By Tim Robinson

If you were 5'1", 97 pounds, and a boy who read comic books before schoolwork, you might understand how I became a late bloomer. In the ninth grade everyone I knew was taller than me. Even the girls. My dad was the same way. He told me but he thought it was because he grew up in the depression in Portland, Oregon and rarely had anything but cold potato soup to eat.

In the back of the comic books and often in publications like Popular Mechanics, there were ads for body building. Charles Atlas offered a course on dynamic tension where you push or pull heavy items or even clasp your own hands together and try to separate them with your fingers intertwined. His ad would show a skinny kid getting sand-kicked in his face by a bully who then stole his girlfriend. The idea was that you did not have to be a weakling.

I didn't have a girlfriend. I blamed it on being weak. The ad worked. I bought it hook, line and sinker. I sent away for the plan and eagerly waited each day by the mailbox, to see what $4.95 would bring.

DYNAMIC TENSION! I could not spell dynamic tension—much less understand what it was. I only knew I had Olive Oyl arms and a tiny body. I figured this would help me get strong so I could meet girls. I never considered being a bully once I got stronger. I only wanted to impress the girls with my big biceps. It was all there in the explanation of how it worked.

The big day arrived. I check the mail and was so excited to begin building my body. The flimsy pages with black and white illustrations were my starting point.

Step 1: Grab a rock and squeeze it. You need a good grip to start. After a week of rock squeezing, I could not hold a pencil.

The following week - Step 2: Get a rope and tie it around a tree. Have a tug-o-war with yourself. Do it for 20 minutes each day. For five days, I came home and pulled and pulled on that rope. By Saturday I could not walk.

I went to Step 3: Stand with your arms pressed to the inside of a doorway and attempt to push yourself away from each side with your wrists only. Do this for three or four minutes. I forget, as I passed out and slumped to the floor—arms flailing above my head like I was under arrest!

When I came to, I went to check the mirror for my results. NOTHING! I was a little red but that might have been from being embarrassed, as I had failed to read the disclaimer in tiny type in the back of the book. Results not guaranteed for everyone. Allow 18 to 36 months to see physical changes. Hell, I'd be nearly out of school before I'd see any benefit from my labor. And I'd have no girlfriend. And, I'd be out $4.95.

I'm not a quitter. I found another ad in a different comic.

George Jowett was a renowned champion of physical fitness. His plan was to get bigger muscles by using weights. I sent another $4.95 in for that plan. The day the mail arrived, I tore open the envelope with the last bit of strength I could muster. Inside was a form I needed to fill out and a request for payment of $79.95 for a complete set of barbells, but it included shipping! Oh joy! I thought my $4.95 included the weights. How was I to know? I didn't have the $79.95 and saw no reasonable way to get it without stealing. My paper route got me $12 a month, so it would take almost eight months of savings. That also would mean no Mr. Goodbars, red licorice or Bazooka bubble gum for most of that next year while waiting to send in my money. Like I said, I'm no quitter, but I was also a realist. I simply figured there must be a better way than giving up my entire source of income just to get bigger muscles.

My problem was solved weeks later when April Irene Veronica Ventoza said she liked me just the way I was. It was right the then that I started to bloom. I'm no quitter but I might be a pushover.

April, I still love you.