Superman

Just thinking out loud here, or whatever the online equivalent of out loud is with the written word, and by written of course I mean typed, and by typed I mean keyboarded or whatever the hell this process is called.

Superman.  He's the perfect specimen of a dude, right?  All chiseled and square-jawed and whatnot.  Here's the thing though:  Thanks to some largely glossed-over scientific reason stemming from being from a different planet and somehow drawing power from our sun, Superman is really strong.  Not like dude-can-pull-a-car-two-city-blocks-just-by-doing-kegels strong, I mean bullets-bounce-off-his-frikkin-eyeballs-and-shit strong.

Bear with me.

Try to imagine a gym where the weights are such that Superman struggles to lift them.

I find it hard to imagine, because I've seen him frost-breath a lake and then casually lift the several-acre sheet of ice and drop it on a burning chemical laboratory before it 'splodes all up in humanity's business and we go all Ark of the Covenant Nazi melty-face.

Several-acre sheets of ice are, presumably, heavy as shit.  Ol' Muscles McSmallville doesn't break a sweat.  That's just one example of many.

Here's my point:  Muscles don't get bigger if you don't challenge them, right?  That's why you gotta lift heavy things in order to build your muscles, or so I've been lead to believe.  You don't see much footage of the little Kent boy taking lessons on fitness and nutrition, much less on how to not wear undies over your tights, and you sure don't see him at the gym juggling 45 lb weights as if they were 35 lb weights and he was a slightly less rugged version of himself.

So how did he get all ripped and studly?  Even those Mr. Incredible train-car workouts would be as easy as playing inter-continental beer-pong with an inexplicably Nigerian version of the incredible Hulk using Kevlar replicas of Lou Ferrignos testicles instead of ping pong balls.

Wouldn't Superman, for lack of a challenging workout-regimen, be all noodley-armed and concave-chested like a parody of an 80's basement-nerd with a handful of 5.5" floppies?  Maybe a super-efficient vegan Superman diet is the explanation for the super-metabolism which makes him naturally Schwarzenegger-in-his-prime-esque without ever tossing back a banana and steroid protein shake or posting Facebook videos of himself doing jazzercise dance-workouts in his living-room in order to inspire his friends.

Admittedly, there's a lot of Superman footage we've never seen, like him butt-clenching a thunder wedgie right out of existence, and then gas-station-burrito-farting a ripe old fissure in his not-so-super tighty whities.  We never see him eyeball-lasering two dozen eggs over-medium from a hundred yards away for his post-workout snack, or haggling with Ace Hardware employees over the price of their industrial-strength vice-grips so he can tweeze his super-unibrow.  Nobody mentions the time he popped a zit and dented a cast iron tea kettle in a revolutionary war museum three blocks away.

Maybe it's best that we don't think about these things.

Maybe it's best not to consider that baby Clark's super-tinkles could shred an up-armored Humvee through seven layers of Martha Kent's eco-friendly washable cloth diapers, and that his teenage wet-dreams spawned a flurry of otherwise-unexplained immaculate conceptions in Eastern Sri-Lanka and the surrounding area.

Maybe.