Those Guys at the Gym

I’m not averse to exercise.  Granted, I don’t near enough as I should, and as I am a typical American with a sedentary lifestyle and job (when I’m working).  I play with my dog, do lots of walking, and try to watch what I eat, but when it comes to actual working out, that’s just not something I can do.

First of all, it’s not fun.  The only activity even remotely close to exercise that’s fun for me is swimming, because I’ve always liked water.  But to me it wasn’t exercise to be in the pool swimming laps and trying to become faster.  I did it because it was fun, gave me a decent suntan half the time, and I had a legitimate reason to wear a Speedo.  And I was among people who felt the same way, kind of a mesh of athletes who don’t take themselves too seriously and just want to stay as healthy as possible without turning into an over-muscularized freak.

That’s why those guys at the gym bug me.  Sure, they work hard to be impressive physical specimens, and I am sure they have plenty of groupies to back up their prowess.  If you want to be popular because of your pecs, go for it.  My problem is that, and I know I’m generalizing here, the majority of bodybuilders that I have met and known just aren’t that bright.  Their brain tissue is mistaken for a muscle, and it’s the one muscle they don’t exercise.

I shouldn’t pick on my exchange students, but here goes: “D.” is a perfect example of The Gym Bunny, the guy at the gym I hate to be around.  First of all, everything is diet – protein, supplements, won’t eat this, can’t eat that.  And when he did eat, it was six times a day.  Next, he didn’t study.  His idea of studying was – surprise – working out.  He went out for soccer and wrestling, and did a great job, but his grades were a little lacking.  Lastly, he showered eight times a day.  (Lord knows what he was doing in there.)  His getting-ready routine was even worse: pick out the right super-tight shirt, get his hair coiffed just so, and out the door.  And the worst, pettiest thing I can say is that for a bodybuilder-in-process, the voice didn’t match the body.  He had a very thin, high voice (a little hesitant, I grant you, because he didn’t trust his own English), but you expect a muscle hunk to have this deep baritone voice that makes small children fall down dead.  He didn’t.

“D.” was a product of his environment, in that his older brother owns his own gym and works as a fitness trainer.  I’ve seen pictures of the brother; he’s not Mr. Olympia, but he’s no softy, either.  Unfortunately, “D.” shared that Brother hung out with a bad crowd, had done steroids, and engaged in risky behaviors.  I felt it necessary to ask (since such behavior happens in locker rooms – both in porn and in reality – all the time), if by “risky behaviors,” he meant hustling.  He said no, but there were a lot of other things his brother was taking that he shouldn’t.

It all comes back down to cheating, doesn’t it?  You want to be at your best, but the only person you end up cheating is yourself.  You’ve got the whole “roid rage” thing, and I want to know what happens to your body when you lose all that muscle fiber.  Skin stretches, so will it literally hang off your bones in baggy folds, like we’ve seen in who-knows-how-many cartoons?  How much is too much?

Seems to me that these guys in the gym just need to work toward a basic goal of good health instead of going for the veiny, have-to-wear-sweats-all-the-time-because-Hollister-doesn’t-have-pants-in-my-size look.  But we’re American, and we’re taught that when we have some, we want more.  So again, I ask you, how much is too much?  When do you go from “buff” to “built” to “ripped” to “Oh, my God it’s moving towards us”?