Venice Beach is still one of those quintessential California playgrounds, built on old tobacco money, complete with giant sandbox. Walking down Ocean Front Walk on a scorching afternoon, you can expect to be greeted by a cavalcade of street performers, colorful vagrants, fragrant proponents of legalized marijuana and, of course, shiny tanned bodies on display. Venice wouldn’t be Venice without Muscle Beach – an open air fitness arena where the buff and the beautiful can tone to perfection, while the hordes of tourists look on, thoughtfully chewing away at $1 pizza slices [sold nearby].
I happened across the Mr. and Mrs. Muscle Beach Competition during my photo-expedition. The lovely thing about this contest is that it’s open to amateurs. You’ll need to shell out the $75 entry fee, and once you’ve got that you’re in to flex with the best the beach has to offer within several weight and age categories. Hypnotized, I watched sequined bathing suits and tiny trunks stretch across fitness gods and goddesses strutting their hard-earned stuff before an eager audience and panel of judges. After watching the 60+ age group compete I’m inspired, humbled, hoping to be in half as good of a shape as these strapping athletes. And even though I paid for this little adventure in sunburn, I’m looking forward to the next time I leave my Hollywood cocoon and head out West to Venice. Maybe I’ll find that teenage machete-wielding coconut vendor and that nice homeless kid who ate the rest of my coconut.
