Bodybuilding Advice for the Beginner in all of Us
My Love Affair With DOMS
At first, my girl was worried. She said I talked about her every time I came home from the gym; said I wasn’t careful with my verbose descriptions—hell, she admitted she was getting jealous.
I told her I was in love with DOMS.
She figured that new afternoons-and-weekends-trainer had a cute nickname, short for Dominique or Diana or something that started with D—you can imagine her relief when I told her it wasn’t another woman I’d fallen for.
It was DOMS--
--Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness.
If you’ve spent any kind of time in the weight room, you know what I’m talking about. That burning, aching, cramping soreness in your muscles the next day, the kind that lets you know you really broke that muscle down.
You kind of become addicted to her; suddenly, a Tuesday morning without that intense tingle in your biceps means you must have failed in your arm training the day before.
Some scientists (far smarter than myself) attribute the onset of DOMS to micro-damage that occurs to muscle tissue following those make-your-mother-cry workouts. It’s one of those ‘good pains;’ the pretty cousin to that wicked-burn lactic acid—you know, the one that comes your way in the middle of that last set of curls.
I leave the science stuff to the egg-heads—all I know is that DOMS loves me, and I love her right back.
She’s honest with me, DOMS is. (In ways I sometimes wish my girl would be after shopping for ‘a few things’ with my credit card.)
She lets me know when I’ve turned her on, and she’s not afraid to tell me when I need to step my game up.
I listen to her, and, in doing so, learn which areas of my workout I need to focus on in order to bring her howling back.
When she goes away, I chase her—only instead of buying pretty things to woo her, all I have to do is hit those seated rows again.
She knows how to give me just enough; after leg day, I’m not bed-ridden and miserable, but I’m not taking the stairs two-at-a-time, either.
If all my relationships were as mutually beneficial, I’d probably be a much happier man. For now, though, I remain content with my girl—she’s got the out-of-the-gym stuff covered—besides, my thing on the side is always waiting for me after the squat rack.