If You Can’t Flex It, Don’t Carry It

A Bodybuilder Is Born: Generations – Episode 28

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The town I live in isn’t a small town in the classic sense. When I think of a "small town," my mind conjures up a place with one stoplight, a single general store complete with crusty old guys holding court in rocking chairs on the front porch, and the same guy serving as town sheriff, minister and small-appliance repairman. Also, there are only three last names, which are shared by a couple hundred people who also share some dark, horrible secret that involves ritual human sacrifice, or worse—multilevel marketing.

My town, which was incorporated in 1726, when this part of the New World was still a British colony and we had only one Dunkin’ Donuts franchise, isn’t anything like that—but you still see the same faces at the gym, the supermarket, the bank and the cheesy strip club. Wait, scratch that—as my wife knows, I don’t frequent that degenerate establishment! And there is a perfectly good reason for that stack of one-dollar bills I always have: It’s change for the church donation on Sunday morning.

It was at the bank that I ran into Jeff, the father of my one-and-only personal-training client, Jared. The weather was unseasonably hot for late May, just above 90 degrees, and Jeff was wearing a tank top and cargo shorts, to which were clipped three different cell phones. (Apparently, he had even more contractors and other employees to keep in touch with in his building and remodeling ventures than I had imagined.) He finished whatever transaction the teller had been helping him with, then turned around and saw me.

"Ron! Hey, buddy, haven’t seen you in a while."

[story continues…]