Let’s take care of business first. You will now notice some new additions to my page. To the right – please find the beginnings of a blogroll with some nifty blogs you should definitely check out. If you scroll down to the bottom of the page, you will find links to RSS feeds (do it), as well as a socialvibe box – this is the most important part. FOR FREE, you can help me raise money for the WWF (World Wildlife Fund- you know you want to save the pandas). All you have to do is click the link and it’s smooth saling from there on out. Click it PWEAASEEE! You’ll be doing a good thing for the poor helpless animals. See what I did right there? I played the guilt trip on you. Really, though. If you click it just once everytime you visit my blog you’ll be contributing. The angel on your shoulder says yes.
Second order of business. At the gym this morning, I literally caught myself staring at this one gentleman with my mouth agape and a pool of drool forming at my feet. Why? Because I literally could not rip my eyes away from the absurdity that was his lifting. It reminded me of the “I lift things up and put them down” guy only seriously lacking any form of muscle. He basically wanted to be that guy without having any of the necessary bodily components to do so. Here is what I mean:
He was partaking in the bench press. Besides squatting, this is the ultimate display of manliness in the gym and/or life. The more you can bench, the more of a man you are. Don’t believe me? See how often (if the conversation of lifting comes up in a discussion between men) you notice the topic of benching or squatting come up in discussion, and aditionally if there is a numerical figure thrown in. Sometimes this will be followed by an insult if one man’s number is particularly low, i.e. “bitch”. I digress…
So, this man was benching. He was DRENCHED in sweat, and as I recall I didn’t see him involved in any serious sweat-producing cardio, nor any other rigorous lifting activities. He had far too much weight on the bar. How do I know this? Not because I can look at a person and analyze how much they should be capable of lifting, but because watching him try to raise the bar was like watching Atlas try to lift the world after binge-drinking all night at a ripper thrown by the Gods. It was a struggle, to say the least.
I watched his feeble reflection in the mirror as I held my own weight motionless in awe and, it was at that moment, I feared for his life. I quickly planned out the best route to his body incase I had to perform an emergency rescue and help lift the potentially fallen bar off of his tiny chest. I watched his last rep as it unfolded and I felt as if the entire gym was watching with me. They probably wouldn’t have been paying attention if it were not for the noises coming out of this man’s mouth. Imagine what the pipes in the boiler room of the titanic sounded like as it was breaking in half. That was this man. So, everyone watched as he lifted, and pushed, and wheezed, and pushed some more, and shook, and turned red, and finally got the bar back on the rack. Part of me wanted to throw my weights to the ground, run to him in jubilation, and give him a killer high-five. More of me wanted to take my weight and throw it at his face for scaring the crap out of me for the past 2 minutes and 33 seconds.
The rest of the workout was uneventful, but I will never forget this man and the astronomical dissappointment that was his lifting. I will give it to him though, it was extremely ballsy.