I started lifting weights when I was fourteen years old. Not that it made much difference. My dad was happy to support my new found hobby and we had a bench and some weights we kept in the backyard. Doggedly, I used the weight set at least three times a week. If it were instant gratification I was after, I would have stopped. I talked about my hobby with my friends and they looked perplexed and shrugged their shoulders as there was nothing different about me in the first few months.
I was about 5’11” (6’4” with affro) and 135 pounds dripping wet. In the course of a year I went from being too fat to too skinny. However, the slow and steady drip of testosterone that had been coursing through my veins began to turn into a flood. Overnight, muscle was growing and I packed on eighty pounds and five inches in the course of three years.
I owe a lot to the hours I spent lifting weights. It taught me discipline. It instilled in me confidence. I made lots of friends in the hours resting between sets. I spent my childhood being as unathletic as possible. I was the guy no one wanted on their team in elementary school. By the time I entered the Air Force Academy, I was able to make it through the grueling physical ordeal of Basic Cadet Training and built a reputation based on toughness and ability to push myself hard. None of this would have been possible had I not spent several hours every week competing against myself in the gym.
In my twenties, I continued to hang out in gyms. I took creatine supplements. I challenged myself to bench press 405 pounds. I didn’t know it yet, but all of this effort served no discernible purpose. The Law of Diminishing Returns had kicked in and there was no incremental benefit to these hours I spent working out. On the positive side, even though I didn’t know it yet, I had plenty of free time to spend however I wanted.
Now, in my late thirties, the river of testosterone has subsided somewhat. I no longer feel compelled to compete with myself or the next alpha male who walks in the door. I have new priorities in my life and a whole lot less time. Fitness is still important to me. After all, I am a role model to my children and I need to lead by example, but that doesn’t mean I need to disappear for hours at a time to go to the gym and “lift things up and put them down”.
I tell people all the time to stop focusing on what they are doing and instead ask, “What are you trying to do?” I could continue to go to the gym, but it no longer serves my purposes. My goals have changed. Where once I wanted to be the biggest and the strongest; now I want to stay healthy and in decent aerobic shape. I want to prevent the pec muscles that once bench pressed four plates on each side of the bar from turning into male breasts. I’ve taken to running outside and doing push ups to accomplish these goals. Ten minutes or less on push ups three times a week. and up to forty minutes jogging (building up my endurance again). It takes minimal time away from my family and it accomplishes my new goals for myself.
I took to posting on FaceBook whenever I finish my push up routines or a jog. I like the accountability it creates for me. I’m sure the vast majority of the people who read these posts think, “Who gives a shit?” and I understand that. I still do it because I’ll run into people who ask me how the runs are going or encourage me to keep it up. Ironically, these posts led to this little rant.
When I met Nick Rubie, during our freshman year of high school, he was bigger, stronger, and way more athletic than me. We used to skateboard together all the time after school and Nick had some serious skating Kung Fu. I started skating less and less and working out more and more and I introduced Nick to lifting weights. Nick always had strength, but his build was more wirery than muscular. After college, Nick started competing in natural bodybuilding and achieved size I never dreamed of. And now... Nick is calling me out as a girly man. I’m at peace with this and feel that my current regime is more than enough to meet my goals. Maybe one day your priorities will change too, old friend. Until then keep on pumping the iron, but I’ll be dedicating my next batch of push ups to you.
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