Читать книгу The Meathead Manifesto - Brody McVittie - Страница 4

. . .

So you took a chance, joined a gym.

Great.

You should know, there’s more to it than flashing the pass on the end of your keychain; you’re paying the cash, you better get in there, tough guy.

Sure, it’s scary the first time. The lights are bright, the girls are beautiful and the guys—well, for every average-sized one walking around, there’s two that could give He-Man a run for his money.

And He-Man is a big dude.

Yeah, there are dumbbells with numbers higher than you remember there being numbers, and He-Man in the corner has been putting them up since you walked in the door, but don’t worry, little man.

There’s a place for you in the free-weight room, and you better believe the monsters will respect you for getting in there and finding it, day in and day out.

Respect, a lot more than the guy peeking at you from behind the Smith machine.

. . .

Yeah, Mondays are tough, you tell yourself, but if cinnamon-skinned Sally can bust an hour on the elliptical, then you can get your lazy ass to the gym.

. . .

Sure, you injured yourself on the couch last night, but its Tuesday, and you know damn well Jack Bauer wouldn’t hide from the Squat rack.

. . .

Wednesdays—well, Wednesdays suck for all of us.

Go to the gym.

Conventional wisdom states that you need an offday; Thursday ain’t it. The bench won’t press itself, and you want to look pumped for the weekend, so Thursday might as well be Monday, because you’re starting over.

. . .

By Friday, you’ve got to be feeling good—maybe good enough to smile at the walking L’Oreal commercial on the treadmill beside you—the one who’s probably noticed your newfound commitment.

And not just because it’s her favorite word.

. . .

Now, the weekend—the weekend could be your downtime. You could kick back; admire the hard work you’ve put in over the last five days.

Could—but you know damn well what Arnold would say, and Saturday is just two shy of Monday, so why ruin a good thing?

You’re already the envy of the wimp hiding behind the Smith machine.