My "Bob" story Pt. 2

After I stopped running following freshman year, I was finally old enough to go to the rec by myself (still couldn't drive though) so I started messing around with the weights. Honestly, I didn't really know what I was doing, but it was nice to pick up a "sport" that, unlike cross country, actually improved how I looked. Always a plus. Not that I needed it though....

Once the random messing around evolved into actually doing a little research on things I gained about 10 pounds in three or so months. Keep in mind, this was coming straight out of cross country season. I also took my health class at that time, and apparently was hanging at a 4.5% body fat around then. I believe 5% is generally considered "essential fat," so anything less than that is on the not so healthy side of things.

The problem with lifting heavy things is that, like running, that's pretty much all there is to it. Sure you can switch up the exercises, but there is no ball, there are no top ten plays on ESPN, there are no multi-millionaire professionals, etc. Like running, motivation is key. One evening, while trying to find a little bit of a reason to get off my ass I came across the "bob story." What a great generic name, Fight Club-esque. No bitch tits though. Well, not directly. I've kept it bookmarked through multiple computers, web browsers, and presidents because its just over-the-top enough to get me going.

Bob is not just a character in a stupid story meatheads pass around to each other before they go break frat houses and shit. Bob is a state of mind. Where in cross country I may have had the psycho "cross-country dad" screaming failure, I now had Bob, an image of failure. In weight lifting (or as I like to call it, bodybuilding... it just seems to give it a meaning other than Me lift heavy weight. Me kill mammals for dinner. Gunga lunga) I think I found the last piece to staying in shape. I hate bobs; I didn't like bobs before I even knew their name. I'm sure most of you can think of times when I have been a Bob, all talk and no do. I hope it wasn't for long.

So for me, its not that hard to get my ass up and walk down the hill to the rec a couple times a week. I have the four golden rules:


1.) It isn't fun, but it doesn't have to be fun.
2.) See that guy across the room? He just bet his buddy in the zubaz that you can't do another set.
3.) Jiminy Cricket quits long before the muscles do. Play through it.
4.) Don't be Bob.


I don't think I ever worked out for my health. Sure it's a nice side effect, but if I were really worried about my health I should probably stop drinking pretty much every liquid I drink and replace it with milk and water. That would do loads more I'm sure. The best I can come up with is that I do it to prove to myself I can. That's probably why I still do sprints even though I'll probably never play in any organized sports league above the classification "intramural" again in my life. Just to prove that I'm still the fastest white guy I know (I still am). I'm sure it's also to release steam. I always have a better day going in pissed off about something. Maybe it's just so I make sure I'm never the fat guy drinking Nati talking about how I wish I had the time to work out.