Читать книгу The Meathead Manifesto - Brody McVittie - Страница 5

. . .

Okay, so you’re a little nervous.

You’ve got every right to be—maybe it’s been awhile, maybe you’re worried you’ve still got some coleslaw on that dumb smile stretched across your face.

Relax—first dates are tough on everybody, superstar—just bat those pretty eyes, pick up the ‘35’s, and curl ‘em until your ears bleed.

It’s your training partner’s first time, too.

. . .

So what if he’s got zero after the two on the measuring tape wrapped tightly against his arm?

Fourteen and a half ain’t bad, and that fifteenth inch you’re gunning for won’t add itself to your bicep.

. . .

Working out with somebody new for the first time is hard on everybody, no matter if 35 pound dumbbells represent their max curl, or their bare minimum—but you can bet the best way to impress Arnold over there is to get on the bench, and just rep, coleslaw or not.

Because any bodybuilder worth his salt respects drive and determination over forced negatives and three plates.

Now, mind you, three plates aren’t all bad, either, but the only way you’ll get there is making the kind of call-in-sick-tomorrow lifts you’ll need a spotter to cap off.

Think about it—nothing will make you feel better about adding that third plate than having someone there to share it with; someone who’s been there for the times two almost broke you; the times wife-beaters were just bad dudes on the six o’clock news, the times coleslaw made you think twice about smiling at Sally.

. . .

So all you new meatheads, don’t bother fixing your hair, and go say ‘hi’ to the monster trying to get his weight belt on. The worst thing that can happen is you walking away with an intimate knowledge of the mechanics of the Nike Deadlift Strap clasp.

Who knows—you could wind up with the single most important piece of equipment in that weight room—an extra pair of arms, twenty inches or otherwise.

. . .

And that—that—is worth all the coleslaw in the cafeteria.