Day 73: Shoulders and Arms and Ab Ripper X

I could write about today's workout, which I have done upwards of 15 times, and tell you how much better I am at it than the first time I did it. "No way, you did the same thing 15 times and now you're better at it?!" Yeah, it's a pretty basic law that if you do something 15 times, your ability in that particular activity will increase. There are some exceptions to the rule like cricket, which I'm pretty sure you need a P.H.D. in set theory to understand or sex. I can honestly say I have not gotten any better at 'the sexin' than the first time I did it. I'm not insulting myself, I was just that good. You know how some people have a natural, god-given (yes, those can both occur at the same time) talent to do super-difficult math questions and they have no answer for this ability, no explanation, and have not undergone any rigorous training for it. They simply claim that their brain spits out some shapes and they interpret those shapes as representing various numbers and, voila!*, they have their answer to the square root of 999 876 674.7890. I'm like these guys, but with fucking. I'm a sex-savant, a sultry swinger of seduction, a purrrveyor of punani punishment; my brain just immediately spits out all the right answers and moves, directing my hips into some sort of multiple-orgasm-inducing satanic salsa. A few times -- at parties, restaurants, movie theatres and the like -- my powers have been activated by, say, a kiss or that scene in Wild Things**, or Graham's sister or imagining Graham's sister in that scene in Wild Things, and, bam!, I black-out and when I come to it's the same thing time and time again: a gigantic pile of mildly-paralyzed, overly-satisfied women panting, huffing down cigarettes with reckless abandon, and speaking in tongues. If some million-woman march occurs in Washington and starts to get out of hand, send me in. All I need is an Ipod equipped with the director's cut of Wild Things and patriarchy will once again, prevail. 

So, yeah, instead of talking about the obvious improvement in this exercise over 73 days, let's dig into something juicier, something more personal and deeper. Let's discuss my self-image. There's a lot to cover here and I intend to work through it during this week's blogs, but, for today, let's just cover the surface, the strictly physical. How do I feel about my body?

In short, I like it and I think you should too. I'm not like Swayze in Roadhouse by any means, but it no longer acts as an obstacle that is conquered by, "well, he's sort of funny". Weirdly enough, I can no longer take my shirt off at parties; before, I was the funny, slightly too drunk guy, with the make-a-wish kid frame and Jewish accountant gut, but now, I would be the douchey guy that has no other positive social characteristics other than triceps you can drink water out of and abs you could grate cinder blocks on. If there is a ketchup bottle in front of me or across the table, I find myself reaching for the one across the table, allowing my t-shirt to ride up on my arm as I flex and crane lift my ketchup to my plate. I refuse to do any social activity where I can't take my shirt off. "Yeah, that sucks man, but I'm going to have to pass on the funeral; it's beach-day bro". 

In all seriousness, whenever something occurs in our lives that is socially positive - getting a senior role in a company, getting stronger, getting published, banging some girls etc. - it is very easy to allow that confidence to cede into other areas it has no business being. You can get in really good shape, but that doesn't mean you should feel more correct when arguing about gay marriage, or Quantum Theory, or find your jokes funnier. The same goes for all other things. And, the opposite occurs too. If you, say, feel insecure about your looks or you didn't get the job you wanted, then it is really easy to feel less confident about your opinions, thoughts, abstract ability to reason etc. The better we feel about ourselves as a whole, the better we feel about the parts that make up the whole; this is illogical. These parts are separate entities - how your face looks and your ability to judge sound reasoning do not reinforce or influence each other. Easier said than done, but it is silly to do so. 

 

Point of all this? I have been watching this process occur in myself and have begun the process of building dams, blocking any positive feelings about my physical appearance from flowing into any other areas it has no business being in. (Plus, lifting weights does not help your face). Ego can ruin experience - if you think you're bigger than the world, how can you be in constant awe of it, if you think you are always right or as smart as anyone, how can you learn from people or become excited by their ideas. Humility allows you to take so much 'new' stuff in; with Ego, you just patch these new experiences onto the old-construct that stands to prove you are this or that great thing; with humility, you are allowed to tear down some of this construct, constantly renewing your perspective on things and yourself. The ego-driven person derives pleasure and contentment from their positive self-image, to tear aspects of it down, is to tear down pieces of the mechanism that allows them to be happy, thus, real, powerful, spell-binding new ideas or experiences will be ignored in favour of serving this construct.

Wow, that was so deep, I am truly awesome. 

In short, I look better, but I am still the same ol' insecure guy that will pull out his penis if it will make people laugh.

Highlights: Millard staring at his reflection in the window flexing his biceps. I think him and Zak share a storage unit for their self-image in the same building. 

State of Mind: I think I am so cool, but not that cool, but pretty cool.

Rating: P90X

*I have gotten manly enough over the last 73 days to be able to say Voila and it still sound cool.

** Do not mistake Wild Things with Where the Wild Things Are. Wild Things has Kevin Bacon and Neve Campbell in it and has no giant, hairy, monsters that represent what our insecurities turn us into, blocking us from attaining the one thing we want, to not be alone, to be loved and cared about. Saddest fuckin' movie ever. I considered putting in Schindler's List afterwards to cheer me up.***

***That's not a Jewish joke...the movie does not actually cheer me up - it's a hyperbole used to underline how sad Where the Wild Things Are is by comparing it to a super-sad movie that powerfully illustrates in grueling, gut-wrenching detail, one of the greatest atrocities in human history. Thought I should clear the air.