoped for, but later today I am going to stand on my new toilet seat and do some reflecting.  Next week will certainly be better. 

see you out there

Bryan