Mirrors

This is my routine. In the locker room, after the workout, I open my locker and take out my towel and put away the record book, wash cloth and jump-rope. I sit on the wooden bench and untie my blue diadora soccer training shoes. The shoes and then socks come off and I store them in the locker. My shirt comes off. Mirrors line the walls all the way to the bathroom. I take a look. Oo, I forgot I shaved my chest. Flex a little. Admire. I check out the side, the profile on the way to the shower. I get another look as I turn the corner, the mirrors above the sinks. Shower. I check myself out on the way to the locker. The clean clothes come on – undies and pants first, I check the mirror, nice. Then socks and shoes. Mirror. The shirt comes last.

here in the HPC

Here in the HPC, I’m daydreaming, looking out over the parking lot. I’m thinking about the sounds I hear. Thuds and metallic tinks, over and under, harder and lighter, tink. It’s the baseball team. I bet they’re doing it on purpose.

Signs in the fitness center say don’t drop the weights – if you do, you need a spotter or you’re lifting too much. I can’t remember anyone breaking that rule. Makes me feel superior to these guys. We’re a sophisticated crew, there in the fitness center. Careful to their careless.

Today, I did see a guy trying too hard, lifting too much. I actually gave him a nickname, something I don’t normally do. Ok, I do. His is Anderson Cooper. His hair was short and silver and he was middle-aged and lean. It was the quad machine. People groan loudly sometimes – I hiss. One guy does a good orgasm. Anderson Cooper here, though, roared. His body, his whole body, strained. I tried not to stare. It was like a wooden two by four about to snap. To each his own. I just assume everyone in there knows what he or she is doing – or at least know more than I. But he looked suicidal the way he did that. Like he was prying open a gator’s mouth.

Jump rope

11-9-07 (Jay’s Bday)

I’m bigger than I’ve ever been. And that’s not saying much. Actually, my last weigh-in, last Wednesday, had me at 180 pounds, which is ten pounds shy of my record, set back when I was training for soccer try outs (though I think a lot of that weight came from my legs – my memory may just lack credibility, alas). This morning I spent some time in the shower looking at my new pecs. Two lumps. To me, they’re mountains but I know to anyone else…. I started warming up this week, before I start lifting. This was Jay’s suggestion. He mentioned it to me this past weekend. He was trying to kill time on his way to a book expo – his new thing is sales. He said he does the elliptical machine for five minutes. I laugh trying to imagine that. I’ve never actually touched any of those “fake running” machines. No thanks. Can’t convince myself that they’re better than running on the ground. Though I did do the row machine, well, that’s different. Anyway, I’m jumping rope. Seems to help. My weights increased this week, except for the military press, and this is why, I think. I’m pooped at that point because I do three exercises in a row using the same muscles – the bench press, incline and military. By military I’m dying. I realized this because Wednesday I had a great military press day – because I had a comfortable bench and incline day. Today, I increased in both the bench and incline and died on the military. Therefore, I will cut out the fourth set of the bench (that was Will’s idea, we’ll see if that changes anything).

One month recap

Here’s a quick recap and a story of my first month of weightlifting.

My muscles cover my ribs now, my arms have grown, so has my back. One month. The first three weeks saw irregular protein powder use but since then I’ve regularly drank my doses. I started tracking my weights after Mario advised me to do so. My workout partner just recently called saying he could no longer commit, so I’m alone now. Finally, I took this last week off since my allergies made me sick. Oh, and Jay offered warming up for five minutes first.

Over this first month I’ve noticed the other weightlifters around me. Mostly men, some thick with muscles others lean, lift the weights while women and older men run the treadmills, elliptical machines and bikes, though women and men often break that mold. Two sights stuck with me. Will and I tried working out at noon one day. Seems that’s what a lot of other people tried that day, too. We waited for a bench to open up. A huge white man in a cut-off t-shirt lifted, well, a lot. I want to say 300 pounds, but whatever it was, it drew a small crowd. Same thing for a younger guy another day. He had maxed out the leg press.