Mine, All Mine!

It's the holiday season, and in New York that seems to mean that it's also time to abandom the gym. At least that's the case at the particular midtown gym I've been training at the last few days, much to my delight.

On three separate occasions this past week there were good-sized chunks of time during which I was the only person on the gym floor, and I couldn't have been happier. Imagine: a gym to yourself! I savored every minute, purposely choosing exercises that had me spanning all corners of the gym floor. It was... sublime.

Now, before I start to come across as a complete anti-social nutjob (I'm only a partial one!), I will say that I also enjoy training around others. But it's who those others are that counts. Unfortunately, since moving back to Manhattan from Los Angeles three years ago I've not found a gym that has an even remotely inspiring atmosphere. Here, gyms are more about amenities—towel service, lotion dispensers in the bathrooms, hand sanitizing stations aplenty—and less about working out.

I belong to two gym chains here, both gratis, thanks to my job title and some generous souls, but between the dozen or so gyms I've trained at in the two chains there's just one gym that I would consider joining if I had to pay, and it's only because of the equipment. The clientele at each seems mostly disinterested in the task at hand, preferring to chat, text, and watch TV over lift weights.

Compare this to Gold's Venice, where I was a member for seven years. While there's certainly a lot of socializing going on, most everyone is there to work. There's lots of grunting and crashing of weights and sweat, and on the whole I find it energizing. I feed off the vibe of the place, and I'd like to think I help contribute to it when I'm training there myself (which I do whenever I'm back in L.A.).

But here in NYC, I find myself to be an outlier in the gym. I train hard and fast, with my earbuds firmly planted and my iPod Shuffle playing my favorite gym tunes, and with a focused intensity that I can only imagine is taken for either anger or outright insanity by my fellow trainees. I have the valume turned up to a point where I'm sure I'm doing damage to my hearing in the long-term, but it's to drown out the incessant conversing and rep counting by disimpassioned trainers to their equally unmotivated clients.

All of which is to say that I feel especially blessed this holiday season, because I'm not only celebrating family and friends, and the spirit of giving and remembrance that we all do, but also empty gyms!

Of course I realize that I'd better make the most of this elbow room while I can, because the sobering truth is that the ditch-the-gym season is soon to be followed by the new year's resolution season. Time to charge up the iPod...

Let the Blogging Begin!

Doing what I love to do most, at Doug's Gym in Dallas.

Welcome to my first fitness blog. You'll note that I modified "blog" with "first fitness," because I've had several blogs before this one, covering the environment, politics, and even a comedy blog. But it's fitness with which my name is most closely linked, and as I type this I'm finding myself somewhat surprised that I've not had a blog like this until now. Not exactly, anyway...

Back in 2002 I started a website titled "IronAge" which was dedicated to preserving the history of bodybuilding, and specifically an era I dubbed the Iron Age, which spanned the mid-60's through 1991—the year that the great Lee Haney won the last of his eight consecutive Mr. Olympia titles. It was during this time period that (I believed) bodybuilders' physiques reached their apex, in terms of overall appeal. Guys were muscular yet refined, lean but not overly so, and they aspired to achieve heroic proportions—wide shoulders, flaring lats, strong-looking shoulders and arms, a broad chest, sweeping thighs with defined calves and, importantly, a trim waist. Arnold Schwarzenegger is a guy who competed during this era, and as the best of that time (and some would still say all times) he became my de facto hero when I was around 12 or so.

It was at that age that I began lifting weights. Unlike so many kids though, I didn't lift in an attempt to make the team or get the girl or not get sand kicked in my face. I wanted to be Mr. Olympia, and from the age of 13 until today I've trained as if my ultimate goal is to one day be crowned the best bodybuilder on the planet.

At 13, displaying the physique of a 12-year-old.

Now, I have no delusions that I will ever compete in a bodybuilding contest, much less with the top one, but I haven't lost the work ethic I forged so many years ago when my dreams were grander than my sense of reality. And I'm really glad for that, because these days training is one of my great joys in life. I LOVE training, so much so that I've been a bad friend, relative, and boyfriend on occasion all to get my workout on. Maybe it's because it's so ingrained in me by this point, or because it fits my temperament, or because I'm able to clearly connect the act of training with the results. Whatever the reason, working out is my happening, and it freaks me out.

So, be sure to check back here every now and again to read my musings about working out, nutrition, the making of Muscle & Fitness, Muscle & Fitness Hers, and FLEX magazines, and probably more than a few pointless ramblings—the kind tailor-made for a blog.