“What makes vanity so insufferable to us, is that it hurts our own.” Francois de La Rochefoucauld
Like I mentioned in yesterday’s post, I went to the gym today in order to try to look better for the object of my Mancrush. I entered the gym with a full head of steam ready to lift a house. I decided to focus on my favorite, the decline bench press. This is my favorite because it helps to develop the lower pecs, or as I call them, “Manboobs.” Because I work out alone, I have to decide what weights I can safely lift without later having to beg someone to pry the bar off my dying, caved-in chest. So with pride dictating I lift a house and common sense suggesting significantly less, I settled upon 205 lbs. I like the look of 205 lbs on the bar. It isn’t obscenely heavy, but it does engender a little bit of respect.
So I get on the bench and do my first set of 10 reps. No problems. I feel great. There is some guy next to me lifting 115 lbs. This only further fuels my ego flight of fancy. So I do my second set of 10 reps. I am starting to believe my own hype. While looking in one of the ubiquitous mirrors to see if I can detect any new found (even if microscopic) hugeness, the short guy on the next bench puts 135 lbs on the bar and does a set of 10 reps. Another ego rush gets me ready for my last set of 10 at 205.
I barely got the bar back up on the rack on my 10th rep. Hell yeah; perfect set. I feel huge until I look over at Mr 135. He is now Mr 225 and squeezing out reps like the bar is filled with helium. Post ego-check, I take the plates off my bar and slink back over to the butterfly machine.
I actually like it when life reminds me to maintain some level of humility. It helps me to keep an even keel. Even though today’s lesson was that I am not as great as I sometimes think I am. The corollary to this lesson is that I am not as bad as I sometimes think I am either. The Greeks were right about following the Golden Mean (as well as nude male olympic athletes).
A little bit of Mischief... 