I survey the gym equipment like a sculptor with his chisels before a block of granite…
Cardio machines: worthless.
Leg press: irrelevant.
Foam roller: pathetic.
Olympic lifting platform: intriguing… BUT NO!
My path is clear. I am here to do Biceps.
There they are, the dumbbells! I sprint for them.
It is time to curl, baby.
I do the concentration curls.
Biceps.
I do seated inclined dumbbell curls AND lying declined dumbbell curls.
Biceps. Biceps.
I do my curls spider-style, the Zottman, and kneeling single-arm.
Biceps! Biceps!! Biceps!!!
I do a single pull-up but I feel some engagement in my lats, so I stop.
JUST BICEPS.
I repeat it all, twice as slow, twice the pain! 10 reps-15–20-REPS-REPS-REPS!
YES, the burn! My Biceps blow up with joy, like clown balloons.
In my school days, my nickname was “beanpole.” I was built like a twig. “Go lift a dumbbell and eat a steak, pencil arms!” my gym coach yelled. “You are a bald divorced man, what do you know!” I…
