PenteKing’s BodyBlog

Yesterday, I went for a bike ride with my partner, Julie. We both wanted to put in a couple of hours, climbing hills (a notorious weakness of mine). So, I dutifully saddled up, and biked over to her house (about 2 miles from me). We then proceeded to attack a couple of hills. So far, so good, and no problems. Then we decided to take spin around Fiesta Island. This spot is perfect because it forms nearly a perfect five-mile oval, with a headwind on the back end of the road that really makes you work. Julie and I were clocking along at about 18 - 19 miles an hour and feeling pretty good. We knocked off after that, and went our respective ways.

Upon returning home, I sat down, did some letter writing and networking (have to find a new job). When I went to get up, my entire back seized on me. Lordy, lordy, lordy, did it ever take me by surprise. Have you ever had one of those back spasms so intense that it dropped you to your knees? That’s how it was with me. At that point, my only option was to hobble (and I do mean hobble) over to the medicine cabinet, down two muscle relaxers, and retire to bed. I slept most of the day, but in a fitful way, being unable to toss and turn the way I normally do.

I’m better today, but nowhere near to being back to normal. I can walk, but bending over or twisting to the side is agony. Julie says its my body’s way of reacting to the stress of being laid off. I say it was that damn speed trial on Fiesta Island. Not that it matters which one is really the culprit. What does matter is getting back to my old self. Wish me luck, fellow bodybuilders, and say a prayer for my recovery.

I got laid off from work, my rent is due

My kids all need brand-new shoes

So I went to the bank to see what they could do

They say, “Son, looks like bad luck’s got a hold of you.”

Money’s too tight to mention.

I can’t get an unemployment extension

I called up my brother to see what he could do

He said, “Brother, I’d like to help you, but I’m unable to

So I went to my father, oh, my father

He said, “Money’s too tight to mention.”

Oh, money, money, money

I can’t even qualify for my pension

Money’s too tight to mention

We’re talking about money, money

We’re talking about money, money

We’re talking about money, money

We’re talking about money, money

What are we all to do?

When money’s got a hold on you?

Money’s too tight to mention

With apologies to Simply Red for appropriating their lyrics, but it seemed like the thing to do, because I’ve been laid off from work.

One would think, in this day and age, that all of the misconceptions and misinformation about female bodybuilding would be a thing of the past. Sadly, that is not the case. Today, while working out in the gym (way earlier than usual because I recently lost my job), I got into a rather heated discussion with two other gym members who thought that a female member (who I know very well) was "too masculine".

Normally, I would ignore jerks like this because talking to them has the same effect as talking to the rug. (In fact, sometimes you get a better reaction from the rug.) But what they said rankled me. Fabiana is a good friend of mine, and an occasional lifting partner. I know how strenuously she diets, and how hard she works to build a world-class physique. Her grit and determination are characteristics anyone would be proud to emulate. I consider her my friend. So when these two pissants started making snide comments, I lit into them. The exchange got so heated that the on-duty manager felt compelled to intervene and asked us to take the conversation outside. Wisely, I chose not to do so. (Two against one is never a good idea, especially if you’re on the receiving end.) I put the lid on my temper, plugged in my iPod and continued my workout. The two jomokes, after some muted grumbling, left the gym. Fabiana, who had heard from the manager what the altercation was about, came over to thank me for sticking up for her. I will tell you what I told her.

In the animal kingdom, no one would look at the female of the species and consider them to be "too masculine", no matter how well- or strongly-built they were. Lionesses are every bit as fast and powerful as their male counterparts, and if not for the mane around the male’s neck, you could probably not tell them apart. And it is a fact that the lioness does the lion’s share (poor joke) of the hunting for the pride. Is that consider "masculine"? I think not.

Female bodybuilders should be admired. They work long and hard to sculpt their bodies into works of art. They are justifiably proud of their strength and prowress - as well they should be. I suspect that most men who deride female bodybuilders are either afraid of, or secretly envy them. They aren’t secure enough in their own masculinity to accept the fact that women can be every bit as powerful and self-sufficient as any man. If that’s the case, grow up. Female bodybuilders are here to stay, and here is one man who is damned glad of it.

Yesterday, I participated in the American Diabetes Association’s Tour de Cure. This is a bike ride, designed to raise funds for, and awareness of, diabetes. This disease is rapdily becoming an epidemic, especially among the younger children (children 12 and younger). Because this disease has affected members of my family, I do what I can to help stamp it out. Yesterday, I rode my bicycle 100 miles in and around San Diego county. It was a long, hot and arduous day, but not without its moments of serendipity. Here are some sights and observations.

A man driving a motorcycle with a side car attached. Riding in the sidecar, ears flapping in the wind, tongue lolling out of its mouth, was the happiest cocker spaniel you could ever hope to find.

Sitting alongside a makeshift shrine to his deceased wife, a bereft young man with tears streaming down his face, regretting the wasteful loss of a loved one to a tragic accident.

Parked alongside a stretch of beach in Oceanside, a dog and his master, asleep in the back of a battered pickup truck. Man and dog were snuggled against one another like lovers.

Watching, horrified, as one of my fellow cyclists put on a burst of speed to elude the driver of a pickup truck, who, for no reason we could ascertain, tried to run her off the road.

The event itself was smaller than last year, which is probably not surprising, given the state of the economy. What was surprising was how poorly organized it was. Usually, the organizers run things with the precision of a Swiss watch. Yesterday, there were innumerable gaffes, miscues and errors. It made things difficult.

The ride itself was challenging, as always. I’m glad I participated. I managed to raise $1,000 (less than last year), but every dollar counts.

This is San Diego’s tag line - America’s Finest City. I relocated here four plus years ago from Toronto, Ontario, Canada. I left Canada with real regret. In my opinion, Toronto is one of the world’s first-class cities. It has art, music, sports, museums, night life, great ambience, and people of virtually every ethnic background co-habit in peace and harmony. Sadly, my visa expired, and I had to leave. In deciding where to live next, I considered San Francisco, but decided that I couldn’t stomach the inclement weather. So San Diego was my choice. I wanted to live on the West Coast, amidst sunshine and sand, in an environment where I could be outdoors year-round. Life hasn’t turned out the way I wanted it to be.

Don’t get me wrong. San Diego is an okay city, but it is certainly NOT America’s finest. The City Council years ago made a decision that has since bankrupted the city’s coffers. The city’s crown jewel, Balboa Park, is seedy-looking and worn down. The downtown corridor boasts the Gaslamp District, and not much else. The Symphony is a joke, and the Opera company tries hard, but too often falls short of the mark. Live theater exists, but the caliber of the performances is barely above the level of high school productions. Art? In the immortal words of Tony Soprano, "Fuggedaboutit!" San Diego is a city that has no idea what it wants its identity to be. The plans to build a world-class library has been repeatedly blocked because there is a real resistance to intellectualism. Critics claim that it’s about the money, but residents know better. The city can find money when it comes to funding sporting events (don’t get me started on the Chargers stadium deal), but when it comes to art, science, dance and music, the city fathers can’t be bothered. It’s sad, really. This city has a golden opportunity to transform itself into a thriving mecca for people of all walks of life, but there is no one (and I mean NO ONE) with the wherewithal to realize its potential.

I think it may be time for me to make another change.

There is so much conflicting information about nutritional supplements, it’s hard to know what is truth and what is reality. I try to read everything I can because I’m one of those curious individuals. Even so, I’m not sure what’s what. I know that Branched Chain Amino Acids are good. The jury seems to be out on the virtues of soy and rice protein, although consensus of opinion gives a "thumbs up" to whey protein. A few of my bodybuilding buddies extol the merits of SuperPump. They swear by it, but I’ve tried it, and the results have been indifferent for me. The same with creatine. I followed the instructions to the letter, but the promised increase in strength and endurance have eluded me.

Now, I’m the first to admit that the problem may lie in my genetic structure. I am a notoriously hard gainer. My body is more resistant to change than a Fundamentalist preacher. So, the problem may lie within. Still, I wonder. The supplement companies of course have an incentive to make you believe that their products are the end-all and be-all of all creation. So my question is this - are the supplements worthwhile, or are they simply a waste of money? Post your opinion. Enquiring minds want to know.

I keep myself motivated in a wide variety of ways. I have found that it’s best that I don’t rely too heavily on any one method of motivation because I grow easily bored, and if I follow the same routine for too long, I eventually lose interest and stop doing it. That is what happened to me when I first started bodbuilding nearly twenty-five years ago. I hired a trainer, befriended a nutritionist, and went to work. Unluckily for me, the trainer wasn’t very good, and never forced me to work hard. He was satisfied simply that I made it through my pre-established routine without injuring myself. As you may suspect, I had less than stellar results, grew bored and frustrated with my lack of progress, and dropped the entire bodybuilding lifestyle. HUGE MISTAKE!

What I should have done, was fire my trainer, find someone who was serious as I was about my goals and objectives, and started over from square one. Instead, I took the easy way out. Fortunately, I was wise enough to learn a lesson from that experience. When I picked up the bodybuilding lifestyle again, I vowed that I wouldn’t fall into the same rabbit hole as last time.

What I do now is change my routine every 12 to 16 weeks. Not only does this keep my body guessing, but it also keeps my mind sharp and focused. Most importantly, I have engaged a trainer and nutritionist (and they are one and the same person) who is just as committed as I am to my success. I can’t begin to tell you what a difference that has made for me. Although I train by myself, it’s nice knowing that my trainer is with me in spirit. We communicate via email, and her advice and exhortations to me are like the Song of Bernadette to my ears (a Catholic allusion - apologies to all my non-Catholic readers).

A few days ago, I wrote of my frustration with my seeming lack of progress. My friend, Laurie, was kind enough to gently chide me into realizing how far I have come thus far on my journey. She reminded me that it is a long road, and that, realistically, I will never be satisfied with my progress. Laurie reminded me that this dissatisfaction was part and parcel of the motivation that keeps me going. The desire for the imagined ideal is what gets me out of the house and into the gym. It’s the willpower I need to sip a bottled water instead of a bottle of beer. I will continue to dig deep. I will continue to help other aspiring bodybuilders in any way that I can. I will continue to advocate living a healthy lifestyle to family and friends. I will continue…I will.

Peace to all my bodybuilding brothers and sisters. 

And no, I don’t mean those voices that tell me to go out and blow s**t up! I’m talking about that voice that motivates me. The voice in my head that screams at me, "YOU CAN DO IT!" when that last rep feels like 600 pounds instead of 60. It’s the voice just over my shoulder that whispers in my ear, "Are you going to quit now? Now? When all you have left is two more stinking reps?" That voice. I don’t know if you have a similar voice in your head, but I certainly do.

It’s with me every second that I’m in the gym. He’s the constant nag who is always pushing me to go heavier and go longer. He’s the one who pushes me up the hill on my bicycle when my legs feel like rope. It’s the voice that is my constant companion - the one who always shows up, ready to work out, even when my body is not. That voice is the prod that gets my lazy a** out of bed at zero dark thirty in the minute so that I can pull on my sweats and do my HIIT workout. That voice is the one that stops me from reaching for the doughnut in the company break room. That voice is the one that never lets me down; never lets me cheat; never lets me forget why I started this lifestyle in the first place. In the face of all temptation to the contrary, in the face of all the detractors I meet up with, in the face of all adversity that threatens to pull me away from bodybuilding, that voice is in my corner. That voice is with me, night and day, rain or shine, come hell or high water, 365 days a year.

It’s you and me, buddy. I know you won’t let me down.