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I read a blog after work last week that made me laugh out loud while the world was sleeping. I literally had to wipe the tears from my eyes.  http://knockedupknockedover.wordpress.com/2010/12/08/b6-hunting-takes-me-into-a-body-building-shop/

You see, I understand the thoughts of the author and yet…I get to see the other side from an entirely different perspective.

Her blog was written after shopping for vitamins in a place that caters to…

 
Body Builders!
 
 
As a mother who raised a couple of these, I feel somewhat qualified to respond. As a certified personal trainer, I am not really weirded out by the lifestyle…but I completely understand her response to the vitamin store, which really turned out to be a supplement store. Even I, with my own muscles and big, strong sons, will avoid the supplement store at all costs.

 

My firstborn son was a very interesting boy. He insisted on a regular basis that I let him out of the car so he could race me…and he would pour every cell in his body into racing my big, red, Batmobile. He also had a very tender, sensitive heart and can probably still recall the beautiful details of the dress worn by his kindergarten crush. He wanted to lift every heavy thing he saw–watermelons, cases of beverages, pieces of equipment in Grandpa’s workshop– for nothing more than to see if he could. He still does this thing. I met him last week for an adventure to pick up a new “workout device”.

 

The tire he’d chosen  had to be propped into the bed of my truck because it was too big to lay flat.  While the tire leaned in the bed of the truck toward the left, I drove inside leaning to the right.  It didn’t cost a thing, though, so not only is my son physically strong, he can get a great workout with no costly gym membership. He exercises at home. This post-workout picture was taken in his own kitchen where he gets his calories from real food.

 

He drinks protein shakes when he isn’t somewhere in the vicinity of real food. Chicken and turkey burgers mostly feed those muscles.

I know the lifestyle and desire to build strong bodies didn’t stem from peer pressure. We home-schooled. I suspect we had more of an opportunity to incorporate physical activity into our days as a way of life vs. extracurricular activity.

Perhaps I am to blame for giving them their names…which were really chosen more for the sound and rhythm as opposed to the meanings alone. I have given birth to Mighty Army, Dark Warrior, and Strong Lion. The one who is physically the biggest however,  is Manly Maker of Tiles, so go figure. His firstborn is Defender of Mankind.

My nicknames a teenager were Goodyear and Sherman Tank. It messed with my head, for certain. Pretty bad, to be perfectly honest.  These names were given at a time in fashion history when collar bones and protruding hip bones were the “in” thing. Thank God, fashion concepts changed in the last two decades. These are my Grandma legs..,

 

 

…which are the same as my Goodyear legs with more age and miles and leaves me wondering what all the fuss was about.  I’ve lost count of how many people have been obsessed,  repulsed, or overly-concerned about my weight and build for my lifetime.  I grew up despising my strong build and then one day I came to accept that God made me strong for a reason. It didn’t come easy with all the name-calling but I can say with complete acceptance of myself that it is a cool thing to know I can carry someone out of a burning building (if need be) well into the forth decade of life and beyond. 

Or drop-kick their ass.

Here are my other sons:

 

 

 

Mighty Army overcame a childhood diagnosis of Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis that left him unable to walk at times. When he isn’t working at his full-time job at an air force base, he is working toward his goal of becoming a fighter.

 

 

This is what he looks like in his down time:

 

 

 

Ok.   Not really.  That was just a photo shoot before the jujitsu haircut.  You are more likely to catch him cuddling canines in his down time.

Dark Warrior will someday be a soldier. He is a wonderful source of help to anyone who needs anything.

 

 

Maybe this “thing” comes wrapped up in simply being born a mesomorph, people who are often vertically-challenged, yet build muscle easily. We will be short, big and soft… or short, big and solid, depending on our activity level. This is the one thing we get to control.

All I know for certain is that it continues down the DNA line.

This is my grandson:

 

 

Check out those quads, hams, and calves.

 

 

He has always insisted on hanging from things—chin-up bars, trees, or anything else he can hang wrap his hands around and hold his body-weight. I cannot wait to see what he grows up to be.  No doubt, something big.

And I haven’t even touched on the girls yet…

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