Hi again. So, to recap, I was 238, bald and marshmallow-y. Ok, good, now that is cleared up. But let's digress. Just how did I get into this weightlifting racket? Ah, it was the typical scenario of dad having some weights laying around and junior suddenly grows some biceps. That is exactly what happened though.
It was 1984. I had a bitchin' head of brown hair, wore parachute pants that were WHITE (that takes balls), was obsessed with Ratt and basketball and had already gotten through the zit stage. Early bloomer, what can I say? So, in the garage there are some of those old plastic weights. You know the kind, from Sears. Filled with sand and cheap looking and leak a slow death when the sand finds an exit. Yep, I decided to do some bicep curls and a few months later noticed that my jumpshot didn't require me to jump. My arms were strong enough that it altered my hoop game. Hmm, there's something to this, I thought...
You know what comes next; following the workouts directly from the magazines. Oh yes, the path to awesomeville was at my fingertips. Just turn the pages and you too shall be transformed into a modern day Charles Atlas. My body did change but in typical Boon fashion my initial burst of muscle growth occurred during cross country season. Yep, yours truly was the team captain! Still, I gained 10 pounds during the season, which probably didn't help me secure a college scholarship to run, as I had a talk with the Montana State coach. He decided that my times were a tad too slow. Damn you, muscle.
After graduation we moved back to Alabama from Miami and I fell back in with a few old friends. They were both about to play college football so I tagged along to the gym. My first time squatting ended up with me looking up, falling forward and crunching my finger between the bar and the cage. Dandy. But, the body responded and over the next few months I put on 30 pounds. Not unheard of when you're 18.
Fast forward a few years. Lifting heavy, growing, not sure what is working or why but it is so who cares and I don't need a day off because I'm feeling awesome and this music is so badass that I want to do more sets. You know, full of piss and vinegar and bravado. I get offered some synthetic testosterone, 25 tabs. Hmm, is this ok? I actually have morals and debated over this, since I lived with mom and dad and knew that any sudden growth, zits, rage or sticky towels would kinda give it away. Screw it, let's do it. So it was did and boy, was it done good. 30 pounds in 8 weeks, plus 7 more after the last tab was taken. They didn't call me the Water Buffalo for no reason, son. I earned that. Good lord, that was awesome!! I can't fucking breathe or tie my shoes but who cares? I'm big and strong! This was 1994. It has taken me until the past few months to take all that weight off...
I was so meticulous with the tabs that with the precision of a surgeon I butterknifed the pills into quarters. Knew enough to start with a quarter pill and work up to a full. This was spread over the seven weeks and I must say in that regard I got it right. Even the pill dust was accounted for. Like a drug dealer cutting his cocaine, nothing was wasted. I wrote and charted when and how much to take. It was for growth, for crying out loud! 25 tabs changed my life, for better or worse. I still can't decide. But this is what my calling was; to lift and be big and damn it, I did it pretty well. Some of my best weights over the years, you ask? Sure. Squatted 455x8 with no wraps, leg pressed 1300x8, military pressed 275 for reps, hack squatted 675 for a dozen, and so on.
And now I couldn't care less. As we get older we realize that life isn't about how much we can impress everyone else, it's about being healthy and impressing just ourself. My competition now comes from within only. Have not been under the bar only a few times in the past few years for some light front squats, have not benched in well over a year, hardly do any direct arm work. Guess what? Look and feel a ton better. It stems from being happy with me as a person first. Before it was about impressing others; now it's not in the conversation. I don't care how much you bench, bro. But, are you a good friend, husband or son? Do you help others and act respectful? Do you say please and thank you? That goes much further. And I get it.
Maybe i didn't screw myself so bad...
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