A quick hitter since I’m struggling to come up with anything new to write, all work and no play is making Turk a dull boy.
Today is International Leg Day 2 on the bodybuilding program I’m working, and I decide that since I can actually sleep – thank god – that I’ll sleep in for awhile and hit the gym later in the morning.
11a rolls around and I roll out of the house, beautiful day. I roll through my routine crushing it feeling strong as an ox at 6’3 and a very rock solid 240.
I’m almost all done hanging on the leg press doing my ramp up sets, and this bearded bald fat tub of 30 something rolls in and decides he wants to deadlift in the middle of the goddamned floor. Big gauges in his ears, black horn rimmed glasses, tattoo’s, driving a thousand dollar hoopty that is dirty and peeling paint. A millineal child.
Now this gym is a bit of a shitbox, the carpet on the floor is a threadbare green left behind from the biz that folded up prior to the gym taking over. Owners give fuck all for the condition of the place, but sure do love posting 8.5 x 11 printed signs that are amusingly misspelled about “don’t do <thing> or we’ll cancel your membership”, where thing is deadlift, use the corner of the wall to setup a barbell row, drop the weights, don’t let people in the front door, etc. You get the idea.
So not 10′ from lardo is a set of horse stall rubber mats laid out on the floor so that people can deadlift without tearing the carpet and the concrete underneath all up. Reasonable middle ground achieved, for all but lardo, the special little snowflake.
He starts in with sets of 5 at 135 dropping the 45# plates onto the floor pretty hard as he reps out. Bang, bang, bang – the weights are rattling the floor and the bar pretty loud as he just drops the loaded bar onto the floor. For the non lifters reading, some perspective – this is a deadlift. On one hand with a large amount of weight on the bar when you are doing 5 repetitions of the lift it can be tough to just touch the floor and lift right away. But my 9 year old grandson can deadlift 135, and lardo is a lard ass so it’s just a warm up weight, but he’s clanging it off the floor like its 600#. Summary: Kind of a dick move.
I get out of the leg press (475# baby, beast mode) and pull a headphone out and walk over.
“hey, they’ve got a mat setup (points) just over here (10′ away), they don’t want you deadlifting on the floor since it fucks their equipment and the floor up, signs (points) all over the place”
Lardo: “Don’t care. Not moving.” Throwing me a fuck ton of shade, like dafuq you going to do about it. I’m thinking zounds, that is a way disproportionate response to the situation, he wants to make this go time. Alright asshole…
Now my testosterone levels are fairly artificially high, I’m prob up above the 3k stratosphere right now, not anywhere near the 10k that some meatheads run, but I’ve got a good case of god mode going on and I feel it immed spike into a “rrrraaaRRRRWWW” inside me but I catch it right away. Straight into the eyes “whatever, you’re fucking it up for everybody else” and I turn and walk back. There aren’t 15′ between my leg press and his shitshow in the middle of the floor, I get about 5′
“hey, you work here, is this your place, you own it?” me, turning: you know I don’t, no. “Then you should mind your own fucking business” The red mist begins to settle in as I stand in place and consider the moment. I have a sense I know this piece of shit from somewhere but I’m kinda smoked in the moment, and anger breeds stupidity as we all know. <big breath> “yea, go fuck yourself” and I turn away. I don’t need this shit right now but fuck me if I’m not willing to bleed a bit if this is on.
3 min later I have to walk past him to the next tower of weights to grab three 45# plates and he starts to rise like I’m coming at him as I pass in front of him. I’m thinking not today asshole, but I fucking know this guy from somewhere.
Knock my first set of 3 x 8 out and it hits me. I know this cunt, from a bday party, with the ex’s family. He rolls with her kids. And the light bulb hits me. You fucking white knight, I get the attitude now. He knows who I am.
I laugh now, out loud. The plan hits me immediately.
I know his ex-wife who he still pines for. We’ve flirted together at her place of work more than a few times in the past. Last time was about what I was buying and how it beat McDonalds to shit but that there are those days that you still can’t beat a happy meal. Plus the toy. It was a great opener from me. She made it clear that she’d be up for a happy meal with me. Me: over cocktails of course… Her: smile, of course. McDonalds and cocktails, never in a million years. I am nothing if not brilliant, plus I’m clearly a fun date.
I leave the gym smiling thinking that I want to acknowledge that I know him, “dude, why so angry today?” and get all zen like with him, but I decide that this is a dish best served cold as ice. I fucking hate white knights, they are a notch well below “nice guys” in my book.
So lard ass, I’m on the hunt now to pickup your ex wife at her place of work, then drop her in my fine ass German made man machine and turn the seat warmers on to get those holes all warmed up and ready to be used hard, take your wife out for McDonalds since I am by all accounts a fantastic and fun date. Ply her with drinks in the place on the sly, adventure! mystery! Who is this wild guy?! I know she doesn’t go much for wine, so I’m pegging her as a vodka girl. We can mix that into her Sprite right there at the shitty plastic tables on the sly. Then after a hearty supply of kino and escalation over McNuggets, a dash of some push and pull, I’m going to bring her back to Casa Tranquilo and put a wicked never to be forgotten by her fuck your ex wife. Then I’d love to show up with her when you go to exchange the 3 kids just to smile and say hello while you try to connect the dots for those few seconds before it dawns on you who I am and where I’ve been. I’ve been balls deep