Spaghetti arms. That term stuck in my
craw as a teenager. “I'm a runner, okay? Excess muscle is a
detriment in this sport! Among my scrawny runner buddies I'm bulky!”
That illusion lasted until I went to
college. I walked into my dorm room the first day to discover my
roommate looked like an ancient Greek statue of Perseus. David?
Theseus? You get my point.
I tried going to the gym, but dear
looorrrrd that's boring! Stand in front of a mirror and watch myself,
or watch other people watching each other? I'd rather go for a run.
(Rowing was nice though, especially when a gay guy hit on me. “Why
thank you! No thank you, but thank you!”)
I later tried rock climbing, since the
exercise component there is incidental to the enjoyment. It was a lot
of fun (if anyone in the San Francisco Bay Area wants to go rock
climbing, give me a call) but I soon learned that the trick to rock
climbing is to let your bones carry the weight, not your muscles, and
to be careful with your center of balance.
No giant muscles erupted on my arms.
It was better while traveling, since
most of the world doesn't have the leisure time to lift weights for
no particular purpose, they're busy lifting actual things that need
to be lifted. I remember in Jaffna, Sri Lanka, a local guy wanted to
give me a hug hello, next to the construction site where he carried
bags of concrete mix all day. He was of comparable dimensions to me,
but when we clapped a Man Hug on each other, it felt like he was made
of sandbags, not flesh.
I've bulked out a little since my
runner days (I'm more of a fettuccine now) and have long since come
to terms with never being a muscle man or a gym rat. But then a funny
thing happened. I moved into a house...with a kickboxing gym in the
back bedroom. Muay thai, really.
Yup. It's bachelortastic around here.
I'm still not going to bulk up, but I
feel a whole lot better after an hour in there, jumping rope,
punching the bag until my arms get too heavy (which happens
remarkably fast) then kicking it until my breath burns in my throat
(again, unexpectedly immediate).
It also serves as a great decompression
space after a couple hours of trying to mentally-constipated attempts
at writing, or if I'm, say, frustrated that I didn't come up with a
costume for my first Halloween back in the US, nor a place to go
tonight, and am feeling like a social failure and borderline loser.
I was moping (with punches!) about my
lack of costume until I noticed...I was wearing hand-wraps, boxing
gloves, and a borrowed pair of shiny boxing shorts that look
absolutely ridiculous on me.
I still don't have any place to go
tonight, but that's okay. I've been to parties, and the holiday I'm
really looking forward to will be spent with family in four weeks. So
there will be a muay thai fighter handing out candy to the
neighborhood kids here tonight, and I'm looking forward to it.
(Nobody'd better try any “tricks”
though, because I've been working on my right cross...)
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