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.
Showing posts with label bob story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bob story. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Monday, March 31, 2008
My "Bob" story Pt. 1
Preface: I started typing, and this got to be pretty lengthy. So I'm going to split it into two parts. This is part one.
For as long as I can remember I have been a bit of a sports junkie. In elementary school I prided myself on my pickle skills. Come junior high I took up cross country. I wasn't too enthused about it at first to be honest, the idea of running for running's sake seemed borderline insane. After the first few practices and seeing my time start to drop it became tolerable.
Somewhat surreal side story... to this day, the first memory I have of running cross country was in the summer of either 7th or 8th grade, it's kind of a blur now. I was walking up the steps from the junior high to our little hill where we set up "camp" before starting our runs and I see some barefooted (yes, barefoot, running long distance) maniac turning the corner and sprinting up the hill. It was Chris Dyer, probably trying to work up some callous or something for the marine boot runs he would soon be doing. Or just displaying that token Marine mentality, whatever you want to call it. Weird how one thing unfolds to another sometimes...
There were three important life lessons I learned from cross country. First, running is not fun. For me at least, I don't think I ever wanted it to be fun. In a twisted way, I think I ran for the pain more than the joy. Sometimes (and more often than not during junior high at least) I let the pain get the best of me. If I got tired, just walk! Duh!
Then came high school. Here I learned two other things. For one, there will always be doubters. Regardless of how much you may think you have busted your ass, there will always be someone out there screaming for your failure. I learned to not only accept this, but embrace it. Use it as fuel for the fire. Ask anyone who was at the Richmond Invitational (admittedly, the one and only race I ever ran in when we were by far the best team) when one of the more vocal parents (nicely put) decided to run in the race also. Yes, this was a high school race. But this man also knew everyone involved and it was a small event anyways, so coaches and parents were allowed to join in.
That our team whole of five average runners finished in the top ten out of about 100 runners. It was the only medal I ever won.
Lesson number three. My legs never were the limiting factor. Neither were my lungs. The mind is always the limiting factor. That damn ugly step brother of Jiminy Cricket just reinforcing what all the doubters are saying on the outside. Sometime's running is even more than an individual sport. Sometimes I had to nearly divide my own body into two parts. Screw you brain, show me what you got legs. It is because of this I started to learn to embrace the pain. It took a while to figure it out but I started to discover that the more I made my body hurt while training or at a race, the better I felt at the end. By the end of freshman year, the last year I ran, I understood those three lessons pretty well. Running isn't fun, but it doesn't have to be, there will always be doubters, and my mind is always the limiting factor.
Continued tomorrow...
For as long as I can remember I have been a bit of a sports junkie. In elementary school I prided myself on my pickle skills. Come junior high I took up cross country. I wasn't too enthused about it at first to be honest, the idea of running for running's sake seemed borderline insane. After the first few practices and seeing my time start to drop it became tolerable.
Somewhat surreal side story... to this day, the first memory I have of running cross country was in the summer of either 7th or 8th grade, it's kind of a blur now. I was walking up the steps from the junior high to our little hill where we set up "camp" before starting our runs and I see some barefooted (yes, barefoot, running long distance) maniac turning the corner and sprinting up the hill. It was Chris Dyer, probably trying to work up some callous or something for the marine boot runs he would soon be doing. Or just displaying that token Marine mentality, whatever you want to call it. Weird how one thing unfolds to another sometimes...
There were three important life lessons I learned from cross country. First, running is not fun. For me at least, I don't think I ever wanted it to be fun. In a twisted way, I think I ran for the pain more than the joy. Sometimes (and more often than not during junior high at least) I let the pain get the best of me. If I got tired, just walk! Duh!
Then came high school. Here I learned two other things. For one, there will always be doubters. Regardless of how much you may think you have busted your ass, there will always be someone out there screaming for your failure. I learned to not only accept this, but embrace it. Use it as fuel for the fire. Ask anyone who was at the Richmond Invitational (admittedly, the one and only race I ever ran in when we were by far the best team) when one of the more vocal parents (nicely put) decided to run in the race also. Yes, this was a high school race. But this man also knew everyone involved and it was a small event anyways, so coaches and parents were allowed to join in.
That our team whole of five average runners finished in the top ten out of about 100 runners. It was the only medal I ever won.
Lesson number three. My legs never were the limiting factor. Neither were my lungs. The mind is always the limiting factor. That damn ugly step brother of Jiminy Cricket just reinforcing what all the doubters are saying on the outside. Sometime's running is even more than an individual sport. Sometimes I had to nearly divide my own body into two parts. Screw you brain, show me what you got legs. It is because of this I started to learn to embrace the pain. It took a while to figure it out but I started to discover that the more I made my body hurt while training or at a race, the better I felt at the end. By the end of freshman year, the last year I ran, I understood those three lessons pretty well. Running isn't fun, but it doesn't have to be, there will always be doubters, and my mind is always the limiting factor.
Continued tomorrow...
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