Monthly Archive for May, 2007

The Buff Zone 4: We Can be Heroes

Published
by
Kym Huynh
on May 23, 2007
in The Buff Zone
. 0 Comments

Sitting alone in bed at night with my trusted sidekick Big Ted, a name I shamelessly ripped of Play School when I was only 30cm tall, I question again runs HITTingly through my mind; why do we submit ourselves to “torture” (pleasure to some) to sculpting the perfect body? More specifically, I wonder whether bodybuilding is our vice, our poison, as a means to provide meaning in a world that continues to demonstrate no stability. Are we turning to bodybuilding as a means to provide some form of control in our lives to make us more secure, to make us feel like we’re in the driver’s seat, and to make us feel that despite being manipulated by a little string in the grand scheme of an unavoidable destiny, we steadfastly refuse to conform to the status quo, stubbornly raising our heads in defiance with a logic that defies all reason?

After all, if our goal in life is to reproduce, what is the point of working out long after we snare our women (or men) and start making devilishly cute children with the combined genes of our perfect partner? Is there another reason, despite the logical health benefits, that come from working out? After all, any sane person would suggest that subjecting ourselves to pain over and over again is not a pleasurable way to spend our limited leisure time in a society that increasingly demands more and more quality production from a decreasingly available time allotment.

Sure, we can suggest that those who work out are long term thinkers, visionary philosophers, who understand that the short time pain will pay exponential dividends later on, but like most people in this world, we expect short term benefits along the way to assure us that we are on the right track as evidenced by my undeniable urges to seek validation that my column musings are improving the lives of people everywhere.

Or could it be that we do so, for the prevention of the “what-if” scenario? What if one day, we found ourselves in the position that the only way to survive a maniacal bank robber shooting was to hurdle over 10 queue barriers Olympic style to tackle would-be robber while simultaneously saving an old lady’s cat from an oak tree while dialling 911 on the telephone to alert the local police department of current events; a feat that can only be performed by those who consider themselves Sparta?

While females are generally regarded to as the fairer sex, the classic male, discounting the relatively modern phenomena of the SNAG (sensitive new age guy) and metrosexual (someone who has sex on trains), is stoic. He is strong and he is the protector of the herd and he doesn’t take an insult to his damsel in distress lying down. He would sooner bleed to protect her honour than utter mumblings of apology and believes that pain is simply weakness leaving the body. He is, in other words, Sparta; the epitome of male alphaness who reeks of manliness so much that the world trembles in his presence. He also doesn’t believe in deodorant.

My theory is that as males, even in ancient civilizations and contemporary society, we grow up exposed to what the ideal male should be. Magazines, television shows and movies all portray men with the 6-pack abs and more recently, a natural 12-pack sported by Gerard Butler who played the role of King Leonidas in the movie “300”, a movie about Spartan King Leonidas who lead his army of 300 soldiers against the invading Persian army during the Battle of Thermopylae. If we grow up believing that the ideal male sports pectoral muscles that subliminally communicate to the opposite sex, “Here, let me hold that large TV set for you,” and arms that promise the ability to sweep a woman off her feet, our emotional development can only be severely lacking due to the constant messages of bigger pectorals, lower body fat percentages and heavier squats, bench presses and deadlifts, compound exercises that every bodybuilder should be well versed with.

In a world that demands our continual development, is our focus on the physicality merely because our emotional selves are severely retarded and thusly too hard to develop when easier gains can be made with our measuring tapes? Or do we believe that if we can control our body, we are grounded and sure of ourselves that it instils in us acknowledge that if we can change our own bodies, we can effect change in the wider community and then the world?

I like to think we fall somewhere in this medium, for if we, a race notorious for its procrastination, can discipline ourselves three times a week on a constant ritual homage to the Gods of discipline, this dedication and steadfast resolve to never miss a workout can be transferred to everything else we do in our lives; the dishes for mum, becoming top executives, and finally, saving the world. Yes gentlemen and ladies, we too, can be heroes.

The Buff Zone 3: A Little Bit of Freak

Published
by
Kym Huynh
on May 23, 2007
in The Buff Zone
. 0 Comments

It is said that myths are mankind’s way of explaining what they cannot logically explain and so are made palatable to the common man by way of divine providence. For this very reason, the Gods do not have to explain how or why something occurs. To them it just does and requires no explanation, only acceptance. It is perhaps for this same reason that bodybuilders accept the common figures around the gym that defy logical explanation. They’re legends in themselves. A folklore passed from one generation of bodybuilder to the next that is often heard about but rarely seen.

As the contestants of the Pro/Am competition and bodybuilders everywhere can attest, they’ve heard these age-old stories over and over again. Sometimes in the gym, sometimes in the changing room and sometimes, on the bodybuilding.com message boards. Every so often, during one of our workouts, we come into contact with a character so polarized in one unique characteristic trait that they have become a legend unto themselves.

For example, there’s the screamer who will insist on releasing a supersonic burst of raw vocal energy so loud that Whitney Houston would have trouble making herself heard while singing a rendition of the sonically loud “I Will Always Love You” if they shared a room. Then there is the workout stripper-bunny who will firstly insist on annexing the cardio machines, then proceed to exclusively work out on it whilst removing select articles of clothing every five minutes until all she has are a two-piece bikini set. She will then start flirting with the nearest male trainer for the next forty-five minutes. Then there’s the always-grinning muscle-dwarf who proceeds to clang every 10lb dumbbell so loudly on the racks every time he finishes a rep that you’d think he was going for the power lifting world record despite his dubious lifting stats which begs the question, what is it that is so compelling about these people that we’ve immortalized them in drunken banter in between pots of the local beer on tap or between the top and bottom gaps of the shower room cubicles? Do we regale our captive audience with these tales as a way to pass the time, or is there a deeper meaning behind our reverent religious adherence to the accurate portrayal of their contentiously charming quirks?

Freak as a term has a multi-dimensional meaning. It can mean someone is exceptionally huge; for example, “Check out Adrian climb the wall using only his arms! He’s nature’s freak!” or conversely it can have the meaning that causes us to raise one eyebrow, a move which I can only do if I wink my right eye at the same time. In reference to the latter, while it is easy to secretly grin and categorically place our aforementioned stereotypes into the freak category who once upon a time, people paid good money for to see in a circus, one must begin to question, “Do we all have a little bit of freak in us?”

As a personal discovery, I had stumbled upon possibly one of the greatest discoveries of the 21st century, disabled toilets. They are without doubt the cleanest, experience low traffic, and posses extra amenities conveniently often neglected in public access toilets and showers. Shamelessly, I use these rooms to my advantage every time I finish a workout, for not only do they provide me with protection from the sight of old men who insist on partaking in the sport of naked shaving, the floors are eternally dry, a rare phenomenon that only occurs when swimmers don’t change in the same area as people who visit the gym.

One day, I discovered post-workout that someone had caught onto my idea of using these excellent hideaways as their own changing room. It was with chagrin that I walked to the public changing area, fuming that someone could have taken the area I had unofficially categorically labelled as my own. Gentlemanly that I am, I waited outside so I could deliver a heartfelt public lashing and make my practical claim on this area. In actual reality, far away from a dream land called fantasy, I had forgotten to take with me one of my sweaters which I had left up on the shower railings so I waited outside the disabled toilets despite the strange looks I was getting from people as they walked in and out of the changing rooms.

More recently, I paid a late visit to the gym on one occasion and with whilst taking my obligatory post workout shower in my secret room, the pleasant sound of a female staff/trainer rang out, “We’re closing gentlemen. Hurry up please.” With this statement, she proceeded to turn off the lights in the changing room. Night time with no lights in a dark room trying to have a shower equates to no fun. Frantically grabbing anything I could find in the dark, I was a sight to behold running out of the gym changing rooms, my hair in 60 different angles and undried with wet clothes haphazardly thrown on inside out in all sorts of strange and wonderful positions.

Some stories are so outrageous that we don’t know whether or not to believe them, but never so outrageous to be considered untrue, for in every story, there is a slight ounce of truth, an identifying mark that we connect with that reminds us, hang on a second, this could just have easily been us. At the end of the day, maybe we’re all just looking for a common freakishness that identifies with us and is able to communicate with us on a broad level. For if someone at my gym can come up with this quirky limerick at the suggestions board, then maybe his freakish ability for rhyme has benefited mankind after all.

“I find it a little bit strange
When I finish gym and go change
The shower doors won’t lock
Other men see my cock
Please fix if you could arrange.” - Anonymous

The Buff Zone 2: The Buffer Zone

Published
by
Kym Huynh
on May 23, 2007
in The Buff Zone
. 0 Comments

Sunday night and watching Carrie Bradshaw explain the intricacies of New York relationships, I begin to consider the relationships that define how bodybuilders interact with one another in contrast with what is normally seen between the male population in an everyday context. Most interesting to me is the breakdown of rules between male interaction, or dare I say, male bonding? Does bodybuilding allow us males to forgo the social fears of being perceived something other than straight among our peers and allow us an emotional freedom to interact with our peers without the constraints of commonly accepted social proprietary amongst males?

On the Iron Man wallpapers page are photos of David Henry, Toney Freeman and Mark Dugdale parading their gym-toned bodies for the world to see. Ironically, while their proud structures communicate a sub-liminal alpha-male status, their Zeus-like figures are framed by a 2 inch nylon-stretch bikini that could fit my 5 year-old nephew quite comfortably and make any botox patient jealous. This interesting dichotomy between alpha-maleness and the bikini that are usually only reserved for the die-hard partiers at the Mardi Gras and the fashion-challenged at local beaches provide a paradox that while is almost in-your-face in more ways than one, is commonly accepted. Does bodybuilding allow us to emasculate ourselves, served under the guise of a sport so masculine that it makes American football players look like they belong in the junior league?

The evidence is everywhere. At the 2007 Iron Man competition, vegetable-oiled men parade themselves in tight bikini-bottoms to an adoring crowd. In the photo gallery at bodybuilding.com, men observe and provide detailed critiques of other men’s bodies and in most cases, we post half-naked photos of ourselves on the Internet in the hopes that someone will tell us that we look a little bigger.

We all know that competitive beach volleyball players like the occasional arse slap every now and then. OK, maybe after every point they win, but served under the sport context, this is palatable by the general populace. From a bodybuilding context, why are straight bodybuilders allowed to look at quasi naked pictures of men, but still be considered straight? Is this a pandemonium or worse, a new threat to 21st century male heterosexuality? Or are the two extremes converging into a male hybrid ready to be embraced and universally adored by the world?

To the uninitiated, scratching under the surface of the bodybuilding community can be a scary experience. After the deluge of baritone voices and the clang of metal on metal, testosterone-induced grunts and stench of sweat, there is a common acceptance or sympathy that everyone is in the same boat. Perhaps it is this shared experience that has freed the male bodybuilder and allowed him to communicate openly with his peers. From this extremity, it is commonly accepted that perhaps, we are allowed to be a little emotional and emasculated, if it means at the end, we all become buff fitness-models who can draw the women like foreign bees to the air-vent in my room who stubbornly refuse to leave despite my best efforts.

Maybe without knowing, we are all aware of this unique phenomenon and while being unable to profess to it, we balance it by portraying a tough love mentality to each other as another way of saying, “Look buddy, I think you can really do it if you try. Common around the community are phrases like “Get off your arse : fatty, and “Shut up and squat, which is really another way of saying, “Go! Go! Go! You can do it! Flippant responses such as “O’RLY and “PITTB are really code for “I hear you! while responses to suicide threads such as, “Go ahead and die pussy, are really another way of telling another person that the only way they can become a better person in the long term is if they help themselves first. It’s a wooden stick, but strangely it works. This is what I refer to as the buffer zone. A zone that exists somewhere in the twilight zone, that translates our recognition of emotional responsibility into primitive grunts often accompanied by the eye-rolling of the female population and exclamations of “Men!

With the 2007 Iron Man about to start, it will be interesting to see how the competitors present themselves this year. Will the camaraderie of shared experience be more obvious that it was in previous years and will the future of bodybuilding incorporate highly choreographed routines that draw influences from callisthenics and jazz?

With the great selection of wallpapers now available to spruce up a desktop, there is no excuse for the die-hard bodybuilder to be ashamed of being a part of a movement filled with people who sympathize and work together to achieve a physique normally reserved for superheroes in comic books. Now if only my friends didn’t think I was gay for sporting a bodybuilding wallpaper.

The Buff Zone 1: Bodybuilding Obsession

Published
by
Kym Huynh
on May 23, 2007
in The Buff Zone
. 1 Comment

As I look at the astonishing physiques of 2007 Iron Man competitors David Henry (2nd last year), Toney Freeman (7th last year) and Mark Dugdale (5th last year), I can’t help but wonder what, if any, sacrifices were made to achieve their superhero-like proportions. Did they spend their lives meticulously planning what to eat, when to eat, when to sleep and when to workout? Just what exactly did they have to give up to achieve competitive status and could this undeniably attention-demanding “hobby be more than an interest so much that it can be considered an obsession?

As I sit here and contemplate this puzzler, I question in wonderment why little Johnson has been able to naturally grow an extra two inches in two months whilst the rest of my body; and by which I mean the most important area, my chest, has taken two years to grow this much. My mind wanders to a universal issue that confronts each self-proclaimed bodybuilder sooner or later; why are we so obsessed with this sport? Are we simply victims of this health kick of the 21st century where bodybuilding is the new black, or ironically, are we mindless addicts to a healthy activity so much that it becomes self-destructive, in an era where obesity is a soaring epidemic?

To answer this question, I looked inward as to why I started bodybuilding. Admittedly, my bodybuilding habits leave a lot to be desired and I’m probably the world’s worst bodybuilder, but as a self-proclaimed fitness junkie, it is an interesting contrast between why I shamelessly throw myself off huge rock ledges, and why I suffer hours of pain three times a week all for the goal of physical symmetry. And for what purpose other than to have the option of taking half-naked photos in the mirror because I’m too lazy to use the timer function on my digital camera, and then post them all over the Internet for everyone to see and have random strangers tell me that I look “a little bigger.

Without hesitation, I admit that the former is done in the search of adrenaline, the rush of adventure and the elation that occurs afterwards that often transforms me into what many people mistakenly believe to be an escaped patient from the local psychiatry ward on an endorphin overdose.

The latter? That’s an interesting one. At first, I reasoned that I was doing it for the opposite sex, after all, being a university student, I am constantly surrounded by very attractive members of the fairer sex. Then I realized hang on a second, maybe not. After all, if this was the case, once we, as males, are able to trick the opposite sex into marrying us (how clever are we!), we simply forgo the gym sessions and let ourselves go confident in the knowledge that the ability for a female to escape from a relationship is inversely proportionate to the achievement of marriage between two people.

I realize with a wry smile that I, like so many other bodybuilders, painstakingly monitor what we eat, when we eat and how we perform at the gym for more personal reasons, to make us feel attractive because maybe, just maybe, we get a rush from knowing that other people find us attractive.

This still doesn’t explain however why we look at ourselves in the mirror, measure ourselves for the umpteenth time and conclude that we still aren’t big enough. Do we simply, as a representative of a sect of the general populace, love ourselves with so much abandon that we put Paris Hilton’s music videos to shame? Do we get off seeing our own squat-perfected muscular butts while watching our pectorals perform the river dance?

To better understand this question, I asked a close friend, who tells me he does it because he no longer wants to be the fat kid, but despite maintaining a body fat percentage of 8%, which translates to pretty ripped, every time he looks in the mirror, he still sees the fat kid that greeted him in the mirror every year during his childhood. Personally, I want to eventually be so buff that the guys over at Abercrombie & Fitch say, “Oh dude! You’re so friggen ripped! Come model for us! to which I’ll reply, “Hell no!

So just how obsessed do we have to be to achieve our personal bodybuilding goals? Despite the health benefits of working out, the risk of being addicted can impact on our frame of mind leading to severe depression, negative self-image and low self-esteem effecting not only our psychological well-being, but also our physical health due to the possible abuse of our bodies. I don’t know if I’m addicted, but on reflection, I have been to the gym twice, been at an indoor rock climbing centre twice, and have spent half a day surfing at a local beach : and this was just in the last four days.

The question of whether each one of us is addicted to bodybuilding, is something personal that each one of us needs to answer and apparently isn’t as clear-cut as I expected. Sometimes, I don’t even know if I’m addicted to bodybuilding or just addicted to being so active but to be honest, if this is what it takes to achieve my bodybuilding goals, then guilty as charged.