Bomber Countdown
When’s the last time you sat down and counted your blessings? I figure a person who doesn’t count his blessings is a person who never learned how to add. I mean, I don’t get from the bedroom to the bathroom at the crack of dawn without counting my blessings, especially since we installed indoor plumbing.
Counting blessings, however, can be a complicated matter requiring the satisfaction of multiple conditions: the thought -- I should count my blessings -- must first occur to you; of course you must stop what you’re doing, which might include worrying and complaining, to ponder, discover, recollect and establish those blessings. This takes time. They need to be assessed and processed, and, finally, allowed to flood over you in all their goodness. More time, to say nothing of patience.
The blessings can really add up. I skip the old battered truck and house that needs repairs and payments, leaving them to last. I start with stuff like my eyesight, though blurring, and heartbeat, though irregular, and Laree, though rebellious, and move on. There’s the credit card payments with which I am making real progress, my sprained back that’s healing nicely (goodbye body-cast), another partially sunny day, gas prices dropped three cents a gallon, sale on tube socks at Kmart, they caught the local arsonist setting fire to stop signs... the list goes on.
Why the summons to counting our blessings -- our gifts, privileges, benefits, rewards, good things, neat stuff? Cuz, despite our cuddliness, we are, most of us, ungrateful rascals; spoiled, self-centered, unaware, blind to our precious bestowments and thoughtless of life’s real hardships, those suffered by our neighbors. We should all -- big and strong or not so, young or old, timid or daring, wise or wise enough to know we are not -- make the math a practice, a habit, as we do calculating and multiplying our worries and woes. We would do well not to focus on the latter.
If one does not pray, counting one’s blessings is a reasonable substitute.
Today I listened to someone complain about the slow progress he’s making after three years in the gym. He’s in his early 20s, average height and average weight, all his fingers and all his toes. He’s struggling to reach 200 solid pounds and every workout seems to be another step away from reaching it. He’s so frustrated, envious of others, sick and tired of his routine and depressed about his ever-retreating goals that he’s willing, almost, to sell his soul.
I wanted to say, "Get a life, Smiley," but recalled only too vividly feeling similarly countless times over the years. Thing is I had absolutely no one to talk with, to share my disappointment or seek encouragement. The "me" of "me, myself and I" became the sole recipient of the silent conversations. I bore the slowness of my progress as something quite natural, which it was. I didn’t look to the magazines and wished I looked like the virile, handsome gorilla on the cover by the month’s end. Common sense had not been brutally squeezed out of me and replaced with selfish and absurd dreams of more, better and sooner. Of another generation, I was spared the illusion.
I was delighted with young boy-young man dreams of striving and struggling toward better things -- super, in fact -- and enjoying the fight along the way.
And you have no idea how thankful I am no one was there to listen to my whiney lamentations. For starters, I would feel to this day an embarrassment and guilt difficult to assimilate. Additionally, I would not have resolved the problems directly, clearly, memorably and by myself (with a little help from my God and some wall charts). Too easy the outlet for discouragement, too obstacle-free the course and too low the hill to climb, and we have too weak a struggle to fight. Where there is no fight, there is no might; no hill, no thrill.
Seeking counsel is wise, and good advice is a gift, but excessive reliance on those around you can lead to dependence and diluted information.
The young man in question asked for my help. I love to help. He asked with an urgency and desperation that suggested the world was about to collide with the planet next door. I have trouble with hopeless helplessness. He wanted the big answer, not just a biceps peaking routine or a good source of folic acid. The whole answer and at once was his single request. I got the impression he was seeking placement in an Advanced Bodybuilding Care Unit (ABCU). This was serious, unlike the plight others encounter. Life was running out. All the methodologies had been applied, practiced and failed. He’d fight if only he knew it was a fight; if only he knew how to fight... why and what for.
He looked at himself. I looked at the wall.
We must not allow ourselves to slip into this state of mind, call it bodybuilding-depression. It’s icy cold, breathless, too dark for maneuvering and filled with woe. It’s easy to enter and hard to exit and serves no purpose whatsoever. It’s self-centered, narrow and spoiled. And, sorry, dog, it’s as common as fleas.
The ironic thing is weight training is a perfect antidote to depression. It grabs your attention, diverts your negative longings, satisfies a multitude of positive purposes (health, strength), develops discipline and character and restores your inner chemistry and mental balance. Iron and depression are a compatible pair, fire and ice.
Depressed? Work out!
Thanks, Doc. I needed that.
It’s the 'bodybuilding thing' that can be hard to control. As a bodybuilder, especially the competitive type, one is never really enough. More muscle, more definition, another vein and, oh, to drop the bodyfat another percentage point. One more set, another 10 minutes on the bike and 50 fewer calories from Omega 6s. Got it now, except for some length in the lats... some depth in the intercostals... thickness in the lumbar region... a tad taller...
These bum thoughts and feelings -- could be about most any subject, politics even -- hit us occasionally like a sack of ripe garbage flung from life’s waste-management vehicle as it speeds furiously to the nearby dumpsite. Before we can wipe the muck from our kisser, we start grumbling to ourselves and anyone in earshot.
Grumbling is hard to control. Daily doses of garbage are tiresome. They can also be hysterical and worth a barrel of laughs. Laughter is a blessing. I laugh... ask Laree... I don’t grumble. I don’t lie, exaggerate or scratch my backside between sets.
I withheld my disappointment in his failure to note his privileged position in the world. A quick look in the mirror -- humility is a glance away -- straightened me right out. Instead, I adjusted the mic, mounted my soap box, looked him in the eye and said...
This stuff can drive a sane man crazy or make him stronger and stronger day by day. Muscles and might do not come easy, but the amazing, wonderful thing is there are no secrets and there's nothing you cannot do to resolve your small mess now and tomorrow by your own commitment, dedication and hard work. Courage, perseverance and discipline are the ingredients we need more than anything to gain the goals we seek, and these qualities grow as the muscle and might grow, side by side.
I'll tell you this: You are not alone. Most every bodybuilder feels as you do at one time or another. Get out of the funk by continuing to train hard and with redefined confidence. Your training works, but not when you stare at it or doubt it. The best advice I can offer is read Brother Iron Sister Steel -- straight talk, motivation, nutrition, routines, tips and hints all written specifically for you. Fun reading, lots of pictures, you don’t have to be smart. I wrote it.
Tune into davedraper.com and visit our e-store to pick up a scuffed copy cheap. Libraries have it.
The web page is full of right-on info. Our forum is friendly, highly informed and compassionate -- view it or participate. Subscribe to the free weekly newsletter for general contact and motivation. It soars. That is, it picks up wind, or more accurately, it’s long-winded.
Please, don’t misconstrue my advice as a means of selling you something. If that was my goal, I’d surely recommend you add to your shopping cart Bomber Blend, Super Spectrim vitamins, Creatine, Body Ammo, Anabol Naturals BCAAs and an inspiring Draper T-shirt.
Pssst!....the trunk of my car contains Rolexes, car stereos, assorted CDs, genuine imitation gold pendants, coral earrings and authentic Jimmy Hendrix headbands.
Be strong and grow...
With that, I leaped from the box, threw my black Stealth Cape over my shoulders and dashed from the gym floor.
Later, after zooming the wild Pacific coastline, I landed at my hidden field in the redwoods. Laree and Mugsy stood in the doorway to greet me. Life is what you make it, bombers. Make it good.
God's speed... Dave
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