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bblazer
Banned
I generally never write about how much I lift, etc since I am maybe modest, and maybe embarrassed, and maybe I think numbers are meaningless compared to effort. But something happened at the gym today that was funny enough (at my expense) to throw up (yes I did) on the board here. I'm not above helping others ridicule me.
First some background to set the stage. At my gym there are 3 distinct groups. In order of gym population they are Soccer Moms that want to stay "fit", those that look strong, and those that are strong. Within those groups there are some sub groups that we all know well - like the guys that curl in the squat rack, the spaghetti strap tank guys, the "intimidators", and on and on. In this case we will be dealing with a hybrid type that is an "intimidator" with spaghetti straps, huge arms and chest, and stick legs that are always covered with track pants.
Now that the scene is set here goes...
There I am in the squat rack with my training partner (a guy that can DL > 700 for 10 good ones @ 260, and some of you know). Im just doing some warm up sets of 10 with 225. Im in shorts, my belt on the floor, and knee sleeves around my ankles. My t-shirt is a different story. On the front it says essentially "see dick train chest and arms every day, don't be a chicken legged dick." I like to think of it as inspirational rather than offensive.
So anyway, stud watches for a few minutes, and comes over to tell me that my form is off - my stance is too wide and I'll never get good quads lifting that way. My partner and I nod, say thanks for the tip, and get back to business. It was at this point in the mirror stud sees my shirt. "If you are gonna wear a shirt like that, you had better have a whole lot more weight on that bar or you'll look like a complete douche bag." This stopped me dead in my tracks, and I reply with "your nipples are hanging out of yours, so maybe we should both shop somewhere else..." Not to be outdone, he says "well its obvious your mouth jacking has nothing to do with what you can put up on that bar."
Cue my partner quietly laughing in the background...
Maybe it was all the free test in my bloodstream, but I say "fine, load the bar with your 5RM and if I do a 'Milk & 20' with it will yo go away?" This is getting long, so I will skip the part where I have to explain what a Milk & 20 is, but he does rack up 365, I slide up the knee sleeves and put on the belt. Right when I stand up the weight he says "make sure you get deep enough or they don't count!" To which I say "tell you what, while I sit and hold this, go to the rack next to us and show me what you mean by deep." He doesn't break parallel. I nod in acknowledgment and go to work. "You gonna spot him?" he says to my partner. "Nope - the pins are in."
When I'm done I rack the weight turn and say "Now can you leave us alone so we can get back to our workout?" Partner says "You should incorporate those into your routine and you would balance out a little more." "What's that supposed to mean?" Now that I am pissed he is still around I say "so the wind won't blow you over, and my shirt wont strike a nerve. (and here comes my mouth getting me in trouble) Or do you need an old guy like me to demo this again for you?"
No words from the nipple boy, but he reracks to 405 and say "Go for it tough guy."
Cue more laughter from partner...
So I go back to work. I will now have to admit that I probably redlighted the last 3-5 for depth, but I did get all 20. Around rep 13 or so, I was pretty light headed, and seeing the tunnel of light to the afterlife. Each time I went down I wasn't sure if I was coming back up, but somehow I made it. On rep 20 I had to have my partner help push me into the rack to get the bar off, because I was a little dizzy and clearly not currently on this planet.
Breathing really hard with sweat in my eyes, I turn to nipple boy and say "It looks like the preacher curl machine is open for you now. Is it OK if we get back to our workout?"
"Fuck you..." and he walks off.
Just in time. Fortunately the back door to the gym is close, and I made it outside and barfed up 2 or Needto's protein bars and about a liter of G2. I snuck out of the gym and got home, puking once along the way. As I sit here and type this I can feel just about all the muscles from my ribs down locking up into a death grip that will probably be will me all weekend - and I am supposed to go pheasant hunting tomorrow...
So the moral of the story?
1) I hate puking
2) Milk and 20's are high volume
3) I need to watch my mouth even with douchebags (I've been working on this one since to Nixon era.)
B-
First some background to set the stage. At my gym there are 3 distinct groups. In order of gym population they are Soccer Moms that want to stay "fit", those that look strong, and those that are strong. Within those groups there are some sub groups that we all know well - like the guys that curl in the squat rack, the spaghetti strap tank guys, the "intimidators", and on and on. In this case we will be dealing with a hybrid type that is an "intimidator" with spaghetti straps, huge arms and chest, and stick legs that are always covered with track pants.
Now that the scene is set here goes...
There I am in the squat rack with my training partner (a guy that can DL > 700 for 10 good ones @ 260, and some of you know). Im just doing some warm up sets of 10 with 225. Im in shorts, my belt on the floor, and knee sleeves around my ankles. My t-shirt is a different story. On the front it says essentially "see dick train chest and arms every day, don't be a chicken legged dick." I like to think of it as inspirational rather than offensive.
So anyway, stud watches for a few minutes, and comes over to tell me that my form is off - my stance is too wide and I'll never get good quads lifting that way. My partner and I nod, say thanks for the tip, and get back to business. It was at this point in the mirror stud sees my shirt. "If you are gonna wear a shirt like that, you had better have a whole lot more weight on that bar or you'll look like a complete douche bag." This stopped me dead in my tracks, and I reply with "your nipples are hanging out of yours, so maybe we should both shop somewhere else..." Not to be outdone, he says "well its obvious your mouth jacking has nothing to do with what you can put up on that bar."
Cue my partner quietly laughing in the background...
Maybe it was all the free test in my bloodstream, but I say "fine, load the bar with your 5RM and if I do a 'Milk & 20' with it will yo go away?" This is getting long, so I will skip the part where I have to explain what a Milk & 20 is, but he does rack up 365, I slide up the knee sleeves and put on the belt. Right when I stand up the weight he says "make sure you get deep enough or they don't count!" To which I say "tell you what, while I sit and hold this, go to the rack next to us and show me what you mean by deep." He doesn't break parallel. I nod in acknowledgment and go to work. "You gonna spot him?" he says to my partner. "Nope - the pins are in."
When I'm done I rack the weight turn and say "Now can you leave us alone so we can get back to our workout?" Partner says "You should incorporate those into your routine and you would balance out a little more." "What's that supposed to mean?" Now that I am pissed he is still around I say "so the wind won't blow you over, and my shirt wont strike a nerve. (and here comes my mouth getting me in trouble) Or do you need an old guy like me to demo this again for you?"
No words from the nipple boy, but he reracks to 405 and say "Go for it tough guy."
Cue more laughter from partner...
So I go back to work. I will now have to admit that I probably redlighted the last 3-5 for depth, but I did get all 20. Around rep 13 or so, I was pretty light headed, and seeing the tunnel of light to the afterlife. Each time I went down I wasn't sure if I was coming back up, but somehow I made it. On rep 20 I had to have my partner help push me into the rack to get the bar off, because I was a little dizzy and clearly not currently on this planet.
Breathing really hard with sweat in my eyes, I turn to nipple boy and say "It looks like the preacher curl machine is open for you now. Is it OK if we get back to our workout?"
"Fuck you..." and he walks off.
Just in time. Fortunately the back door to the gym is close, and I made it outside and barfed up 2 or Needto's protein bars and about a liter of G2. I snuck out of the gym and got home, puking once along the way. As I sit here and type this I can feel just about all the muscles from my ribs down locking up into a death grip that will probably be will me all weekend - and I am supposed to go pheasant hunting tomorrow...
So the moral of the story?
1) I hate puking
2) Milk and 20's are high volume
3) I need to watch my mouth even with douchebags (I've been working on this one since to Nixon era.)
B-
