I was standing in the Species front office futzing around with an electrical connector from the video studio next door and trying hard not to accept the fact that I can no longer see things up close. I know... I know... I need to wear glasses.
Dave walked in the door at the far end of the office. As he came up to me he realized my plight and made some crack about how far away I have to hold something in order to see it. For some reason, my advancing age and the foibles that come along with it - such as blindness - are a constant source of amusement for the Whack Pack. Dave shot me that 4 x6 grin of a car salesman and he said, "you need glasses."
I know I bitched a lot about the heat and humidity and the mosquitoes. Yes, the conditions could have a been a bit more comfortable, but I have to say that the landscape was about as beautiful as it gets. I couldn't imagine a more serene a and picturesque place. During the dry season, the falls are but a ribbon that flows rather uneventfully. This time of year it was a thundering monstrosity. By the time the water hit the deck 2,700 feet below, it had crashed and bashed against the rock face enough to turn most of it to mist, which would blow sometimes for miles downwind. Below the main falls, the water that hadn't been atomized into mist flowed over several smaller falls, and sometimes into a small lagoon.
The proposed, yet ambitious, one-day trip to film the world record rappel down Angel Falls began at 4am when we boarded a 20 year-old Russian Helicopter with no doors. It took off from a sparse airfield outside Ciudad Bolivar and headed for Canaima. There, it followed the Churún river up and into a deep canyon toward the tallest waterfall in the world. We landed in a clearing opposite the face of the falls and unloaded the helicopter. From that moment on, the clock started ticking; every second of daylight was precious. The pilot kept the chopper running and the blades whirling over our heads. As soon as we were clear, the chopper took off to bring Long and his rappelling partner, John Bachar to the top of the falls.
Joe Gold was a cantankerous old man. Even when he was young. I knew him for 25 years and I swear he looked the same age the whole time. When he opened World Gym in Santa Monica it was to be an austere place, 180 degrees from the zoo Gold's Gym was turning into about a mile south in Venice. In any community only a few do the really crucial work, and I suppose Joe reckoned such work couldn't be accomplished amid such things as music, heat in the winter, and lights during the day. Besides, Arnold trained at World and, at the time, Arnold was the greatest Mr. Olympia that ever lived. He was also getting ready to do Conan which put a bit of a damper on his usual jovial self. So, whether it was because of Arnold, or the austere vibe in the absence of heat, lights and music, or because Joe was suffering from serious back pain and always in a bad mood, you basically didn't train at World to have fun. Many of us had memberships at both World and Gold's and would migrate between the two gyms as our tolerance for one or the other ran out.
I think I get kind of numbed by the incredibly hot women in this industry. As soon as I can't imagine laying eyes on a sexier babe, all of a sudden there's another one right in front of me. A smoke'n hottie with a monster-rack and a pair of puffed up lips that could suck a bowling ball through 50 feet of garden hose. A knockdown, drag out, drop dead gorgeous babe hot enough to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window. Then we get more, especially at an event such as the Arnold or the Olympia. I barely even see them anymore; they're just a blur of big boobs and big hair.
A few days ago a dude in the gym asked me what I meant when I said "people often mistake fatigue for failure," (he was referring to something I had written regarding HIT training). According to him, these were one in the same.
Now, there's no science to support my answer, but I'm pretty sure there is a difference. In my mind, if you're experiencing muscle fatigue through resistance training - no matter how severe - you can still make a muscle contract, or at least resist a negative movement. On the other hand, I define failure as a point where the impulse from your brain to a particular muscle group is momentarily interrupted resulting in a physical inability to either contract or maintain tension on the muscle.
I can't imagine someone going out of their way to intentionally tear a pec, but when you consider how often this injury occurs (more than any other muscle tear by far) I sometimes wonder. Bodybuilders have been known to do some ludicrous things and if you watch how some train, you can't help but think that they're actually out trying to tear something.
There is something venerable about the bench press. Above all exercises it is the one that seems to define one's strength. When someone wants to know how much you can lift they are generally referring to your bench. While squats and deadlifts can yield higher poundages, no one gives a rat's ass about either move. If you've got a big bench you've got a big image; everyone understands a bench press. And, if you understand the bench press, you know where the pec tear lives.
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