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Archive for the ‘People’ Category

Years ago when I worked out, I might go at it for two-plus hours—and put in zippo cardio exercise—all in the vain hopes of becoming more like one of my then idols, Arnold Schwarzenegger or Frank Zane, from bodybuilding’s Golden Age.

But not today. I like to do my business quickly and leave. There’s too much more important stuff in my life now to attend to. But if I never go, I start feeling bad, too. So this is my happy compromise.

So a few weeks ago when working out, I headed for the seated leg press sled. It’s a sort of hybrid device between free weight squats and a leg press machine. Thankfully, my club has two of these, so there’s less likelihood of having to wait for someone to finish. But it only went so far in this case, as I now explain.

I noticed there weren’t the usual number of 45 lb plates handy to load onto it. But next to my device, I noticed another leg contraption that had a ridiculous number of these plates stacked on each arm. I counted 28 in all—14 on each arm. 1260 lbs. Now usually, if I’ve seen someone using anywhere near approaching this amount (and this is the largest by far), they tend to be gargantuan dudes to fit the part with a couple of spotters to help them through potential sticking points on their reps.

There had been nobody close to neighboring equipment in several minutes, and I was quickly running out of plates to stack on mine. Then moseys up a tall older gentlemen of lean, lanky build—hardly whom I would have expected to be using this.

Already hacked with this guy for his violation of gym etiquette—leaving a machine unattended for several minutes while using up most of the available plates nearby—I fumed at him with suspicion over any attempt to actually try to press all those plates. When he went to move them, he only pushed all that weight maybe 3-4 inches, not even a quarter of the range of motion (Those of you who work out know the difference that form and range of motion can do to get the maximum effect, and how much harder a modest amount of weight can be when not cutting corners.). I was duly unimpressed.

In the weeks since when working my legs, I noticed the same thing. I want to use the leg press, but the most of the weights are taken up by an unattended machine. To make matters worse, there is a towel spread over it, clearly an attempt to say, “Taken. Don’t use.” Next to it, an unattended seated leg press had a water bottle and keys marking them, too. Well, you guessed it: my friend—“The strongest man in the world”—casually strolls in after a long absence.

I’ve since observed this guy marking off up to three devices at a time. While scowling over his faux presses, I can only guess what he’s doing with all this weight in the first place. Is he a sprinter? Maybe training those muscle fibers for that particular movement? Is he really getting any benefit from it, particularly with 5-10 minute rests between sets?

On one of these days, wanting to get in and out, I walked a distance to find weights to drag back to my device. When my friend showed up, I had apparently interrupted his flow, as he was eyeing my equipment for remaining 45’s he intended to use for his 1,000 lb+ press. I ignored him as non-discreetly as possible, walking great distances to secure more plates for my device—and hinting with my example how to do full presses with short breaks in between sets.

He did not seem to catch on.

Rather, he sheepishly offered to put some plates on my equipment when he was dropping back down on his—noticing my short supply. A few days later, he noticed he had apparently taken over my device when I stepped away for some water, as he made a modest show of wanting to set it back up for me. “Don’t try to be nice, man. That will just get in the way of my fuming at you,” I thought.

I’ve since seen this guy fraternizing with a couple other men. In truth, he may be a decent fellow. But it’s kind of hard for me to want to know him in this light. I’ve gotten so used to him being “that guy.” Do you have someone like this in your life? The one you’ve pegged as “that guy.” Or, “Oh her.”

Maybe I will come around at some point. Gosh darn it, it kind of makes me feel guilty that I may have the bigger issue here. He might even make a friend under different circumstances. I don’t want to sugarcoat the frustration of my experience with this guy. But is there an opportunity for me to get a different kind of workout here? To be stretched and challenged more than just the mental discipline practiced between me and some inanimate device? But to risk humbling myself to know another whom I took offense from, to look at someone as an opportunity rather than an obstacle—that’s a far harder workout.

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The 82nd Academy Awards took place Sunday night. The critics have already given us their takes, variously repeating back to us how they think we felt about them, or else how we should have felt. How tag-team hosting by Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin fell flat, or how they did fairly well, depending who you hear. And of course, there’s the talk on it being a night of firsts, the biggest being the first ever female winning for “Best Director,” for Kathryn Bigelow’s The Hurt Locker. It’s the kind of talk that’s meant to sell audiences.

But all punditry aside, I had a few observations of my own. First off, Kathryn Bigelow is hot!

While this wasn’t really discussed during the ceremonies, with the focus instead given to her artistic talent, former marriage and continuing collaboration with fellow contender James Cameron, and of course, the strong possibility of her making history… blah, blah, blah… I had to wonder, “Man, does anyone else think this woman is really attractive?” And at 58, pretty hot! (Or any age for that matter.) To confirm my hunch, I later punched in “Kathryn Bigelow is” on Google to see what would pre-fill. And sure enough, “Kathryn Bigelow is hot” showed up, with thousands of hits. A couple times during the show, they spoke with James Cameron about her. Not known for a subdued ego, “I’m the king of the world!” Cameron nevertheless offered fairly glowing praise for his ex, as well he should. Yet despite how positive their relationship may be today, all I could think was, “Man, you idiot!”

Then there was the notable true Cinderella story of Gabourey Sidibe, star of another indie favorite, Precious. Throughout the night, Gabourey glowed as she shared top billing with the world’s most famous and beautiful people, based on her freshman film effort. It was really cool to see how so many people responded to this new star with genuine warmth and praise, in a town often known for its obsession with outward beauty and status. Yet, I found one response to be telling, when speaking of Sidibe’s performance, someone asked with amazement Where did this come from? In other words, how did someone without a Hollywood pedigree command such attention?

While I have yet to see Precious (As with many, one of the things I like about the Oscars is getting the popular and critical buzz on films I’ve yet to see and might enjoy.), I was not surprised at all. Not everyone may have it within them to put forth an Oscar-winning performance, but I have this conviction that everyone has within them a glory to bring to the world. A glory that when truly seen, should cause people to go, “Whoa!” Of course, how often do we truly see another person’s glory? Or how often if ever have we been able to tap into this inner place and get seen? Which at least makes the surprise behind the question somewhat understandable.

While it did get slow at times, at certain points I was aware of some warm fuzzies coming over me. For example, there was the moving tribute to the late John Hughes, creative genius behind such classics as Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and Home Alone. But I think this is about more than nostalgia. For I don’t care who I talk to, but practically every person I’ve ever met has some sort of emotional attachment or response to certain stars and films. We need bright and shining stars of some sort to inspire us, whether in our actual lives, or at a cultural or artistic level, as with celebrities. While it can be taken to excess, I don’t think such attraction is lame. And nothing seems to span the chasm in our existential aloneness than our common intrigue with art—and story in particular. All the better, however, when such inspiration offers something authentic and personal or something transcending the status quo, as with Sidibe and Bigelow.

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Last week, Tiger Woods broke his long silence regarding the shocking revelations late last year of a secret life, personally giving a prepared statement in a press conference from the PGA Headquarters in Pontre Vedra Beach, Florida. Immediately afterward, the pundits were giving their takes on his appearance. Some felt it was very appropriate, and hit the right notes. Others thought he was insincere, merely seeking to recover in light of his damaged celebrity and corporate sponsor relationships.

I was struck, though, by Woods’ naming his sin of entitlement, citing it as a factor in his downfall. Prepared statement or not, it took guts to say this. More so, to make some semblance of owning it, as he had his mother sitting right there in front of him, neither of them cracking a smile through the 13 minute confession. That couldn’t have been fun.

I don’t know whether or not Tiger is making an earnest effort to overcome his problems. But I’m glad he said this. Entitlement is a huge problem today. While it probably always has been, I have a sense it’s probably never been more prevalent than now. Yet it often goes unacknowledged, is dismissed, or even openly embraced. Entitlement is one of those things that’s a lot easier to spot in others than ourselves. But it’s also one of those things that can be quite subtle, and fly under the radar for a long time, until like Woods, a lot of damage has been done.

If I’m really honest with myself, I feel very entitled myself. That I deserve certain treatment by others, as when I don’t receive from them what I’m expecting, or the general sense that life ought to be better for me than it is. In fact, I’d be rather embarrassed to give account for some of the things I’ve felt entitled to. Maybe that’s why a lot of us vent so much energy in outrage when we see it in another, because we know this about ourselves.

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So I was over in Winter Park getting recertified for CPR the other day.

I’ve done this routine several times now. But what I expected to be a fairly tame if not boring experience proved to be anything but. The fact that the instructor who welcomed us sported a cap reading “MARINES” in big block letters—and even more the fact that with his hulking no-nonsense presence he looked every bit the part of a former drill instructor—should have been an early tip-off.

Jumping right into our test, Tony immediately started grilling us for answers. And if you blinked, you might miss an important bit he’d be sure to call you out on any second.

At one point, wanting some clarification, I asked Tony about a particular item. In response, he had me go to the ground and give him thirty. Thirty chest compressions on the training dummy, that is.

Another question was asked. In response, Tony started lecturing on the evils of poor hygiene and spread of hepatitis (Lesson: never do CPR without a breathing shield.). Things seemed to calm down a bit, then began a lecture on medical liability (Lesson: make damn sure you have verbal or implied consent before performing any treatment.).

The other class member, Lanika, and I thought we might get a small break when a new person walked through the door. But without missing a beat, Tony’s assistant, Patty—who until this point had been dropping wry comments throughout our grilling—gladly jumped in to take over.

I shouldn’t have been fooled by her friendlier demeanor. For it wasn’t very long before Patty was going, So what are you gonna do now, Brian?! This person only has a few seconds to live! Then came her crazy laugh upon seeing the deer in the headlights look in my eyes.

What seemed perhaps a slightly unorthodox teaching style actually proved to be one of the most effective classes I’ve ever attended. Tony and Patty waste no time helping you to experience the material, not just passively hear it. And barking at us like they did helped cement this serious content.

I was reminded a bit of the late Sam Kinison. His trademark comedy routine always had his characters starting out in a low, calm voice as they asked questions of another. But it was never long before he erupted into a series of screams going, “Ahhhhh!!!! Say it!!!”—reducing his victims to tears and ashes.

Okay, so they didn’t exactly reduce us to tears or ashes. But they didn’t mind giving us a little heat. All I can say is “Thanks.” It might just save a life one day.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7JOqRQO21zY&feature=related

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