HermTheWorm’s B.L.O.G.

As I head into the home stretch preparing for my photos for the hot body search, I’ve been doing something I don’t ordinarily do.

I’m paying attention to the girls in the gym.

After all, in a way they are my competition. In a way. Sort of. Not that I have any competition.

I’m not talking about the girl’s with vaginas (Am I allowed to say that word? If not, I can use a more acceptable term, such as pussys) I’m talking about the girls I see on the gym floor and in the locker room. Those girls.

The ones that lift light weights like girls and work out with the intensity of girls. They dress like girls and are not drenched in sweat like girls. They don’t talk to themselves and curse and pump their fists and clap and slam weights bouncing off the rubber mats when they are finished with sets like girls.

In my book, AND that’s the only book that counts on MY Bodyspace page(s), they are GIRLS.

Just for the record, there is nothing wrong with girls, or even women. I prefer them to men in many ways. Ways far too filthy to mention on my pristine, oh-so-virgin blogs.

Yes, I have been checking out these girlies while I work out. I have a far better body than most of them and this causes me no small amount of consternation. If I am to win this contest I need to have a far better body than ALL of them.

Some of them, or so I imagined, were a little too close to me, physique-wise. I needed to put some more distance between myself and "them".

I think I have achieved this.

I have taken to (uncharacteristically–Not that I am modest, quite the opposite. I believe they are not worthy of gazing upon my rippedness) taking of my shirt in the locker room and going to the sink area to get water for my post workout shakes. I believe I have body dismorphia. A lot of the guys who I thought had bodies almost as good as mine on the gym floor, where I am wearing a ton of clothes, when seen next to me reflected in the mirror, are NOT even in my universe. It’s like a real life side by side comparison that I do in my progress section.

Blown the f-ck away. Man versus boy, as age-wise it is somewhat the case.

I am putting some distance between myself and the rest of the pack.

The girls.

On Sunday night, while sipping my shake and admiring my awesomely awesome awesomeness in the mirror, an ordinary looking Chinese fellow (Ha! You thought I was going to say Chinaman, didn’t you?) came up to me.

"You drink shake a lot?"

When I’m not working out I’m a very affable young man. Only I’m not young. Not even close.

"Every meal these days except for dinner. But you gotta’ add a lot of stuff to make it a complete meal. Greenfood powders, fiber powder, et cetera."
"How long you been working out?"
"My whole life on and off half-assed. Then I let myself go and started hot and heavy about a year ago; so I’d say a year."
"Wow, you have…Wow…The muscle…Nice."
"Yeah, well, thanks."

He shuffles away. Obviously awestruck (And can you blame him?).

Groovy, I thought to myself. Of all the guys in the gym, he chooses ME to single out as a WTF. It’s nice to be singled out in your gym as a WTF. I’ve always aspired to WTFdom. This bodes well for the upcoming body search. Oh yeah. The muscle. Nice.

The next day is my dreaded leg day. I am doing heavy squats and I notice this big strapping 240 poundish black guy with a tight white tee shirt and uber tight white tights. He was lifting really heavy a few stations away from me, and I thought to myself "Man, this guy is big and bad, but that get-up he’s wearing is like super duper Gee-Ay-Why. I’m tempted to go up to him and tell him that, but he looks like a serious lifter and serious lifters are all my brothers, so whatever."

A few sets later he comes up to me.

"I see you’ve isolated two 45 pound plates at the very end of the bar, does that do anything different than keeping them all together? I’ve never seen that before."

Oh. My. God. (!!!) :-0

I should have known from the outfit. Here in New york, a lot of the gay guys, if you look at them, seem rough and tumble. But when they open their mouths…

This guy was off the charts gay. I was tempted to run to the fire extinguisher to put out the flames.

"Oh no, it doesn’t change the way it affects your legs. I keep those plates at the end so when I do the drop set, it’s easier to get off the bar and drop to the floor. Saves time."

"Oh, oh I see." He lisps, and skips away.

About an hour later, I am STILL doing legs. I’m on the hack squat machine, those things must have been invented in medieval times. Pure torture. And wouldn’t you know it? Mister chocolate Richard Simons on steroids walks over to me. I take off my headphones.

"Are you training for a contest?" He asks.
"As a matter of fact, I am."
"Symmetry." He says "You have amazing symmetry. I can even see it through all those clothes."

(OMG! I wonder what else he can see through "All those clothes"?)

:-o

"When I go to a contest, I can pick them right out on stage." He points daintily with his index finger to imaginary guys on stage "First, second, third, fourth. And they always finish that way. You have amazing symmetry."
"Thanks." I say "You made my day. I’m not like other guys who try to pile on where they are strong, I always work especially hard on my weaknesses."

[Note to French_Pedi: I no longer have traps "like a 12 year old boy". Wisenheimer.]

"Oh, you’re going to do so well. I can always tell." and he skips away. Again.

So two days and two guys have singled me out from the rest of the herd. As I look over my shoulder, the distance between me and the girls is starting to widen. Soon they will be a spec on the horizon, and then, poof. Gone in a cloud of dust.

My motto: There can only be one.

Hermanicus, the great and masterful one.

All hail Hermanicus.

No, I have no problem with girls, but sometimes it’s good when they keep their distance.

Winkety wink wink.

Postscript: There is a guy in my gym I call “The Monster” who has a MUCH better physique than me (Yes, that is possible) in every capacity. Bigger, more cut, more aesthetic, he’s taller than me…And get this…He has smaller hips/waist than me and a smaller more pokey-outy butt than I do. I refuse to acknowledge him as a human being, but seeing him–and he is there every single f-cking day just like me–inspires the living f-ck out of me.

PostPostscript: These days I play this on my ipod on my way out of the locker room and through the gym. I stop along the mirrored wall and look at myself still sweating profusely, point at my chest then make the number one sign, then proceed to the street and hop in a cab with this still playing.

Baby, I’m the best. You better believe it.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, October 21st, 2009 at 9:37 pm and is filed under Training. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.