By Dave Draper

Ahh, the weekend to myself. Laree's gone to visit her mom north of the
Napa Valley in California's charming wine country. The sun clings to
the thin edge of fall unable to conceal the restrained cold of a
restless winter. There's a lot said in the candid utterance, "brrrr,"
on the lips of those whose sleeves are too short for the chilly day.

I miss Laree already. It's dinner time. I'll open a can of tuna. Mugsy
will join me. I'll ruminate, Mugs will purr and the world's problems
will diminish; we shall solve them one by one. What's this? We're
outta tuna? You've got to be kidding!

Wall Street falls, the Washington's bailout fails, Main Street fumbles
and now this, a devastating home-front fish-flop. We're finished.

Just kidding about the tuna.

Trouble is contagious. I've been getting more and more e-mail from
guys who are having difficulty looking the iron in its cold, hard mug
(I'll bet there are an equal number of gals, but they don't complain).
They don't see what they used to see -- playfulness, pump, promise,
progress -- and shrug their shoulders in dismay.

It's a bleak place, an ugly viewpoint, a revolting predicament, when
what was once the answer is now the question. That vital activity that
eased yesterday's pain is now the source. The invigorating challenge
of earlier days is today's burden too heavy to bear.

I don't have the energy, the endurance, the strength, the will. I
don't care.

I'm weary, I'm frustrated, I'm sore all over. Oh, my aching back.

Oh, no you don't, you wingless pretender. Get ye behind me, thin tin
fake. You, unguarded and susceptible bomber, are listening to the
wrong voice within: an impostor of the soul, an agent of threat to
muscle-might and all that is good. Confront the lying demon, the
deadly enemy! There's no time to waste. Grasp the iron now. Pump or
burn. Curl or curl up, push or be pushed, pull up or be pulled down,
press on and on... or be depressed.

Screech, scream, clang, clank, thump...

That was a close one, a seldom performed mid-newsletter exorcism. We
must be prepared on all occasions. I prefer not to exhibit necessary
harshness in the public square, but believe it or not I just resisted
the temptation to abandon today's workout and submit to sulking and
brooding and counting my woes. How scary is that? Instantly, I shall
adorn my favorite shredded t-shirt, have a slug of Bomber Blend and
head to the gym where angels are known to reside.

Dave Draper's IronOnline: Dave Draper's Bomber Blend

Upon my return I'll recall in sufficient detail my continued defeat of
the will to quit, which attacks us all when we least expect it.

Well, I'm back from my workout and it's now Monday, a day later. I
entered the Weight Room and it was mine, not a sign of life, only the
music unaware of itself as it danced around the equipment. I decided
to follow the impetuous sounds and set up apparatus for a quadruple
multi-set blast.

Four cycles of four consecutive exercises -- torso-demanding rope
tucks, incline dumbbell presses, straight-arm pullovers and wide-grip
pulldowns -- comprised my scheme to light up the upper body. Reps
ranged from 35 on torso- and cardio-demanding rope tucks to 10s and
12s on the following three basic muscle makers.

It worked. Anything works -- everything works -- after the first 10
years of devoted weight training madness. It's all in the way you
approach the iron, your attitude and finesse, intensity and
sufficiency.

Be encouraged, lad and lass. When you're new and just starting, unsure
and unpracticed, anything and everything works also. But, as you
continue, should you continue, patterns and plans evolve that assure
sound muscle and strength development. Favorite routines and, even,
misguided schemes drag us through the tangle of weights and cables,
sets and reps and injury and repair.

We may never arrive at the destination we sought, but we've arrived
where we are and that's good. Sing-song quad-sets work when the gym
and training seem like hell. I got me a halo made outta tempered
steel.

The four-set roam-a-gym workout went well. Haste-in-pace would have
ruled 50 years ago, but slow walks from gear to gear with purpose
minus the hurry took control. I'll blast it when I get there,
meanwhile let me breathe... deeply.

Let's see: directly and indirectly, I excited the abs and torso, the
shoulders, chest and back, the bis and tris and dimly lit up the
cardio system. What area would appreciate and enjoy an extra charge?

I think back to my origins and what always worked when I was kid. When
in doubt, without knowledge or equipment, a job or responsibility,
knock out some dips. They get everything and anything every time. And
there are 99 grooves to choose from, invent or discover. Like finding
a purse full of loose change, you can't buy much but you sure feel
rich.

The purse is emptied without haste or waste and the rear exit is my
final exercise -- one set of one rep and I'm outta here. Hello and
goodbye, stacks of steel, it's been a blast. En route I pass a very
seductive combination, a sturdy upright only six feet from the 25s. I
am weak.

I grab a single dumbbell with hand A and the sturdy upright with hand
B and arouse the shoulders and outer biceps with a series of one-arm
lateral-raises. This exercise has become a recent favorite because it
has spirit and personality, and is very forgiving. My shoulders love
to work, but they've grown a little grouchy lately. They, left and
right, often prefer to work alone -- much more productive.

Done! More to do, but I have nothing left. This might be my biggest
mistake, my biggest regret. More to do, but nothing left. I'm still
learning and yet to discover when enough is enough. In the meantime, I
press on.

We have single sets, supersets and a range of multi-sets at our
fingertips. Single sets and supersets have made up the majority of my
training menu over the years. They provide the feast for bulking up,
cutting up and just plain celebrating. We wish we were younger, most
of us, but aren't you glad you can pull up a bench anywhere at the
table and dig right in?

It's kinda like flying, bombers, once you've done it you never forget
how.

Higher and higher... the sky's the limit.

Godspeed... DD

TRAIN HARD, EAT RIGHT, BE STRONG

"I'll pass on seconds, thanks."

"It's delicious, thank you, but no more apple pie."

"Another Christmas party! How fun. Sorry, but I've got an appointment
at The Weight Room."

Rumors are going around the IOL newsroom there's an End of Year
Challenge underway. We in the biz call it the EOY Challenge and
commend you, the hardy participants, for your courage and resolve.
Though goals may differ and methods of achievement vary, the purposes
are the same: to become better and more responsible people with bodies
like Steve Reeves or Rachel McLish.

Several years ago I, gifted with a military disposition (hence, the
Blond Bomber) submitted we unite forces in a similar mission, the
Year's Up Confrontation, or YUC. Participants were ordered to eat tuna
and water, fast regularly and mix Bomber Blend into a paste for
breakfast with crushed Super Spectrim Vitamin/Mineral tabs sprinkled
on top.

Never got off the ground. Folks said it interfered with their festive
spirits, Ho Ho and all that stuff. Humbug!

This is perfect, people: the perfect time to unite and share your
story, seek and offer advice and, thus, multiply interest and
encouragement. These are the prerequisites for us to alter our bodies
and enhance our lives.

Source: Dave Draper's newsletter