Birds of a Feather

The red tail hawks return from the shoreline to our treetops early
these days, as the temperatures cool and the sunlight grows short. We
all make accommodations for the seasons, and fall is in the wings.

In her preparation of the autumn chill, Laree spends the nights sewing
long sleeves onto my tank tops and darning holes in my worn wool
socks. She's a marvelous companion and her care and generosity do not
go unnoticed. I contribute to our wholesome life, taking out the
garbage weekly, putting the seat down faithfully and flushing the
toilet always. Some folks say we are the perfect couple.

Twice a week we go to the gym together, but it is there we part ways.
Laree has her style and needs and I have mine. She trains non-stop
with precision focus and form, and I train any way I can. We dig in
with greedy hands and gather what we are able from the mounds of iron
resources. It works; we don't have a nickel between us, but we're
rich.

I'm reminded of how Laree and I met almost 20 years ago. I was working
at The Spa, one of three coveted gyms in the Santa Cruz area at the
time. It was, and still is, the largest and most stylish health club
in town: outdoor lap pool, indoor spa facilities, men's and women's
weight rooms, aerobics, racquetball, beauty salon and childcare and
all the other undesirable things a musclehead hates to see under one
snazzy roof.

I was offered the job to fill in a gap and pull me from a pit. I was
in my gap-and-pit phase of life. The Spa saved my bruised bottom.

I liked The Spa, but it didn't match my dungeon, no-pain, no-gain
mentality. The multitudinous attendees were a cross section of
California society before obesity and sloped shoulders became
epidemic. They smiled a lot, dressed in matching form-fit gear and
loved aerobics, the pool and mingling and they managed to trash the
weight room in less than three minutes. I was the on-the-floor
professional trainer. In other words, I put the weights away.

They knew as much about me, the Bomber from the '60s, as donkeys know
about monkeys. That's okay. I knew as much about personal training as
adders know about otters, bucks know about ducks. The place was a zoo.
Training myself was no big problem, but training others had never
before entered my mind.

Articulating the squat or wide-grip pulldown -- how the movement is
properly performed and how much weight is used, its starting and
ending positions, its groove and pace, what muscles it engages and
where it's placed relative to the rest of the workout -- was a mystery
in words, especially for someone who was in and out of the gym like a
phantom before daylight and had developed mumbling as a suitable form
of communication.

Laree was one of my first clients, though subject might be a more
fitting term. Better yet, make that victim. "I want instruction in
bodybuilding," she said. Ha! She might as well seek instruction in
rabbit hunting from a raging bear. "Intensity rules!" The three-hour,
six-day-a-week program I prescribed the young lady included everything
from benchpress and squats to deadlifts. A zero-carb diet went with
the special bodybuilding training package and my tuna-and-water advice
was free of charge. Por nada, senorita.

I didn't see the girl for three months after our first encounter, poor
thing. Where'd she go -- underground, home to Mom, the European Health
Spa, the SC Police Department (assault and battery), the local ER,
reenlisted in the air force... terminated? The last thing she said
was, "I'll be back."

And here we are today, chugging down the freeway and continuing our
one-on-one training adventure. You'd think she'd have learned by now,
it's been twenty-some years. The truth is we are learning, and an
essential part of learning is appreciating it never ceases. Like space
and time, learning goes on forever.

Yes, we (that would be all of us) know there is more to life than
barbells and dumbbells. But for these few isolated IOL minutes we are
here to arouse our musclebuilding spirits, fortify our disciplines,
reestablish our hopes and energize our limbs.

Encouragement, inspiration and affirmation have always been the keys
to the deed, even when we were 16, 26 and 36. Okay, 56 and 66... 76.

I ask Laree, as brain-dead commuters slow down to gawk at a CHP
issuing a breathtaking traffic ticket, "What's on your agenda,
adorable?" She responds, "Anything goes today, darling. Last week's
kettlebell workouts were all-out slugfests and blasted the whole body.
I like that. Whatever I do today will be done to stimulate and
encourage tissue repair. I'll take my time and play hard."

"Sounds good. Let's train together, cuddle-kins, like the good old
days," I said with a wink. She warmed up to the idea fast and we
agreed to spend the next 60 to 90 minutes hand-in-hand following our
conspired instincts.

The Weight Room was mellow at the one-o'clock hour and we each grabbed
a bench to knock out some crunches and leg raises -- essential and
fundamental investments. Like round one of a boxing match or the first
inning of a baseball game, these movements set the mood, warm up and
stretch out the body and set the athletes in motion.

I suggested we blast off with a favorite low-key triset to inflate and
enflame the upper body (with the firm agreement that Laree choose the
following round of exercises). We started with 45-degree incline
dumbbell presses, followed by 10-degree decline stiff-arm pullovers
and close-grip pulldowns to the chest. Boom, boom, boom! This compact
and athletic and energizing trio is designed to arouse the front, side
and rear deltoids, upper pectorals, the biceps and triceps, the
mid-back, lats and serratus and the grip. How cool is that?

To keep us moving deliberately and without exhaustion from set to set,
we chose an agreeable weight for each exercise that enabled us to
perform 4 trisets of 6 to 8 focused repetitions. I tend to go to
exhaustion (grrr) every set and, thus, compromise training pace and
speed (turtle). I was pleased to adhere to an alternate style. It's
smart and effective, yet I insist on maximum output cuz I'm dopey and
it takes forever and my elbows hurt and it's probably not good for the
ticker. Hello, wake up!

Madam's choice was standing alternate dumbbell curls followed by
pulley pushdowns. This combination is very likeable and continues the
pumping and burning where it has already begun. Biceps and triceps are
the targets, but full-range, rhythmic body action to accommodate the
lifts brings muscles from the outer regions along for a
muscle-building ride. The upper body from which those arms hang gets
in on the action, especially if the knowing lifter focuses, aggresses
and finesses. Get all you can, bombers, it builds and inspires (4
supersets x 6- 8 and 10-12 reps, respectively).

We finished with four sets of dumbbell deadlifts for 12 reps. She
went, I went, etc, making sure the thighs were involved maximally just
to be sociable.

We crawled briskly to our craft where pre-mixed Bomber Blends awaited
in a cooler. We flew home, the wind bracing our smiley faces. Another
blast!

Go... God's speed... Dave

Source: davedraper.com