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Show O: Teim (D90n)(Bk j WDnfisitfle by David Fleisher Tarzana of the weight room Not long ago, I started working out in the weight room at Prospector Athletic Club. Because of a recent knee operation, I was ordered by my doctor to build up the muscles in my leg so I'll be strong enough to play racquetball again. I injured my knee playing racquetball, and that's why I landed on the operating table; consequently, I'm now in the weight f room. I figure if I injure my good ; knee while lifting weights to fix my ! bad knee, the doctor will send me ; back to the racquetball court to even the score. . J In high school and college I lifted ; weights a lot. Even though it was I hard work and terribly exhausting at times, it always made me feel ! better. I would go so far to say I was 5 in fairly decent physical shape then. ; However it would be overstating it a I bit to say that now, as I have j painfully discovered over the past S few days. ; The weight room at the Athletic J Club is very well equipped. There j are enough machines there which, if L used on a steady basis, can produce f pain in just about every part of your body. But this kind of pain is good for you because it eventually makes you stronger. It's what you might call healthy pain, unlike the kind of pain you experience when you get run " over by a car. There's one interesting difference in the Athletic Club weight room and the weight room at my high school: females. When I worked out with weights in high school, it was uncommon to see a woman standing alongside you pumping iron. In fact, I never saw a woman in the gym, except maybe a cheerleader who did cartwheels from one end of the room to the other just to get a look at all the boys overextending themselves almost to the point of death. But the cheerleader never picked up a dumbbell, although one day she picked up Carl. Carl played split end on the football team. Things are not the same at the Athletic Club. I go there nearly every day and work out for about an hour. I see women in there every day, and they aren't cheerleading the boys on to victory. They're working out, and they take it seriously. Just the other day I saw a woman, probably in her mid-thirties, mid-thirties, use every single machine in the room. She took notes on a sheet, marking her progress. She didn't even die; on the contrary, she walked away from it all, smiling. When I first saw a woman in the weight room, I must admit it made me feel a little uncomfortable. I wasn't used to it, given the fact the last woman I saw in a weight room picked up Carl. This woman picked up two barbells, each the size of California, and worked out as if she had been doing it for years. After she left, I tried to work out in the same manner, and it almost gave me a hernia. In order to justify this humiliation, I- nicknamed her Tarzana. That experience led me to reexamine re-examine an old belief, one which I grew up believing without question: Men are physically stronger than women. Furthermore, to extend that belief one step further, if the man wasn't stronger than the woman, then he must be a sissy or the woman was born with a preponderance of male hormones. I don't believe any of that anymore; in fact, I think that belief is bullpoop. Putting my ficticious name aside for a moment, Tarzana did not have the appearance of a bulldozer. She was very well developed, yet she wasn't overwhelmingly huge. In fact, the more I think about it, she could have been a cheerleader. And she was very pleasant. She wasn't lifting weights to prove a point either, like, "See, look at me. Even though I'm a woman, I can do it just as well as you." Of course, she didn't have to say that because I discovered it the hard way after she left. I'm beginning to adjust to working out with women in the weight room at Prospector Athletic Club. The muscles in my weak leg are getting stronger each day. I think when I get to the point where I can lift weights like Tarzana, I'll be ready to play racquetball again. As I walk up Main Street I hear the Ten O'clock Whistle. |