Sex lives of bodybuilders.
Over the weekend I was lucky enough to go to a body building competition. For a hour I was drawn into a world of extreme discipline, disappointment, adulation and spray tans. Body builders look like KFC. Golden brown, textured and greasy. Body building compititions are like gay bars. Modern dance music, colourful flashing lights, lasers, smoke machines and even a bubble machine. Then the men come parading out with their short shorts (beach body competition) or there spangled underwear, red was my favourite. The show was amazing, the crowd excited, the food cryovaced and the protein was bio-available. Amazing. I have never seen wasteline so refinded in all my time. The clear winners of the heats stood out, like in a bucket of chicken – you just know which one is going to be the best. With no room for coleslaw your only chance to wash down this visual delight was quarter turn and avoid laughing too loud. With a gung-ho crowd screaming out “go 105” you start to wonder if at dog and cat shows have the same amount of energy. My chicken bucket list grew bigger as my imagination drew beautiful imagery of middle aged overweight cat ladies (men included) standing between rows of chairs barracking for pedigree kitties on stage too docile to escape or at least hiss trying.
I had to drag myself away to have a cigarette. Outside of the competition I was surprised by the amount of smokers, some who looks as though their days of body building had long gone, others you could see their perfect physics rippling through their tight, heavy metal or wu-tang band t-shirts. I know body building isn’t about cardio but why can I have a body of my dreams and punch a few darts? Does it take complete fascination to look like this? Do we need to have calorie counting watches synced to heart monitor straps around our torsos to achieve Adonis status? What answer appeared to be most prevalent was, fitness waits in no fast food line and smoking and BBQ sauce is ok.
So before you run to your local sporting store and order your black band shirt, be aware of the what it takes to be consumed with body image, to get up on stage with your spray tan. You are going to be hungry. You are going to be thirsty. You are going to have to make sure that you use the correct colour of spray tan and not end up looking grey or blue. And ask yourself, are you going to be the guy with the shiney jocks or the guy choose the muted colour? Will you be completing your tan or leaving your face as white as ghost intended?
My inspiration has been mindly increased however I know what limits us from perfection. It is how absorbed we are with outside persuasions being, sex, drugs, facebook, television or work. What is it that makes a man or woman go to such extremes without improving actual fitness? Drinking so much water then starving and dehydrating one’s self to compete on a day, clad with body bronzer to be hero worshiped by your peers and other perverts? I’m confused, is that a good thing? Perhaps we need to be more specific when setting our fitness goals. Can the fitness gods be confused when we pray, “I want to be fit and healthy”. Do the gods compare this to the general populous? With 786 million people without access to clean water and 2.5 billion people without sanitation is the western world healthy enough in their eye? By way of specifics should we be asking the divine rulers to be hungry goldern fitness models? And should we be requesting to for the restraint to pass on KFC and/or frozen delights?
Life’s tough kido. Calorie counting gets dull and low blood suger has never been a recreational drug for a reason – its boring.
Sorry about the delay guys. I have actually been busy.