Let's test it, with someone you might have met ... seems like a regular guy, pretty fit, into exercise. Call him, say, Bob, and let's listen in on one of those imaginary conversations, monologues he's having with himself, maybe in front of that mirror in the gym -- imaginary monologues the way someone might have, that don't have to make sense -- they are, after all, imaginary.
-----
What Bob Thinks
Man. Sort of tired. Worked out every day last week, sometimes twice, really blasting the abs. Man oh man are the chicks gonna dig me. Zowie! Even my flaws are beautiful. In the miraculous mosaic that is Bob, any minor distortions serve as subtle accents of my overall beauty.
Speaking of which -- my beauty, which I really don't dwell on anywhere near often enough -- I was considering my fabulous abs? It's really getting out of hand. Off the hook. How is it possible? Even as hard as I work at it, it seems impossible. I've got muscles that nobody even knows the name of.
Gorgeous.
Just stunning.
Really.
Mmmmm.
I've got that third cut, below the navel. Maybe it's the fourth, if you count the one above, on the ribs. And there are weird little muscles off to the side -- between the obliques, of which I have an absolutely hypnotic array. It's like I'm the human epitome of some Art Deco Adonis, all striations and angled plains. Breath-taking.
And then on my belly, below the abs, there are these other muscles. What do they even hook up to? What do they do? I don't know. Nobody does. Physiologists haven't even named them. I am unique. I'm like a masterpiece -- some sort of divine device crafted by God to show humanity what it might have been. Crafted from granite and bronze. I must be what Adam looked like.
Nietzsche said -- I memorized it, cuz it's about abs -- "The belly is the reason man does not mistake himself for a god." Well? Where does that leave me?
Sometimes as I'm walking I'll put my palm flat across my abs just to feel the rolling -- sinuous beneath my hand like rows of estivating snakes. Sometimes I'll rub my fingers over the cords lying beneath the leather of my belly, like a master guitarist strumming out a passionate gypsy tune that wails as longingly as a lost soul and stirs you with a yearning to live forever.
Sometimes my hands grow heavy and stiff, and drag on the ground behind me, bending my back curved as old mountains. Sometimes I stare through a haze of pain out of a face like a stone mask. Sometimes darkness leaks from my lungs and puddles at my feet and rises like surf into a sinking vessel, and words cannot contain the cold I would feel, if I could feel. Sometimes I fall into the hollowness that displaces my organs and the receding cavern of my skull expands away in every direction so fast that even vacuum hasn't time to fill it.
Sometimes God is so far away he can hardly see me, and I can't see him at all.
I know there are miracles. I know that somewhere in the boundless universe there is a flawless mosaic of unspeakable beauty. I know that somewhere there is a balm that will soothe every ache, and a hand that will wipe away every tear, and that the wretchedness that suffuses some man's heart need not last forever. Somewhere weariness will end in fulfillment, and darkness will represent a time of peace and satisfaction. Someday I will settle into ease and happiness, the way a mountain slides into the sea.
-----
Goodness. That took a turn. Bob turned out to be something of an existential poet. Surprising. And it seems there's more to fitness than appearance. Fitness isn't just a physical thing. The only reason there are mirrors in the world is so we might see ourselves as others see us. Other people matter, always, to everyone. The point? Well, let's be kind, and patient, and let's have empathy and sensitivity. We never know what hell hides behind a bland expression or a pleasant smile, or a somewhat unrealistic ego.
What does this have to do with fitness, with exercise? Balance. Bob's abs didn't bring him the fulfillment he had hoped. Do they matter? Uh, well, yeah, we'd have to suppose so. Without them, he'd be even more wretched.
Fitness is about sensible diet and sensible exercise. It's not about preaching, but we do have to find a balance. To strive to reach our genetic potential is laudable, but we understand that life, to be fulfilling, must be well-rounded. So the physical stuff matters. Call it one among equals. As for Bob, and the silent and unseen desolation of his soul, we trust that he can find peace, and that he will find comfort. What he really wants is for someone to love him, regardless of his abs.
But if you'd like abs just like Bob's, well, zowie! Give us a call!!! Cuz we do abs!!! Zowie!!!!!! FitWorks!!!!
:-)
Be excellent.
Here: CrossFitBurbank.com
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