One more rep. One more. One.... Ah I can't do it. I jump as I hear the sound of metal clanking on the floor. I can't feel my arms. That's good right? I think that's supposed to happen. How else are they gonna get any bigger? I wrap my hand around it. I think it got bigger. That doesn't mean much though.
Who likes scrawny guys? Not me. It's not my fault my metabolism works so well. You know who else doesn't like scrawny boys? Girls that’s who. They said so. Well, not exactly. Have you ever seen an action hero who wasn't 250 pounds of steroids packed meat? When’s the last time Skinny el Sticko got the super model turned actress? Imagine Rambo without the eight pack. Not happening right? No one's ever told me that guys who aren't muscular aren't any good. They showed me.
I can’t go back to school. Not like this. Not like last time. I rub my shoulder. I can still feel the bruise digging in. It sucks being the least athletic guy in your class. I thought it was P.E not the Olympics. It’s only a game, yet all the other guys take it so seriously. Seriously enough to shove me into the change room locker. I’ll show em. I’ll show em what a real man looks like.
I worked hard. Hard enough for a drink. I stand around pretending to stretch, sipping my water ever so slowly. I don't wanna get back in that gym. Not next to those guys. Maybe I'll just go hang out in the sauna and look tired. Hopefully everyone in there’s gonna be wearing a towel. I hate when that happens.
Look left. Bodybuilder working on his triceps. Look right. Shirtless bodybuilder working on his triceps. Look up. What do ya know. There's a shirtless bodybuilder working on his biceps. Everywhere I look I see sweaty, hardworking men. They all seem too big for their shirts. That's who I have to be. So when I am do I get shirts that are rippable at the chest or just regular shirts?
Break time's over. Back to the bench. I load up the weight plates. Clink, clink. Just another hour today. And the next day. And the next. Again, and again.
One more rep. One more. One...