Nothing says “I’m a douchebag” quite like showing off a set of six pack abs at every given chance. Among the vast majority of people with six pack abs, I’m sure they could report that life didn’t change much going from 12-13% to 10% body fat as the clothed difference isn’t huge. Nevertheless, it’s long since [...]
Nothing says “I'm a douchebag” quite like showing off a set of six pack abs at every given chance. Among the vast majority of people with six pack abs, I'm sure they could report that life didn't change much going from 12-13% to 10% body fat as the clothed difference isn't huge.
Nevertheless, it's long since been a point of pride and and absolute goal for many — a badge of honor of sorts, and a culturally recognized one to boot. So culturally recognized that defense mechanisms usually flow from those that don't have one.
Teeming with skinny-fat baggage most of my life, I always wanted a six pack. And I've since found the master key for a six pack, and have opened the treasure chest. As much as I don't want to admit this, my six pack means a lot to me.
Yeah, I said it. It means a lot to me.
And before you think of me as a giant douche bag, I dare you to let me tell you why I feel the way I do.
Invert your body; invert your mind
In the middle of losing fat, gaining muscle, brachiating, sprinting, and flipping end over end, you develop a better sense of who you are. At least, that's been the case for me, and it inspired one of my most clever slogans: invert your body; invert your mind.
To me, changing the body changes the mind. It leads to a certain kind of insight, and I'll return to this later because we have to talk about stuckness first. Stuckness prevents this body and mind crossover. When you struggle do something, frustration dominates all other learning, and one of the main points of stuckness is getting a set of six pack abs.
My six pack serves little purpose on the exterior. I knew from the get go that getting a six pack wasn't about picking up chicks. I’m not a model. (Any agents out there, gimme a buzz. I could use some extra cash.) I rarely boast about my body, save for on the good old Internet (a necessary evil of appearing competent enough and having something worthwhile to say).
So then, what's the deal? Why care?
The mental six pack
Talk to someone into Zen, and they'll probably pride themselves on having some kind of self dominance — they dominate their brain while they meditate, for instance. Or maybe some other form of self control where others have none.
To me, six pack abs represent the same. It says, “I know how to change my body.” It's a symbol of self dominance and control. This seems to contrast the idea of being happy in your own skin. But I think there's a difference between being happy and being satisfied.
There's not much difference in telling someone to be happy in their own skin and telling someone to be happy with a sub-par piece of artwork. It's a cry for mediocrity. This is where things get dicey though: what does a “mediocre body” even mean?
Average is for losers
When an artist makes something s/he isn't proud of, it's OK for them to be upset. But when someone has a body they aren't proud of, being upset is some kind of a mental disorder. How does that make sense?
I'm here talking about average bodies and this and that, but truth is: I don't care about you.
I don't look at anyone and judge them. I don't think being fat is “disgusting.” I only look at myself, because that's where it all comes from: your own thoughts.
Anyone that's in the business of creating has an idea of Good in their head. If you fall short of your Good, you aren't happy. Be it an artist, musician, actor, whatever. As Ira Glass says in this video (and I've said something similar before): the tough part—the work—is making your abilities catch up to your expectations.
If you expect yourself to have a six pack, do a backflip, lift a certain amount of weight, or do whatever, then that's your standard. If you don't reach it, you're always going to feel empty.
But what is this standard? What is Good?
Spending a lot of time on nothing
In this video, Seinfeld says, “It’s a long time to spend on something that means absolutely nothing. But that’s what I do.”
I can't help but parallel that with just about physical goals that extend beyond not keeling over from a heart attack. No one but you cares if you can do a cartwheel without hands, really. No one cares about your ab muscles.
But I think he's wrong about it meaning absolutely nothing. Just because no one cares doesn't mean its wasteful.
Consider “waste.” Waste for one isn't waste for another.
Working on a car is wasted time to some. That’s why we pay mechanics. They do the work, and we do something else with our free time. But if you’re like Phædrus in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, working on a motorcycle is anything but waste . . . as long as your head is in the right place.
If you're a cog in a system doing mindless work, you have no standards. The end result doesn't matter, really. There is no expectations, it just has to end. Who cares about the materials? The detail?
Actually caring about the bits and details is what Pirsig would call Quality, and it's really the entire purpose of his book, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Without Quality, nothing much would matter.
Understanding Quality
A mechanic can marvel at how something was built—what bolts were used, how much they were tightened, etc.—but I just want my car to work. Where an artist can marvel at detail in sculpture, I just want to browse the museum. Where a singer can marvel at hitting certain pitches, I just want the music to spam my ears.
But with the body? That's where I marvel. That's my vehicle for Quality. That's where I'm willing to fight.
And if you couldn't tell, this all comes full circle. You won't make it through stuckness and suckness unless you're playing an infinite game. Most importantly, if you only care about the visual result — the six pack itself on the exterior — you aren't playing an infinite game because the infinite game is the uncovering of Quality.
What's your nothing?
It's a lot of time to spend on nothing. That's what Seinfeld says.
That's the way most people think. You could die tomorrow, after all. Why waste an hour in the gym? Why care about eating broccoli instead of pecan pie?
If your body is nothing to you, then it won't matter. Eat the pie, ditch the gym. That's fine.
But I think that what's nothing to some is a lot of something to others, and that something is probably a mundane — seemingly trivial — task that ends up being a vehicle for Quality.
It shouldn't be a surprise by now. The vehicle here is changing the body in a certain way. As explained in The Saga Theory, we chase a certain kind of look alongside a mixture of barbell training, bodyweight-gymnastics training, and fast twitch acrobatic mischief.
Does fitness have to be your vehicle for Quality? Not really. But I'm willing to bet, for a lot of people that are where you want to be, it is. Or, at least, used to be.
But, by now, you should also know that appreciating Quality is hard when you're stuck. So tomorrow we begin the dig, backyard goonie style, and talk about arming yourself with the right equipment.
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Photo Credit: waste