It was a very historic day, indeed.
As a thick fog lifted from the Scioto River in Columbus, Ohio, I could clearly see the 1979 Mr. Olympia competition taking place at Veterans Memorial Auditorium, the first Saturday in October.
With a pair of bikini briefs covering a scantily-clad frame, this mild-mannered eighth grader was saturated in posing oil as a personal trainer methodically rubbed it over his entire muscular physique during last-minute backstage preparations.
I would undoubtedly become the youngest competitor to participate in the annual bodybuilding contest, surpassing 21-year-old Harold Poole, who first captured the title at the inaugural event in 1965.
An enthusiastic crowd was buggin’ out once I stepped on stage for a stellar 60-second posing routine.
The coveted title was within my grasp.
To the naked eye, you might think I was vying for top honors against two-time champion Frank Zane in the signature tournament sponsored by the International Federation of Bodybuilding.
However, I woke with a start on the last day of Christmas vacation upon hearing my mother call me for breakfast while she stood at the foot of the enclosed L-shaped staircase.
It wasn’t until that very moment when I remembered it was the first day of a brand-new decade — the 1980s.
And according to my desk blotter calendar, I planned to begin a weight training regimen with the 110-pound weight set and Joe Weider bench that Santa Claus left under our Christmas tree just a week earlier.
Although Frank Zane did, in fact, walk away with the crown for the third straight year that unforgettable weekend, I had my sights set on becoming as muscular as another Mr. Olympia champion — Arnold Schwarzenegger — who won the “Clash of the Musclebound Titans” a record six consecutive times from 1970 to 1975.
In addition, I had a large wall poster of the famed Austrian in the basement workout area to inspire me as I embarked on my own weightlifting journey.
“Look who finally decided to join the land of the living,” teased Mom, placing a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of the only empty chair at the kitchen table. “Since you were so difficult to wake up this morning, I was beginning to think you had another concussion; but I guess it was just a little too much late-night partying.”
“I think I’ve got a hangover, because my head’s still spinning in circles from lack of sleep,” I proclaimed, letting out an elongated yawn while joining my siblings for a late breakfast.
“Did you drink any alcohol at last night’s New Year’s Eve party?” Mom asked.
“No, of course not,” I replied with a chuckle.
“Maybe he’s got a margarine headache like Grandma Price gets all the time,” reasoned 5-year-old Michele before stuffing her face with another bite of buttered toast.
“I think you meant to say ‘migraine’ instead of ‘margarine,’” Mom gently corrected.
“Marcus Welby, M.D. probably couldn’t sleep last night because he drank an entire six-pack of Coca-Cola on account of a bet with Dirk Arkwright,” explained Kathleen before taking a big gulp of chocolate milk.
“You hit the nail on the head,” confirmed John, winking at the green-eyed blondie sitting directly across from him. “When Mark started running his mouth about his burping capabilities, Dirk challenged him to a burping contest; so, they each drank a half dozen cans of pop.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t wake up swimming in a pool of urine,” Mom chided.
“Eww!” exclaimed the girls in unison while attempting to delete that revolting image from their collective brains.
“At least I knocked the ‘Belching King’ off his throne by five whole burps,” I quipped, sticking out my tongue at the tattletale sitting catty-corner from me.
Once the minister’s wife learned of my gluttonous behavior, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop; but instead, she gave me a knowing smile and simply said, “Boys will be boys.”
Immediately after inhaling a delicious, protein-packed breakfast, I made a quick telephone call to my favorite redhead before heading into the underbelly of the church parsonage to begin the first of many weightlifting workouts with country music playing in the background.
Upon finishing a set of dumbbell hammer curls from the September 1979 issue of Muscle Mag International, with my role model on the cover, I spotted my boon companions — Robert “Robbie” G. Brough Jr. and Robert “Magsy” Magnifico — standing outside the basement entrance, making funny faces at me through the window.
“How long have you two knuckleheads been standing out there in that blizzard?” I asked.
“Long enough!” Robbie quipped.
“Let me look into my crystal ball,” snickered Magsy, using his counterpart’s tousle-cap-covered head as a prop to channel his proposed supernatural powers after coming indoors. “Although it’s a little foggy, you are weight training to emulate your hero, to bulk up and win Mr. Olympia just like him.”
“Hardy har-har,” I teased, before pointing out the obvious conclusions for his so-called insight into my psyche. “What gave it away — the Arnold Schwarzenegger poster plastered to the wall behind you, or the magazine cover with his likeness sitting on my weight bench?”
“Check out these guns,” gasped Robbie with feigned shock, wrapping his hands around one of my scrawny biceps. “If they get any bigger, he’s going to bust out of his shirt just like the Incredible Hulk every time he gets angry; and he might even turn green.”
“Look who’s got jokes,” I laughed. “Not to change the subject, but why’d you both bring your duffel bags, because it looks like you’re ready for another one of our gnarly sleepovers?”
“Ding, ding, you get a prize,” chuckled the black-haired Italian, imitating his best game show host voice. “Since it’s snowing outside and there’s no school tomorrow, we called your mom and asked if we could spend the night.”
“You called my mother without me knowing about it?” I queried.
“Guilty!” Magsy exclaimed.
“Hold the phone.” I said. “How’d you know there’s no school tomorrow?”
“I’ve got this town wired for sound,” Magsy puffed out his chest. “After all, my Uncle Dominick Magnifico is one of the assistant principals at Lincoln Junior-Senior High School.”
After completing our stellar weightlifting routine, we bundled up and headed outside to tackle the freshly fallen snow with numerous sled races and snowball fights.
That night, we stayed up late sharing stories and dreams, our laughter echoing throughout the basement as we basked in the warmth of friendship.
It was the perfect way to kick off a brand-new decade and the beginning of my bodybuilding journey.