I remember my first jacknife, not the one my grandfather bought when we went camping. It was the one I stole from a friend. I remember watching him act cool with his knife in second grade. We weren’t supposed to have knives in school, and I wasn’t supposed to have a knife at all. I also wasn’t supposed to steal, or lie to my friend about stealing his knife.
I also remember lighting my first fire, reading my first Playboy, getting my first Bible (hardcover NIV, with a picture of Jesus on the front holding a lamb, and a note from my mom which said “either this book will keep you from sin, or sin will keep you from this book). First beer, first cigar….
I also remember the picture of a bodybuilder on a box in the exercise section of Sears. I wanted muscles like that. I remember how it felt to wrap my hand around that first cast iron dumbell, a black five pounder. I begged for that dumbell like my life depended on it. Then I carried that dumbell around everywhere. I brought it to school, I carried it around the neighborhood.
This first time seeing a guy with bulging biceps started a lifelong obsession, this image of a man, that was how a man was supposed to look. And I wanted to be a man.
I was probably around 7 years old when I got that dumbell. I remember at that same age getting a Jr. Weight set, with plastic weights filled with water. I would do curls and shoulder presses before school, hoping to impress Suzy (I had a crush on her for two years, then her family moved to California.) I also remember getting a set of hand grippers, a chest expander (a set of springs with handles, and every time I used it, the springs would push on my chest and pinch my nipples), and a cotton jump rope that I had to put metal washers on to make it work better and get me stronger (the washers also added motivation because when I messed up they would hit me in the back of the head or in the shins).
In seventh grade I got a real weight set, real jump rope, real punching bags (70 lb heavy bag, and a speed bag) for christmas. I kept a journal of my workouts. I remember the first time I benched 100 pounds and the first time I deadlifted 135. These are milestones I bet every guy remembers. I remember setting new goals each time.
I remember getting Franco Columbu’s book in seventh grade. I memorized everything in it. I stared at the pictures, and dreamed of what life must be like for him. People would really like me if I had bigger arms.
In high school I sent away for “The Bulgarian System”. Guaranteed to work, it was full of secrets from the eastern bloc, and this guy Leo Costas was the first american to be let in on this. Three workouts a day, 6 days a week. I would ride my bike to the gym, then to school, back to the gym, then home for dinner, and then back to the gym. On days that the weather was so bad that I couldn’t ride my bike, I would lift in the basement. (I have also heard a rumor that he has since gone to jail for fraud, if it is just a rumor, he should be in jail anyway- I was so overtrained that I got weaker over three months)
I was a dedicated student of Joe Weider, I saved my money for his miracle powders and read Muscle and Fitness, and MuscleMag. I knew all the bodybuilders lives, I wore the baggy zebra pants…
By college most of my bodybuilding dreams had fallen away as I got into other things, but I think the search for the image of a man never goes away. This search for image is still alive in every circle that I participate in. The image of a “christian man” is the one that I spend most of my energies on now.
I look in the mirror, I see my age. I see my wrinkles, I see my fat. I see hypocrisy, lust, selfishness, fear, pride, shame, laziness. I go to church, I see the image of happy perfect christians. So I think I should pray more, go to more groups, volunteer for more, to try to feed this god I have set up of the image of the christian man I want to be. Worshipping at the altar of who I wish I could be. A christian man bulging with spiritual muscles, knowing I am not there, so I read another book, try the next 6 week course, give more to church.
When will I grasp grace?
