I started bodybuilding a few years ago, when I saw a possible divorce coming down the pike. I reckoned that if I was going to have to manage my farm — including stacking 25 tons of hay annually, breaking ice on troughs, repairing fences, rototilling, hauling feed and salt, etc. — singlehanded, I’d better get busy getting strong.
I started out with 6 pushups, no pullups, and only bodyweight to work with. So I worked with it. Five days a week. Hard. I pushed the pushups to 35 on a decline and pulled the pullups to 9. I added a backpack full of sand to get me through most of a year before I could afford a barbell set.
By the time hay season rolled around, I was able to stack thathose bales. And break the ice. And repair the fences. And rototill. And all the rest of it.
Take yesterday, for instance. I trimmed all four hooves on each of six horses, one after the other. If you’ve never trimmed hooves, just trust me — it’s hard work. It leaves a body sweaty, bruised, and sore. But it’s real work, my favorite kind.
For all that I love getting under the bar, real work is more satisfying. Farm labor is the fruit of my gym labor. The bar is the means; the hooves and hay are the ends, and I can make them meet. I am farm strong.
I often wonder what city folk do for real work. There must be options. What are they?
PBC Day 6
Fuel: Coffee with heavy cream. Eggs over easy with grilled tomatillo salsa, bacon, coconut-roasted plantain, and blackberries. Grilled gassfed beef burger (no bun) with grilled tomatillo salsa, sauteed onions, and cotija; grilled asparagus; sweet potatoes roasted in bacon fat. Whiskey.
Workout: Nothing official. Nothing needed! Those six sets of hooves were plenty. Ironman and I also took a short walk after dinner