My mother has always had it. I’m pretty sure that she was born with it. My husband and my eldest son also have it. I know for certain that Declan was not born with it, and while I suspect that my husband was, I cannot make that claim with any degree of certainty. As for me? Well, no. I wasn’t born with it and still don’t have it.
What am I talking about? Well, around here, we call it “Old Man Strength.” (herein known as OMS) And I don’t have it (gender discussions, aside). I’ve also heard it referred to as ‘real life strength’ but since I’m not living in the Matrix or some other sci-fi movie, I consider all strength to be ‘real life strength.’ That said, OMS is different than regular strength. It cannot be gained at a fancy-schmancy gym, or ordered online, and even the all mighty Bowflex will not produce this Herculean-like strength in otherwise average people.
Because, you see, OMS is not about how fit you are, how old you are, how much you weigh, how much you can bench press or lift. It’s not about how many chin ups, push ups or sit ups that you can do. It is a rare and very desirable combination of grit, determination, mental strength, perseverance, intelligence, a bit of rage and the complete and utter ‘knowing’ that it is possible. And many of us have some of those traits, hell, many of us have ALL of those traits. But when all of those traits don’t kick in at the same time. The planets do not align and people like me are left with regular strength (um, none to speak of, really) and people who work out are just super fit gym worshipping average strong.
But when push comes to shove, I put my money on the one with OMS. Every time. Hands down. Because whatever the challenge is – getting some open, lifted, moved, lowered, shifted, two people with OMS are worth six people with ‘sculpted’ strength. There is something ingrained in the DNA of those people with OMS that just makes them different.
As for me? As long as I can wrestle open my Diet Pepsi, successfully open a chocolate bar and finagle access to the chips in the bag, pick up my kids when they are hurt, and carry my own body weight (albeit via my legs and feet) I figure I’m probably strong enough to carry on. It also doesn’t hurt that I’m surrounded by OMS when it matters. 😉
