Happy Birthday Pops

My earliest memories of my father were of him in the garage tinkering with auto parts, building and taking things apart with one of the many tools that lined his work bench. And lifting weights. He had a power rack and a Sears bench, Weider plates, a couple of bars. He ate whatever my mom cooked and claims that his favorite post workout meal was pizza and beer. The weights clearly resonated with me the most as weight training is a large part of my personal and professional life.

He took me to the gym for the first time when I was 14, which was 23 years ago. It was for football, but to also help me avoid getting my ass kicked anymore at school. The program he chose for me was the novice routine from Johnny Parker's book on training football players.



I followed that program for about a year until I started reading Flex and Muscular Development and copying the programs of the top bodybuilders, which is something I see almost as rite of passage for the young trainee.

With reading and following the programs of top bodybuilders I decided I also needed to take supplements. I remember asking my dad to bring me some protein powder and he said he would pick some up on his way home from work. I was so excited until he arrived with a normal grocery bag. They did not sell protein powder at the supermarket, or so I thought. He pulled out a box nonfat dry milk powder and handed it to me. I didn't say anything. He said, there's your extra protein. Mix it with milk or water, doesn't matter.

Twenty-three years later I know it doesn't really matter what powder I take or what program I follow. I don't know for how long I used my milk powder but I eventually focused on eating the right way and that lesson still serves me well today. I don't need to follow a football program or a bodybuilding program so long as I train consistently enough that the imprint of my training will be there when my son reflects on me.

Thank you dad. Happy Birthday.