the daily snivel
From the spotted to the spotter
The weird thing about hitting the gym three or four times a week is that you are inevitably forced to progress from clueless, intimidated newcomer, and move towards becoming know-it-all, intimidating regular. Machines that once seemed baffling and inexplicable in purpose are now part of my alternating workout routines. Weights that were once unattainable are now being hoisted by my increasingly firm and defined muscle groups. I have to guiltily confess to even doing a little showboating once in awhile, and flexing in front of a mirror (though only when there's no one around). In my defence, it really does sicken me when I see guys strutting around the gym, constantly admiring themselves in mirrors and checking out all the girls like the musclebound narcissists they are. I think a dangerous point comes in the life of almost anyone serious about working out when it can move from self-improvement to self-obsession. It's a constant danger and is an intolerable vanity. There really is one guy in particular who is a serial offender in this regard, and he even makes little "I'm so sexy" faces as he poses unabashedly at every mirror he sees -- a real life Reggie Mantle.
The other night I was doing some bench presses (aside: I'm up to lifting 175 pounds now!), and was enjoying a quiet minute of repose after a set when I noticed a guy apparently lifting more than he could handle over at another bench. Indeed, the bar came down on his chest and he couldn't get it back up. He began calling out to a friend, who was busy working out somewhere else and hadn't noticed, but by that point I'd sprinted over and come to the rescue, and hefted the bar off him. He took some weights off after that and had his friend spot him. I felt good about being able to help out, but also about actually having progressed to the point where I'm on the lookout for others in trouble, and ready to help when someone is stuck or just learning, as opposed to needing a lot of help myself. These days I tend to work out on my own, or with a friend who's just learning, so I know my limits and increase my workouts incrementally and never to an exertion that is more than I could handle.
Not that I'm going about things entirely healthily. A good 75% of my motivation for working out is, of course, based upon my own health and self-esteem. But there's a lingering portion of motivation that is purely the vain quest for beauty, and to end up with body that I desperately hope a certain someone will notice and find attractive. Which isn't to say that I think she's in any way shallow, or that the sight of me sporting more bulgy muscles and a less bulgy tummy will suddenly make her see me in a different light. Our one date, with the many "fools rush in"-esque mistakes I made afterwards, and the close trust and friendship we've developed since then have probably put any past attraction to rest for her. But I will say that there are some nights... nights when I'm dead tired and would rather go home than spend half an hour on the elliptical machine and an hour and a half doing weights, that even the tiniest hope that I might someday nevertheless turn her head and put a twinkle in her eye... is why I ultimately go.
The other night I was doing some bench presses (aside: I'm up to lifting 175 pounds now!), and was enjoying a quiet minute of repose after a set when I noticed a guy apparently lifting more than he could handle over at another bench. Indeed, the bar came down on his chest and he couldn't get it back up. He began calling out to a friend, who was busy working out somewhere else and hadn't noticed, but by that point I'd sprinted over and come to the rescue, and hefted the bar off him. He took some weights off after that and had his friend spot him. I felt good about being able to help out, but also about actually having progressed to the point where I'm on the lookout for others in trouble, and ready to help when someone is stuck or just learning, as opposed to needing a lot of help myself. These days I tend to work out on my own, or with a friend who's just learning, so I know my limits and increase my workouts incrementally and never to an exertion that is more than I could handle.
Not that I'm going about things entirely healthily. A good 75% of my motivation for working out is, of course, based upon my own health and self-esteem. But there's a lingering portion of motivation that is purely the vain quest for beauty, and to end up with body that I desperately hope a certain someone will notice and find attractive. Which isn't to say that I think she's in any way shallow, or that the sight of me sporting more bulgy muscles and a less bulgy tummy will suddenly make her see me in a different light. Our one date, with the many "fools rush in"-esque mistakes I made afterwards, and the close trust and friendship we've developed since then have probably put any past attraction to rest for her. But I will say that there are some nights... nights when I'm dead tired and would rather go home than spend half an hour on the elliptical machine and an hour and a half doing weights, that even the tiniest hope that I might someday nevertheless turn her head and put a twinkle in her eye... is why I ultimately go.
