muscle.

Toned, sculpted, firm, definitely steroid-free, all the better if it’s all naturally (vs. gym) developed… I love muscle.
Appreciate female muscle too, on Lourdes Mutola, Serena, Venus, and on me too (when I’m not being untrue to myself). But it’s the male muscle that melts me. From the beautiful calves of Michael Chan to the sunkist flesh of the frat boy/landscape architect (for those who’ve seen ‘something new’), though it’s most disarming when dipped in dark chocolate: Walala hoi with their beautiful, all natural muscle. Whenever at coast or Dar, I stare out the mathree/daladala window at that working, sweat-slicked muscle.

Remember the scene in Boomerang when they’re trying to determine whether or not the nipple’s showing in the ad and the guy says it’s definitely showing ‘cause he’s drooling? Well, that’s me and toned muscle. I could be minding my own business, thinking about saving the world (more on this later) and I’ll find myself taking a second look at a guy who’s just passed me, only to realize that he’s displaying (even in most innocent way possible) toned muscle. This… ehm… this tendency once impacted my work. A colleague and I were administering a survey and entered this guy’s office... My mouth fell open as soon as I saw him (sunkist, short sleeves, very nicely fitting trousers…), I remember my lips flapping but having no idea what I was saying… Hurray for team work! ‘cause my colleague came through and rescued my mute/confused self, and got what we’d gone for (and more).

I’ve been told girls can volunteer to slick oil onto body builders right before they go on stage, but I’ve steered clear of getting details. Why? I don’t think I’d hang on to the reins of control if I mistakenly put myself in the way of such temptation, though in my bolder days I actually went up to guys and asked if I could run my fingers along their muscles! Many kindly indulged me.

Having once been in a business where the statement “you look different with clothes on” was common, I fully appreciate the difference clothes make and remember being pretty unimpressed with some folk upon first meeting them, and that changing when they took the clothes off. It also took me a moment to recognize the ones I was used to seeing undressed… [swimming! The business was swimming!]

Usually it’s athletes who have muscle to die for, and I’ve narrowed it down to my favorite muscle sports: soccer features at #1 ‘cause of the legs, and sometimes the abs. That is just pure working out (and youth) that gets those legs to where they are. Favorite soccer team of all time? Mali during the Africa Cup of Nations 2002… can’t wait for 2008 and 2010. (rugby players are just a tad too beefy).

# 2 sport is swimming: Having always been fascinated by the physiological differences between males and females, I find swimming is the ultimate frontier where the fundamental differences are evident. For female swimmers, the subcutaneous fat shows big time, indicating that indeed, feminine fat persists even when you swim twice a day, six days a week… and it covers up the muscle tone you know has to be under there somewhere. Male swimmers, however, are a whole other story. Their muscle tone is evident… drool-inducingly, waxed/shaved-ly so. My favorites at the moment: Roland Schoeman, African Swimmer of 2005, and Ryk Neethling. We saw a lot of Roland on TV in 2004/5 when he was doing the talk show circuit and obligingly taking his shirt off for female fans waiting to swoon at the sight of his sculpted 6pak. Ryk I’ve seen live at the Ellis Park swimming complex... happened to be there while he was shooting some ad, and remember saying to a lady there (his publicist?) that “I’d love to have that body” (meaning I wish I had the discipline to swim long and hard enough to get that buffed). She gave a delighted laugh and said “many people want to have that body”. There was also this picture of him on a billboard in Pretoria for the longest time, just to test the multitasking skills of women when faced with body beauty.

#3 is road biking or spinning in the gym studio. It is a devout desire of mine to coax my leg muscle into the tone and form of those stunning spinning instructors next year… It is just poetry in motion to see that muscle play covered by that smooth hairless skin... how I got sucked into spinning...

But do let’s move on to more chocolate-dipped muscle: Two women I will go to my grave envying are Angela Fisher and Carol Beckwith… first got to learn of them from the coffee table book ‘Africa Adorned’. Having traveled the length of this continent, if there are women who have seen African male muscle in all its glory, it’s these two. Thank heaven for photographs that allow us share in this beauty. When I’m finally able to travel Africa the way I’d like, I seriously think I’ll melt into a puddle before the journey’s over… not sure if it’ll be in southern Sudan, Angola, or DRC…