Dave Draper: Supermarket Connection

[Guest guest]

I couldn't resist lifting this essay from Dave Draper's weekly newsletter to share with you folks. Although Dave is a veteran bodybuilding (oh how you love to loathe that word), his experiences in the supermarket will surely sound familiar to you. Dave is "our age," and an all-natural-no-steroids athlete...not a CRONer, of course, but I bet he'll get a lot of life out of his senior years!

Draper here... The Supermarket ConnectionA question for you, but not about you:How many people on the streets going about their daily business reallythink about their body? But for our thoughts, there is nothing morepresent and indelible. Our body contains all we are, holds us together andtransports us about the earth's surface. We are in many ways our body andI assume everyone on not infrequent occasions flashes on his or her flesh.Are they concerned about its shape primarily, what it looks like to themand to others? How well it performs, its condition, strength anddurability, do these matters cross their mind? Do they wonder, worry andwince, shrug their shoulders and move on?I take risk and submit that smiles of contentment are rare among thethoughtful. An uncomfortable and inadequate feeling must periodicallyseize many of them as they walk past a reflective window at the mall andcatch themselves off guard. Who they really are looks back in despair, awide drooping figure lost to its own devices, gracelessly pursuing itserrant footsteps or a crooked construction of flesh-covered bone, broad inthe middle and soft at the edges. Written within a cloud of thought abovethe sad character in this cartoon depicting today's dilemma are the words,"But I'm not yet 35."A sad condition, indeed. Neglect is personal rejection. Moving the couch to make room for the big screen TV reveals more awkwardtruths. The ensuing struggle between you and the material world ishumbling. You stub your toes, strain your back, push, lift and pull andnothing moves up or forward including your opinion of yourself. ~Approval by one's peers is limited by approval of one's self. ~Confidence is one's personal security system and requires continualrewiring and upgrading and attention. ~Well being engenders cheerfulness, enthusiasm and creativity and theenergy and desire to sustain them. ~Responsibility and respect are not free gifts nor can they bepurchased; they are the most precious of possessions gained by discipline,long practice and a kick in the pants.Dubious personal qualities, they, like the couch and TV, appear to benailed to the floor.I'm a rusty old bucket of bolts as I cross the parking lot to thesupermarket. I see from the colorful banners decorating the windows thatthe price of shampoo is slashed, feeding your dog is a bargain this weekand vodka in half-gallons is cheaper than fresh-squeezed orange juice. 20years ago the latter would have been my foremost target. Today, my mind ison skirt steak, all I can stuff into two or three of those plastic bagsthat come in a roll at the end of the meat counter.It's late afternoon in Aptos, my hometown of 25 years, and I make thispleasurable pitstop after another day at the gym in neighboring SantaCruz. Laree and I have 15 years of reps and sets, chins and dips in ourgym stashed in the corner of a quiet, tree-inhabited industrial park, ballfields and community pool just across the street. No foot traffic and aword-of-mouth membership account for its hometown appeal andless-than-packed training floor. Cool, in the world of me, me, crush,crunch and more, more. very cool.The last thing I did before leaving the iron palace was biceps andtriceps, not a shower and manicure. My sweats are presentable and, thoughtorn free of a strangling neckline, my T-shirt is not exactly a rag. Imean, I've seen a lot worse at the downtown mall. I'm carrying a littlered basket, checking my pockets for my wallet and viewing the aisles foremergency items as I hastily head toward the meat department. I pass thesugarcoated puffed and toasted cereals, the canned vegetables, frozendesserts, beer and wines, the pastry and donut section smelling of lard,and racks of magazines, some advertising 14 days to a shapely and muscularbody. There's a row of candies in bags and boxes and bins next to thestacks and stacks of colorful soda pop.Where's the beef?I'm not alone in this popular food emporium. Everybody's here all the timeit seems, 24-7. The men and women -- an American cross-section -- filltheir baskets with lots of stuff resembling real food. I feel like aglutton with my sacks of meat, couple-dozen eggs and bags of red peppersand tomatoes, my favorite vegetables. I notice the difference in supplieschosen by those around me and those chosen by me. Like observing a fellowshopper with five screaming kids grabbing toilet paper off the shelves,tossing them at one another and passersby, and doing wheelies with theshopping carts, I try not to feel superior or condescending or outraged.However, I am relieved.Someone is looking at me, I can tell. It's a fellow in his 40s cartingbread and butter, 20 frozen TV dinners, a bottle of red wine, a quart ofsoy milk (soy milk?) and one of those crappy info mags. I'm grabbinghandfuls of cheap canned tuna for Mugsy and feel compelled to tell the guythey're for my cat, not me and that I eat Dave's Albacore. I realize thisis silly -- let him think what he wants to think -- when I note he'slooking at my arms. They may not be great, but they are different, veinsand all. The man with the TV dinners also has a large stomach and his armshang like plumpish threads by his sides. "Good stuff, huh," he says. Ismile brilliantly and nod, "Good stuff."Moving on I ignore the string of stainless steel dairy coolers, decidingto withdraw milk products from my diet, again. Thick skin and mucus (s'cuzme) are the determining factors in this periodic menu modification. In twoweeks they -- cottage cheese, milk, cheese and yogurt -- will be back onthe table. It won't be long before I miss the protein and bulk buildingthey provide. They're a very convenient meal and I'll long for the textureand taste. Meat, fish, chicken and broccoli washed down with water get oldfast.A 30-something man and a woman are riffling cartons of ice cream lookingfor an extra special flavor. They stand over a cart with two six-packs(Dos Equis) and a carton of cigarettes (Camels). What? No soy milk? Hotdogs and luncheon meats in cellophane are strewn amongst bananas andstring beans of all things. Weird. They look at me looking at their basket(I'm caught) and I want to apologize and make an excuse for the stunned orsorrowful or horrified or resigned expression on my face. The momentpasses and we exit the scene in opposite directions, they without the icecream. They're still young; there's still hope and I fight the urge tomake my plea.Down this aisle I go with my basket too full for further purchases, looparound the cut flowers and small indoor plants, past the pharmacy and, atlast, the exit lines. What pleasantries have the tabloids to say about thecelebrities today? Almost in line I see Mr. and Mrs. Thirtysome pushingtheir cart brimming with color and variety, the well-buried ice cream inhalf-gallons peering innocently through the steel mesh. I daydream aboutintroducing myself and offering advice -- exercise, eat right, be happy --and they see the light and correct their ways and pass them on to theirchildren and the world is saved. Next thing I know some youngster at theregister is asking them if they need help carrying their packages to thecar. Not today.Almost forgot. Bran muffins. I seldom freak out in my eating habits, yetsometimes I lose control. I return to the bakery and scour the pastrysection until I find a package of freshly baked bran muffins. I pretendthey're still warm, oh boy. Into my overflowing basket they go and I catchmyself grinning. Where did all this merchandise come from? I came forskirt steaks and I'm buying the kitchen sink. I'm being paranoid orthere's another man glancing my way repeatedly. Security? He's a big guy.Older. Retired cop maybe. I feel guilty about something but I'm not surewhat. I ate a grape. No. I took every package of skirt steaks. No. It'sthe bran muffins. No.The guy behind me asks if I used to lift weights. I want to drag him outto the parking lot and ask what he means by "used to," but catch myself inthe nick of time. This fellow has very long hair and painfully placeddecorative stainless steel hardware in unlikely places about his face andneck. A shiny hex-head bolt bobs up and down as he swallows. I blinktwice, maybe three times, pass him a card and invite him to the gym for aweek, when he gets the urge -- exercise, eat right and all that stuff. Heblinks. Cool.Now the older cop type is uncomfortably close in the next line, 15 Itemsor Less -- Top Cop will not louse up my merry shopping spree, I vow. Ihave 16 items and wonder where they all came from and which one I canditch so I can squeeze in the shorter line. This becomes too difficult andI scan the Enquirer instead. Sarandon, it seems, is having a steamyaffair with Yashir Arafat.The older guy grabs me by the shoulder and says in a deep loud voice thatreaches the produce department in the far corner of the huge supermarket,"Hey, where'd ya get all the muscles?" Everybody looks at me and they'rewaiting for an answer. Hardware Head tells him I own a gym and I'll givehim a free membership if he asks me. Mr. Thirtysomething, returning hisshopping cart like a good citizen, assures the forming crowd that it's notfrom eating ice cream.Where do they come from? The man of plumpish thread-like arm fame rolls onby, his cart half-full of the cheap tuna and bereft of TV dinners. I duck,he keeps going.No, I don't need any help carrying out my packages to my car, thank you. Bombers. The secret is you know the secret. I have discovered nothing newsince we visited last. Train hard and don't miss. Eat right, protein-highand sugar-low, without starving yourself. Be thankful and happy you knowthe truth and be confident that it is working for you.Where do we go from here, iron-hearted, steel-spirited high-flyers?Skyward, of course.

[Guest guest]

clip====== How many people on the streets going about their daily business reallythink about their body? But for our thoughts, there is nothing morepresent and indelible. Our body contains all we are, holds us together andtransports us about the earth's surface. We are in many ways our body andI assume everyone on not infrequent occasions flashes on his or her flesh.I would love to blame mass media and big business etc for the appalling deterioration in the diet and activity level of modern man, but kind of like they said in that old POGO comic strip, "I have met the enemy and he is us".

The reason big food can get away with big lies like "which" is more important than "how much" food, is because we want to believe.

I tend to leave my TV on as sonic wallpaper and one late night advertisement has recently caught my attention. It is for some new exercise machine which will give you a better workout with "less effort".... come on boys and girls... the whole purpose of exercise is effort... less effort means less exercise.. arghhhh, but I bet they sell a container load because folks want the benefit (lose weight, gain strength, whatever) without the effort.

As all who attain any amount of success at weight loss, exercise, or any other beneficial result have learned, it takes effort. Effort is a good thing. Directed effort leads to positive results.

OK, stepping down from my soapbox now.... it's a beautiful Sunday here in the deep south.

JR

[john roberts] =============

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