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The Challenge To See if My Middle-Age
Broken Ole' Body Can Get Back Into Top Shape
As you can see by my picture in the slide show
(The one with
me holding a trophy for winning a power lifting; meet that I had
been roped into unexpectedly at the last second) I was one buff
guy.
I was also forty years old, at an age that
most people would consider to be well past the likelihood of
being in that kind of shape... especially without the use of
steroids.
Below are some of the
statistics of my performance levels when I was in top shape.
At the bodyweight of one hundred and eighty pounds I was
able to bench press 460 pounds with a pause (Without a bench shirt) and 480 touch and
go. I was not just a one rep wonder, as I was able to do 300 pounds
for twenty-five reps with a pause on the bottom of each rep.
If
I bounced the weight I could do 325 for over twenty repetitions. I could at the end of a high volume workout finish off with
300 pounds in a behind the neck press all the way down to my
shoulders with a pause, and do 175 pounds for twenty five reps.
I could do a underhand preacher curl at
the end of a workout with 180 pounds. I could do body building
squats upright and very deep with 425 pounds for 25 repetitions
for my first set and pyramid up to finish off with 600 pounds at
the end of a high volume workout.
I was able to do 525 pounds
for 25 repetitions in the squats if I did them just like Louie Simmons
power lifting style. (This style adds 100 pounds on any given
rep range). I could do dips with 225 pounds strapped to me for
25 reps and finish off with 300 pounds strapped to my body.
Even though I was not a bodybuilder,
and did not I pay too much attention to my diet or take protein
shakes I was able to achieve a respectable degree of muscular
size while maintaining a low percentage of body fat. For the
sake
of clarity, I could have carried much more muscle and I could
have been much more defined, but I have always preferred to enjoy
staying rather light as I strove to achieve a high body strength
ratio.
It was not until I met my former fiancée'
that her delicious meals led me down the road to ruination (I
think she was the anti-Christ).
At the body weight of one hundred and
eighty pounds and height of five foot eight inches, I carried no
more than 8% body fat. I had a fifty-five inch chest, a thirty
inch washboard waist, almost eighteen inch arms, a twenty-one
inch neck, nineteen inch calves, fifteen inch forearms and
thirty inch thighs.
On a treadmill I could walk at a five to six
mile an hour pace for at least an hour (Only on a treadmill!).
Although, I am not a skilled fighter and practically any skilled
fighter could have kicked my ass, my hand reflexes were at least
three times faster than the average untrained human. I was also
a pretty fair sprinter.
I was capable of massive strength
endurance....meaning I could train all day long with heavy high
volume workouts that would kill most men (even steroid users)
This capacity proved to be handy when I often worked long hard
hours at construction sites (after I completed an eight to
twelve hour shift working
for the federal agency).
I would often play table tennis for
eight hours straight, non-stop, aside from a few bathroom breaks
and an occasional swig of water. My body was very resistant to
extreme heat and extreme cold and I required very little food and
not too much sleep. If I had to, I could sleep soundly on a
concrete floor.
Does all of this sound too incredible?
Well, if called to do so, I could bring forth numerous witnesses
to vouch for me as well as trophies won as well as records that
still stand. Even my former fiancée' would vouch for me. She always referred to me
as her own personal
Cromag.
At forty I looked like I was thirty and I enjoyed the far
greater sexual
vigor than most men in their twenties.
Does all of this sound like I'm bragging?
Well you would be right! I am bragging! Ha!
But seriously and more to the point, bragging or not, I am not sharing this
info with you for my own self-glorification. I am merely being
like Jack Webb in Dragnet:; "Just the
facts ma'am, just the facts" What makes me so passionate about weight training (proper
weight training) is that practically any man can achieve the
level of performance that I had attained; without steroids. Of course
it helps if you start at a fairly young age. (no older than
thirty is preferable and the younger the better). For
example, I started when
I was fourteen.
Still not convinced that I am just
using this forum to brag?
Fair enough. (Check the Link at the end
of story to see why I must give these facts).
Now let me share with you
the
horror
of what I have degenerated into.
Several years ago, I started battling
the federal agency where which I worked. Because of more factors
than I care to get into. I dove into a
unhealthy downward spiral into severe illness . I literally
faced death more than a few occasions. In addition to my poor
health, the enormous stress and lack of sleep did much to tear me
down even further.
Also, stresses that came from my family and relationships
added to my problems and worked to diminish my health
exponentially. Many factors made my training sporadic and my
diet was for shit... if I ate at all.
For several years I was on a wide
variety of prescription drugs, all of them causing very
unpleasant side affects... some of them quite dangerous.
Many of these drugs were cortisol based
and the chronic use of these drugs are very dangerous, causing
many of the bad side affects that heavy chronic users of
anabolic steroids experience (without any of the benefits of
enhanced size or strength). In fact, chronic cortisol use is very
catabolic and encourages your body to store fat. It can be very
toxic to the liver, kidneys, pancreas, harmful to the connective
tissue, and it causes the bones and teeth to become brittle.
It can also cause some unpleasant
sexual side affects; to be exact....a sexless zombie.
As if I did not have enough on my
plate, I was involved in a auto accident that left me with
injuries to my back, neck and shoulders, that pretty much made
training impossible for a few years.
To say I was depressed would certainly be
putting it mildly. As a form of therapy (and also a way to feel
productive) I worked on a couple of books...one of which is a
weight training book for people of all ages. It is
specifically aimed at people who are toying with the idea of
taking steroids. I figured that since I could no longer lift weights, I could at
least write about it and instruct other people.
In the end, I hated the thought of having to respond to questions as to what I
was capable of physically, i.e. "Well I use to...."
It was then that I learned why so many people
who write fitness and nutritional books look like hell.
As I worked on my books I adopted the Bill Clinton pre-heart
attack game plan, which was parking my increasingly fat ass at
the computer for sixteen hours a day. I indulged in this all the way into the wee
hours of the morning drinking beer, alternating with coffee and
eating pizza.
The trim one hundred and eighty pounds
seemed like a long distant memory or a figment of my imagination as I found myself
topping the scales out at two hundred and thirty pounds.
Guinness and other snacks started to circle within my gravitational
field. Because I still
carried quite a bit of muscle and unlike most people, I don't hold the doughy kind
of fat, my appearance was deceptive. I appeared to the untrained
eye to look like what some people would call burly.
The truth was, I was fat as hell. I carry what I call hard
cheese fat - perfect for a heart attack.
Relatives and ex-coworkers were coming
out of the woodwork to point and gloat; "My God, I'd never
thought I see the day that
you would get a gut", they
snickered. Their comments hurt me to the bone. Not so
much for the sake of vanity, because I was never one to point
out other people's imperfections and I was disappointed to
witness the cruel shallow part of people I had thought were
concerned for my well-being.
Gone was my glorious shredded six pack
abs , now instead a pony keg was in its place. It was if God on
a shitty day decided to do a genetic recombo job and make
me look like Burt Reynolds and Dom Deluise had morphed
together.
Gone
was my youthful sexy appearance. I looked old and grey,
grizzled and besotted, with a drinkers face and a drinkers
uncaring attitude. If I failed to shave for a few days, I was
told I still looked like a movie star; like
Bruce Willis'
father! Girls who used to flirt, now called me
Sir
and asked if I needed help with any physical task.
Gone was the endless, bottomless
endurance... just bending over to tie my shoes had me wheezing and on
the verge of a stroke.
Gone was the sexual vigor. I simply
lost interest.
One of life's little perversities, made
itself apparent during this period in my life; two types of
people seemed to crawl out of the taverns to aggressively let
me know about their sexual interest in me.
The first type were young
"girls gone
wild" types of women in
their early twenties, and believe it or not...very young very
effeminate gay men; (And in the words of Jerry Seinfeld, "Not
that anything is wrong with that). I think both groups were desperate to enact some pretty serious "Daddy" issues.
Perhaps they had a fetish for rough trade.
The attentions from these two groups
frustrated or perplexed me. Even though I wasn't interested in
dallying with either group... I bitterly wondered where the hell
were these girls when I was young, beautiful and filled with
sexual vigor. In the case of the very young gay men... I only
wondered why just that group of gay men? Why not the butches or
the gay men my age. Not that I swing that way, but my mind often
wonders and roams when I am perplexed.
Anyway, my newly acquired fans thought I was "Hot" because I had a "I don't give a shit
attitude." Seemly, this happens when you don't
care about your appearance and are not actually looking for sex?
Oh sure, there were those few instances
when a classy young lady managed to see an echo of what was once
a sexual dynamo, and made overtures for an unforgettable night.
And believe me, it was during those times that I felt grateful
and flattered. However, more often than not, if I was distracted
with the choice of a night of sexual delight or a night alone
(curled up on the couch with a pint or two
of
Haagen Dazs
while watching Masterpiece theater) the couch usually won.
Even my doctor who always remembered me
as being a bit of a satyr was concerned about my
sudden lack of interest in sex. From our conversation, I learned that I have also lost
some of my hearing. When he mistook my lack of interests as
inability, I thought he was asking me "Do you think you want to
check out Niagara?"
I wondered, "Why in the hell is he telling
me to check out Niagara falls?"
"Check out
Niagara? Why?"
"No, no". he said. "Do you think you want
to check out Viagra?"
I told him I simply was not interested.
I suspect I will never have that level of interest
again....unless by a miracle I met someone with the same
chemistry I had shared with my ex. Yeah, right... and The loch ness
monster is real!
It was about this time that women in
their sixties or seventies were giving me the eye. I really
don't know what we would have been able to do together. Perhaps
we could have languished in front of the fireplace side-by-side
as we knitted doilies.
So shortly after my retirement I had
become what I always have dreaded: I had become like most middle aged
American men languishing about on the couch ... and just too damn
comfortable.
The fact is I have become very uneasy with the level of comfort I had seemed
to resigned myself to.
I decided to take the bull by the horns. I figured
if I could not lift weights, then at least I could do the hated
aerobics. I started to walk. Not so bad. Then I decided to walk
the hills. Ah yes, the hills, those long cruel slopes as Phoenix
was so often fond of calling them between wheezes on those
occasions he cared to join me. Especially "Murder Hill". They
were very humbling. I shit you not... I had groups of seventy
year old blue haired ladies zipping past us on the hills as they
chattered merrily among themselves. No doubt excited about their
next quilting bee.
The worst offense was they
good-naturedly chided me for my lackluster performance but
encouraged me that things will get better as I wheezed and wobbled
up the hills like a gut-shot elk. My liver and lungs felt like
they would come out of my body like a frighten sea cucumber.
They of course would just laugh at me like a bunch of evil
trolls. (Nasty bitches).
Watching these cruel ole' bitches disappear quickly
into the distance made me wonder if maybe I should start
taking
Centrum Silver, perhaps some
Ensure'
or a six-pack of
Geritol
along with
Benifiber, wouldn't hurt I
reasoned. I would have to keep all of this secret from my
friends of course. It was then that I understood how an Olympic
athlete must feel when he hides his steroid use from the world.
Some days on the hills I wondered if I should
purchase some
Depends. I started
fantasizing about the pros and cons of getting a
Rascal
or a Scamp. I was into side by side cost
and performance comparables. I would have to rev them up
of course...lift kits, extra wide tires... you know...the works.
I reasoned it might be a good idea to get an early start to
familiarize myself before it became too late.
Certain clothes
started to look more stylish, such as the high water garden
green stretch pants, Oxford orthopedic loafers, and the
attractive yellow golf hats.
It was during these months that I
seemed to instinctually wander into the ointment aisle at the
local supermarket. I'd spend an eternity checking out the various ointments for the
various solutions they promised for people heading 'towards the
golden decay of death. I got to the point that I wasn't even trying
to sneak to these aisles for the elderly without someone I know
catching me.
I wanted some insider information on the
various nuances of my impending decline, so I started to hang out more at
VFW coffee shop
where the really old people hang out... just so I could listen to
them cross reference their assorted maladies and afflictions of
aging.
I would store all of this knowledge as
a data-base to be used later. Maybe I could catch a bad
developing symptom ahead of time. I was really getting into the
role of becoming old!
As all of this was occurring, I kept up with walking and hitting the
hills.
Eventually I lost thirty pounds and got
a fair amount of my wind back.
Now I feel like I am ready to reclaim
my youth, or at least some semblance of it. I feel like Fast
Eddie Felson in the Paul Newman movie "The Color of Money."
I have even managed to toss out all of
those nasty ointments. Yes, that's right... I am ointment free
and living large.
I'm coming back!
Now if I could only find those old biddies
that laughed at me! I'd show them! Maybe a headlock or
something!
My new mission is to get in the shape that I
was when I was forty. You know the picture, the one where I'm
sporting a self-satisfied smile that all is right with the world
and nothing could go wrong.
As I ponder this goal, I am forced to
evaluate where my body stands.
Since the accident I am an inch shorter and
after the thirty pound loss, I now weigh in at two hundred
pounds. My body fat level is probably 16% to 20%. I still have some
orthopedic issues that I will have to train around.
My chest now measures forty-seven or forty -eight inches, my
arms sixteen and a half, my calves measure seventeen, my thighs
twenty-six, my neck is nineteen, my forearms, fourteen. My
waist? Sigh... holy crap! Well my waist is now down from thirty-six to almost
thirty three or four.
My strength levels are for shit. Actually, compared to most men my age I am still far stronger
and sadly this is the case compared to most men half my age.
This doesn't say much for Americans, does it? I can't give any
credit to genetics.... my level of existing strength is due to
all of the high volume heavy training that I have done
consistently for over thirty years.
My flexibility is gone and my sprinting speed
is nothing to brag about... a motivated senior citizen with a
walker could keep up with me. I will need to work on all of this.
The challenge will be to get back into my
best shape, both in the way I had looked and physical
performance.
I am betting I will do it in six months and no more than a year
on the outside (only because of the orthopedic issues from the
accident). I will do it without the use of anabolic steroids or
for that matter any performance enhancing drugs.
I will make one concession to my
training routine that I had not done when I was younger. I will
look into using natural supplements and other natural
alternative methods also available. I will keep everyone
apprised as to what exactly I will be doing and using.
Unfair you say?
Oh, come on now. After all I am a
middle-age old duffer. I even have the cackling laugh or call
signal of
all middle age duffers .....
Aarp,
aarp,
aarp,
aarp. Hell, I even
have the disadvantage of having lower naturally occurring
testosterone levels. If my lack of drives is an indicator as to
how low my testosterone level is, then the chances are that I'm
developing a womb. (I do catch myself watching Oprah with
increasing frequency).
The good news is, if experience
and research is of any use.... weight training and proper eating
elevates natural testosterone levels in older men. Chatting with
the pretty young ladies at the community college and Grilla
bites restaurant helps quite a bit also. I suppose the near dead
remnants of this once sexually dynamic hetero is ready to rise
from the tomb. (Sort of like the mummy) How about a hummy for
the mummy?
My doctor would be happy to hear that
my other interests have started to reawaken from
the long slumber. Perhaps, one day, God willing, I may
have occasion to share some quality
naked
time
with some fetching lass.
Until that day comes, I have other roads to travel and miles to
go.
Today, I made my first major start at
reclaiming what was once mine!
Today was my first day back at lifting!
It feels great to be alive!
I can't wait to get sore!
Ready of not...here I come!
AT THE RISK OF SOUNDING LIKE I AM BRAGGING, IT IS IMPERATIVE
THAT YOU KNOW MY PERFORMANCE STATISTICS - CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT
WHY
CHECK OUT MY WORKOUT DIARY TO SEE HOW I DID ON MY FIRST DAY!
Why Steroids are overly
regarded!
COMING SOON: Big Sam and his boys at Superior
Athletic Club
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