Post by 1705total on Jul 8, 2006 8:04:43 GMT -5
Tales from the weight room part 2
Bi’s and Tri’s
Its 4:30 am on a Saturday morning. The alarm has gone off every 10 minutes for the last hour in a vain attempt to get me to rise from the glorious slumber that I often don’t get. I stumble out of bed, while the wife and kids sleep, enjoying what I desperately need but never to seem to have time for. I emerge from the bed room looking like a vagrant, and head for the shower. I only turn one handle, the cold water valve.
On comes a stream of shockingly chilling water. My eyes slowly open and it shocks my system into gear. The shower provides me with a much needed jolt and shakes away any little demons nagging me to return to that comfortable bed, with its invitingly warm sheets, and my wife’s deliciously smooth skin. When I finish, it’s off to the basement in search of the proper gym attire.
Being arm day I look for a loose fitting shirt and of course my favorite pair of gym pants. I quickly grab my now famous gym bag, and run through its inventory.
Chalk, Wrist wraps, neoprene sleeves for my elbows, straps, and knee wraps; it sure does suck getting old. The elbows start to hurt the moment I think of any tricep exercise. Everything gets thrown into the back of the car. I take one last longing look at the house before back out of the driveway.
I’m on the road now. What music, hmm, I wonder. I grab an old CD, a collection of songs a friend made for me to get me in the mode to train. Zepplin, the Who, the Doors. Sounds good. “Riders on the storm,” kicks it off, followed by “who are you.”
The ride to gym is about 45 minutes and I must pass about 3 or 4 other exercise establishments along the way. Why do I train at the “Iron Pitt?” For starters it’s a dungeon. Its hardcore, and it’s a key club. I can train anytime of day.
I stop by for a quick coffee at a drive thru, and fuel up on caffeine. I don’t like to train on a full stomach, so I’ll rely on my post workout shake for nurishment. I arrive in the little town known as Leechburg, and it by little, I mean about one city block long. The sun is coming up now and there is morning fog everywhere. I open the car door step out and look around. The little town looks completely deserted, like a scene from Stephen King’s novel the Stand, after the plague wiped everyone out. I slam the door shut, it echoes.
I pull my keys out and fumble for the one I most hold dear. Its on its own ring that happens to be connected to a little weightlifting belt my boys got me. The door slowly opens, the gym is marked with a sign above the door saying simply “GYM.” I descend the steps, thinking as if I am Dante and this is my inferno. Its dark, but I still manage to see a sign hanging up that says “lift heavy or go home” showing a man benching what appears to be more the 400 lbs!
The lights come on, as do the fans, its somewhat warm already. The music begins to blare, from a rock station. The radio cannot be changed or turned down or off. The way it should be and no one complains, or least is brave enough too. The gym is empty, but it might as well be full. The energy never leaves this place. I soak it up as I look at pics from some of the members, big hulking figures, who are shown prowling a local fitness expo. These guys look like gladiators or warrior hunters from a time long ago.
Real men with calloused hands, who would rather pick something up and throw it, then step up on a tread mill. There are a few cable machines at this gym, but these are the kind you load the weight onto. Pins and weight stacks are for sissies. Pictures of hardcore powerlifters and Dorian Yates and Mike Francois hang up. But also pics of some of the most beautiful women, scantly clad of course also adorn the cement plastered walls. Nothing in this gym says “soft” not even the toilet paper, and I feel sorry if you have to use it.
I start out my workout with concentration curls. Dorian did this and so do I. I warm up the biceps and my arms feel much like I did when I got out of bed. Slowly they begin to fill up with blood. For arms I take a break from extremely heavy weights. I figure the heavy benches, presses, deads, and squats, tear the arms up enough. I get to 10 curls and my biceps have such a deep burn that it hurts. This isn’t the type of burn I feel in other muscles, this feels like the bicep has balled up to such an extent it’s about to bust.
3 sets later and my brow begins to sweat, a lot.
Onto preacher curls. I load up the ez curl bar and start banging away. 6,7,8, eventually getting a grueling 11. The biceps are engorged, the 12th rep is slow, as if I was doing it slow on purpose, but damn it won’t move. I’m biting my lower lip hard and I’m pulling with every fiber. The preacher bench is specifically design to limit excessive movement. Great thanks! I complete the rep and slam the weight down, blood pours from my lip, I bit down too hard, so what!! I got the rep! 3 sets just like that one. Except now I have paper towel at my side, which is no longer white, but crimson, from my bloody lip.
Triceps. Oh I hate tricep exercises. The burn is much worse then the bicep. I can only explain it like this. Take a wet wash cloth, wring it out, pulling and twisting it tight. Imagine that’s your tricep, but instead of water coming through the cloth fibers, it blood coming through your muscle fibers. Tricep push downs with a rope. 15 to 20 reps, go for the burn. I load up about 100 lbs and crank out 20 reps. I really don’t remember the last 5, just how bad the arms felt. Deep, deep burns, I can feel all three heads separate, I can feel the striations throughout the muscle.
My arm fills up so much with blood, it now looks like a leg! My sleeves can no longer contain them and begin to ride up towards the shoulders. 3 sets of pure hell. I can hear the devil behind me “You like to lift, then lift, lift until you can’t push anymore, lift LIFT!!!” I do feel like I am in hell, yet I do enjoy it!
Skull crushers, much the same, but with more pain. The bar comes down so close to the bridge of my nose. I’m so into at this point I don’t notice it. The bar actually bangs off the nose, but up it goes over and over again. All I can think of is the burn, I must have that deep burn, I cannot let it go away. It must continue. 3 sets done, and I’m almost spent.
One last thing to do.
Forearms.
At this point my arms really cannot move. But my wrist can. I grab this stick that has a rope tied to it. On the end of the rope is a 25lbs plate. You basically turn the stick over and over with each hand to raise the plate up off the ground while wrapping the rope around the handle. Up and down this plate travels, my forearms are on fire. Veins erupting from the hands to the elbows. I can see the pulsating blood as it travels back in forth. 5 times the plate travels up and down, before I can no longer complete another turn. Now I am spent.
I’m done. I look around, still alone in this gym, with all its me members on the wall staring at me, no encouraging me. The iron is cold, as is the floor, I walk along the mats, to my gym bag. I wash my hands in the only sink, and look towards the fountain for a drink. A sign hangs up, “collecting to fix the water fountain, if you care.”
Out of curiosity I check the envelope, empty, as I figured, no one cares about stuff like water. You want a drink cup your hands at the sink. I gather up my belongings and head up the stairs. I look around longingly. I love this place and I love to train. I always will, no matter what else happens in my life, I am at peace here.
Bi’s and Tri’s
Its 4:30 am on a Saturday morning. The alarm has gone off every 10 minutes for the last hour in a vain attempt to get me to rise from the glorious slumber that I often don’t get. I stumble out of bed, while the wife and kids sleep, enjoying what I desperately need but never to seem to have time for. I emerge from the bed room looking like a vagrant, and head for the shower. I only turn one handle, the cold water valve.
On comes a stream of shockingly chilling water. My eyes slowly open and it shocks my system into gear. The shower provides me with a much needed jolt and shakes away any little demons nagging me to return to that comfortable bed, with its invitingly warm sheets, and my wife’s deliciously smooth skin. When I finish, it’s off to the basement in search of the proper gym attire.
Being arm day I look for a loose fitting shirt and of course my favorite pair of gym pants. I quickly grab my now famous gym bag, and run through its inventory.
Chalk, Wrist wraps, neoprene sleeves for my elbows, straps, and knee wraps; it sure does suck getting old. The elbows start to hurt the moment I think of any tricep exercise. Everything gets thrown into the back of the car. I take one last longing look at the house before back out of the driveway.
I’m on the road now. What music, hmm, I wonder. I grab an old CD, a collection of songs a friend made for me to get me in the mode to train. Zepplin, the Who, the Doors. Sounds good. “Riders on the storm,” kicks it off, followed by “who are you.”
The ride to gym is about 45 minutes and I must pass about 3 or 4 other exercise establishments along the way. Why do I train at the “Iron Pitt?” For starters it’s a dungeon. Its hardcore, and it’s a key club. I can train anytime of day.
I stop by for a quick coffee at a drive thru, and fuel up on caffeine. I don’t like to train on a full stomach, so I’ll rely on my post workout shake for nurishment. I arrive in the little town known as Leechburg, and it by little, I mean about one city block long. The sun is coming up now and there is morning fog everywhere. I open the car door step out and look around. The little town looks completely deserted, like a scene from Stephen King’s novel the Stand, after the plague wiped everyone out. I slam the door shut, it echoes.
I pull my keys out and fumble for the one I most hold dear. Its on its own ring that happens to be connected to a little weightlifting belt my boys got me. The door slowly opens, the gym is marked with a sign above the door saying simply “GYM.” I descend the steps, thinking as if I am Dante and this is my inferno. Its dark, but I still manage to see a sign hanging up that says “lift heavy or go home” showing a man benching what appears to be more the 400 lbs!
The lights come on, as do the fans, its somewhat warm already. The music begins to blare, from a rock station. The radio cannot be changed or turned down or off. The way it should be and no one complains, or least is brave enough too. The gym is empty, but it might as well be full. The energy never leaves this place. I soak it up as I look at pics from some of the members, big hulking figures, who are shown prowling a local fitness expo. These guys look like gladiators or warrior hunters from a time long ago.
Real men with calloused hands, who would rather pick something up and throw it, then step up on a tread mill. There are a few cable machines at this gym, but these are the kind you load the weight onto. Pins and weight stacks are for sissies. Pictures of hardcore powerlifters and Dorian Yates and Mike Francois hang up. But also pics of some of the most beautiful women, scantly clad of course also adorn the cement plastered walls. Nothing in this gym says “soft” not even the toilet paper, and I feel sorry if you have to use it.
I start out my workout with concentration curls. Dorian did this and so do I. I warm up the biceps and my arms feel much like I did when I got out of bed. Slowly they begin to fill up with blood. For arms I take a break from extremely heavy weights. I figure the heavy benches, presses, deads, and squats, tear the arms up enough. I get to 10 curls and my biceps have such a deep burn that it hurts. This isn’t the type of burn I feel in other muscles, this feels like the bicep has balled up to such an extent it’s about to bust.
3 sets later and my brow begins to sweat, a lot.
Onto preacher curls. I load up the ez curl bar and start banging away. 6,7,8, eventually getting a grueling 11. The biceps are engorged, the 12th rep is slow, as if I was doing it slow on purpose, but damn it won’t move. I’m biting my lower lip hard and I’m pulling with every fiber. The preacher bench is specifically design to limit excessive movement. Great thanks! I complete the rep and slam the weight down, blood pours from my lip, I bit down too hard, so what!! I got the rep! 3 sets just like that one. Except now I have paper towel at my side, which is no longer white, but crimson, from my bloody lip.
Triceps. Oh I hate tricep exercises. The burn is much worse then the bicep. I can only explain it like this. Take a wet wash cloth, wring it out, pulling and twisting it tight. Imagine that’s your tricep, but instead of water coming through the cloth fibers, it blood coming through your muscle fibers. Tricep push downs with a rope. 15 to 20 reps, go for the burn. I load up about 100 lbs and crank out 20 reps. I really don’t remember the last 5, just how bad the arms felt. Deep, deep burns, I can feel all three heads separate, I can feel the striations throughout the muscle.
My arm fills up so much with blood, it now looks like a leg! My sleeves can no longer contain them and begin to ride up towards the shoulders. 3 sets of pure hell. I can hear the devil behind me “You like to lift, then lift, lift until you can’t push anymore, lift LIFT!!!” I do feel like I am in hell, yet I do enjoy it!
Skull crushers, much the same, but with more pain. The bar comes down so close to the bridge of my nose. I’m so into at this point I don’t notice it. The bar actually bangs off the nose, but up it goes over and over again. All I can think of is the burn, I must have that deep burn, I cannot let it go away. It must continue. 3 sets done, and I’m almost spent.
One last thing to do.
Forearms.
At this point my arms really cannot move. But my wrist can. I grab this stick that has a rope tied to it. On the end of the rope is a 25lbs plate. You basically turn the stick over and over with each hand to raise the plate up off the ground while wrapping the rope around the handle. Up and down this plate travels, my forearms are on fire. Veins erupting from the hands to the elbows. I can see the pulsating blood as it travels back in forth. 5 times the plate travels up and down, before I can no longer complete another turn. Now I am spent.
I’m done. I look around, still alone in this gym, with all its me members on the wall staring at me, no encouraging me. The iron is cold, as is the floor, I walk along the mats, to my gym bag. I wash my hands in the only sink, and look towards the fountain for a drink. A sign hangs up, “collecting to fix the water fountain, if you care.”
Out of curiosity I check the envelope, empty, as I figured, no one cares about stuff like water. You want a drink cup your hands at the sink. I gather up my belongings and head up the stairs. I look around longingly. I love this place and I love to train. I always will, no matter what else happens in my life, I am at peace here.