Friday, January 25, 2013

The Gym - Pt I

I fucking love the gym. Not everything about it, but many aspects.

Lifting weights is a very enjoyable activity. Once you get over the initial awkward stage where your muscles are shaking (because the nerves haven't learned how to fire correctly yet), it's awesome.

I remember when I used to go with my brother occasionally when I was about 19. It was difficult. He had been going for years and had these crazy routines and regimens that, as a beginner, were impossibly hard. My arms would tremble embarrassingly when I would do any sort of dumbbell press, and my brother would demand outlandish amounts of weight. Despite this, he would always help me get stronger, lift better, and was always encouraging. "Come on, yep—all you—you got this," he would say as I floundered under 135 lbs on the flat bench.  And the DOMS. Holy fuck, the muscle soreness; I would wake up and be unable to straighten my arm. Beneath a warm shower I would carefully extend my bicep while trying not to scream. I'm fairly certain this meant that I was training way too hard to start, but oh well; brothers will be brothers.

Over the years, my gym visits have become increasingly cemented into my life-routine. I usually despise the routine nature of life actually, but for the gym I can make an exception. I feel pretty strange if I take off a day or two during the week. The root of this strange feeling is partly guilt, partly that I feel as though I'm forfeiting progress, and partly that I really actually enjoy lifting heavy objects off the ground and putting them down again. Pressing 90 lbs in each hand and then letting them crash to the ground; doing pull ups with a 45 lb plate dangling between my legs from a weight belt; these are great feelings.

The gym is also filled with attractive guys: the muscles, the strutting around. It's so dumb in some ways, but I can't help getting turned on by it. To be clear, I go to the gym 95% to work out, but some jacked bros around certainly do not make me want to go any less. Shirts tucked into waistbands, under armour spandex peaking out from the bottom of baggy shorts, guys lifting their shirts to wipe sweat from their brow and/or flash the gym a glimpse of their abs and V.  I usually don't do this myself, but I'll make an exception if a large, but thick, bro is trying to be assertive around me. Squatting 300 pounds is a lot more impressive at 175 lbs than at 250 lbs, buddy.
shirtless soccer player

One odd negative that has come out my success at the gym is that I now hold others to a very high standard as well. It's just another item on my seemingly endless list of things that I think the ideal guy should have. Having an imperfect body is not a deal-breaker whatsoever, but my threshold for what gets me excited in another guy's body is much higher. This kind of sucks. I wish that I could get randy over a guy with a decent body, but I can't. It needs to be at least a B+ or it's not adding to my experience. I'm sure my hyper-criticality will resurface in later posts in various forms so, get exited.

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