Working out is one of the great pleasures in life. No, that isn’t an oxymoron – many people really do enjoy lifting absurdly heavy weights, and the subsequent deep muscle ache in the days after a workout. Now that’s manly. If you hit the gym early in the morning, you will be energised for the rest of the day – this sounds counter-intuitive, but trust me, your day will be like a lime with Tabasco sauce: zingy.
A perk of going to the gym is feeling superior, like Zeus looking down upon the poor unenlightened minions. I’m not talking strictly about being the most shredded guy there with the largest-circumference upper arms (though that would be an awesome feeling). I’m talking about being the only one with the correct technique in the whole gym. Have a look around: that middle-aged man who realised 2 days ago that it might be nice to have a 6-pack before he dies: he will throw out his back soon because he’s throwing the weights around like they’re really heavy medicine balls. That buffed-up guy using the Smith machine? He may also ruin his back with his ridiculously fast squats. It’s like these guys are in a time trial competition to see who can finish their workout the quickest whilst also looking like special n00bs.
Girls like working out too. They get right into the cardio, so they can keep their Body Mass Indicies under 20. The cardio room at my gym might as well have a sign on the door saying, “no boys allowed.” The boys that do go in there are just that: boys, albeit post-pubescent boys who look like women minus the long hair and breasts. But enough about androgynous people. The cardio room is extremely well air-conditioned compared to the rest of the gym. I feel like there should be cases of beer kept in there for after a 30-minute treadmill burn. Speaking of beer, I could really go one right now. It’s hot in the office, a little too hot and zingy.
I think I’ll hit the gym after knock-off then get a Corona with lemon. Now that’s manly.