C.S. Sloan's Integral Strength

   The Mostly True Exploits and Tales of Bodybuilding, Powerlifting, and Other Strength Sports Across the South, from Texas to Alabama Chapter Two: Pulling Big A.K.A. The One in Texas with Deadliftin’, Tire-Flippin’ and Tobacco-Spittin’ Setting: East Texas, 2004      “Texas ain’t so bad,” Bubba said, about the time that we pulled up to the gate of my Uncle Kirk’s ranch in East Texas.  For Bubba, this was tantamount to a revelation.  Since we had left Mississippi, he hadn’t said a whole lot of good stuff about my home state.      “You changin’ your tune?” I asked, as we both got out of my truck.  I walked over to the gate to swing it open.  Bubba walked to the back of the truck, and the cooler full of ice-cold beer.      “Nah, Texas is too flat,” Bubba replied, as he cracked open a Budweiser.  “I’m just sayin’ that it ain’t so bad—it’s got some good-lookin’ gals, for instance.  But it needs hills.  And trees.  The only trees I seen so far are around ponds and lakes.”      I was ready to

  Never, Never, NEVER Stop Training Don't worry, this image will make sense shortly. I was raised by parents from East Texas.  I say this at the beginning so that you can be as bemused—or perhaps befuddled—as much as I am that my mother, Texan through and through, has a deep, abiding, and often (for me, at least) confusing love of all things British.   British movies, British novels (my mother is a novelist, so that might be part of the problem), British mysteries whether in print or screen (small or large), British tea; well, the list could go on and on and on.  She even has a deep love for the Royal Family, which is the most confounding of all to me, and which I gladly point out at a lot of July 4th celebrations.  As a Texan myself, who has made his home in Texas, Arkansas, Mississippi, and (mainly) Alabama, I’m proud that my ancestors fought the British, and kicked their tails back “across the pond.”  But, hey, I’m also proud of my ancestors that fought in the Texas Revolution,