I stare down at my hands. Short, stubby, sausage-like hands hard and calloused from years of lifting without gloves.
EWW! Sand that down! The girls say.
I think: Never! Not my battle scars, my muscles’ proof of purchase, never.
My hands are calloused, yet surprisingly moisturized. Years of a chronic masturbation problem attest to that. Though in the early, middle twenties that compulsion’s waning and is it sad I feel like I’m losing a key part of my identity?
I heave and hoist two 50 lb weights above my shoulder – focusing on power, force, and form.
P.F.F.
The noise you should be making if you’re working hard enough.
Come on pussy! You’re weak. You’re weak. Two more.
My gym partner and spotter knows how to train me. It’s like sex. Verbally abuse me. Demean me. The only difference is that in this setting it’s uncouth to spit on me. In any case, abusive verbiage surely produces a positive effect – at least for me. Takes every type to make the world turn, eh?
SNAP!
Sean- my gym bud – shoots a mirror selfie on his phone. He tags me and we post our bulbous cloud of fitness hashtags. Like nothing happened, we both grab weights and begin another set.
“I broke up with Carey last night.” Sean says in between lifts.
I finish my set and right before chugging my Mega Muscle Juice Jam, say, “Dude, I’ve been calling her Casey this whole time.”
“Oops! No, you’re right. Casey. But that’s just it. Be more memorable. Plus she wasn’t it. Look at me. I’m going to end up with a Jennifer Anniston, not a Lisa Kudrow.”
I reply slightly incredulous, “Didn’t you date for four months?”
Sean’s muscles are engorged. His chest is practically meeting his chin. A NY subway could travel through his veins. But where he had brawn, he lacked brains. ADD sets in and Sean bursts out, “DUDE! 562 likes on instagram already!”
The dream always was to become fitness video celebrities.
And why the hell not us? We said – fuck you! To our fears and inhibitions, we jumped for the opportunity and elusive path towards fame (or infamy if need be…) It’s those who reach out and take a chance who have the largest chance in succeeding.
Wasn’t that like an Einstein or Sylvester Stallone quote or something?
“I don’t know. It seems like you didn’t even try with Carey – Casey I mean. You know, when I think back and think to why I initially adopted fitness as a hobby. It was to produce an alluring package for the goods inside – my heart and personality. But lately, it seems that we’re all packaging and no content. Do you think we’ve lost our ways? Are we on a first-class ticket to loneliness and vanity?
Sean rubs his thumb and index from either side of his lip crease to his chin until they touch and says, “I didn’t listen to a single, pussy-bitch word you just uttered. And know why? Because I’m lifting. I’m going to be a god, eternal man, like Kanye.
And I think.
And think.
And realize.
He’s right.
If I want to get the best woman (or man – sexuality is so fluid nowadays, who knows what I’ll be into in five years…), I need to train and become the best, sexiest, most-muscled man. Life is competition. You’ve gotta be the best. That takes hard work and discipline. Survival of the fittest.
That’s how you get true love, right – you must train singularly until you’re worthy?
I’ve got to get to work.
This could take years.
Decades, even.
Filed under: DATING
