Gym Life Baby!
So I started going to the gym, doctor told me I needed to exercise my tibialis posterior, on some life or death ishh. I hit the gym at 4 in the am, peak muscle growth hours, got to get that beach bod, bathroom pics to show all my facebook friends that I have the 350 Dhs required for a basic monthly gym membership. Everyone I meet here is obsessed with my body and how much better I look than I did a day ago. A very tight knit community, always giving each other top tips and tricks for better muscle growth, introducing each other to super slim fit shirt wholesalers and displaying the different stages of testicle shrinkage due to extensive steroid use in after workout specials. I’ve been abusing the flat dumbbell press technique, I’m afraid I’ve developed a perky set of B-cup breasts, that wouldn’t be such a big problem if I had worked out all the other muscles, my trainer told me to lay off the chest exercises and the protein and I should be okay, right after he stopped laughing and taking pictures, at least now I can find me a good man. Yesterday I tried one of those protein shakes everyone is always talking about, five hours later I passed what seemed to be 100% Angus beef, I sold it to the Japanese, they told me it could revolutionize global relief efforts, easily accessible meat supplies for famine ridden third world countries, like flood prone Bangladesh, where annual monsoon rains cause the rivers Ganges, Meghna and Brahmaputra to overflow their embankments and inundate 20% to 30% of the country. Luckily in 1988 a Flood Action Plan (F.A.P) was devised to reduce the damage done by the floods, and now my poo putt protein will help reduce casualties.
The gym has made me a better person, not only can I bench 220 now, but I can also do that thing where you do push ups while hanging form the ceiling, pretty kick ass, chicks dig it like a burial plot. The gym has taught me that I’m only allowed to walk around with my shirt off after three weeks of being able to do a thousand straight sit ups and that “one more” means seven more. The gym is God’s answer to Wendy Williams. The gym is making the perfect paper plane on your very first try, then throwing it off the balcony, have it circle the block and come back to you. The gym is a six foot long BLT sub followed by three feet of raw cookie dough and a foot of coke. The gym is your parents getting a bitter divorce after ten years of backhanded compliments and sleeping on the couch, two christmases! The gym is my life now and I don’t see myself leading any other, unless I get a dirt bike for my birthday.