Buff Eye for the Skinny Guy

Hey all,

It's no secret, I'm a skinny dude. I mean sure I got the man titties and the abs and whatnot but all in all, I'd say I'm pretty thin compared to some of my other friends. Don't get me wrong though, i'm not the kind of thin where you'd see me on the street and rush to shove the nearest lipid food byproduct in my mouth, i'm just... average.

My father, grandfater and two uncles all at some point in time were bodybuilders and me being a young boy being surrounded by all this "biffitude" makes it a point understood that I would want to be sailing on the same muscle bound vessel of over compensation as they were. Skip ahead seven years later and your boy is a tall Greek pillar of hollow fragility that somehow remains irresistible to the ladies (*pop the collar) but my insatiable thirst for perfection left me wanting more. For no matter how many women I took outside to the parking lot during a social gathering or how many photography deals I was offered, the images of my relatives' billowing muscular frame stayed stagnant in my mind (in the most non-gay/incestuous way possible).

Being as tall as I want to be (where my height > the average height of a bitch) so that I wouldn't have to worry about growth stunting, I made the decision to try out this whole gym thing. If I have the genes I might as well wear them (lol). So it's off to the gym I went.

By the age of 16 I saw a drastic improvement in my physique and I began to revel and bask in the new compliments that followed. I grew muscle titties and my biceps were something to shout about... well ok not shout, more like whisper but it was "buzz" none the less. Then CXC came along and just blew everything back to phase one.

At 17 I bounced back from the CXC anorexia state and my features were more pronounced than ever. There was a rather noticeable change in my appearance, though my male friends wouldn't say anything at the risk of sounding gay, but it was the female attention that was important to me, and that I got indeed. Exactly as I planned - more muscle, more women.

So i'm a pretty satisfied guy - cuts in the arms, defined chest, abs, a toned back - so I was pretty much ready to just sit back and maintain. Then SHE came along: the love of my life; the only girl who holds my heart. A few months into the relationship, the topic of physique came up. This would have been where I expected to be showered with complements till the walls of my invisible shower cubicle burst, but it was quite the opposite my friend - it was more like a walk down a ten mile road paved with shame and carved through the mountain of disappointment. To summarize, she didn't see the difference between my upper body and the burnt match stick she threw away this morning after she lit the stove. Needless to say I was heartbroken.

The drive home that night was silent. The mood didn't change much when I got home either, the mirror was my greatest enemy. For the next few days I moped around my house in what ever garments I could find that would conceal my now deemed "skeletal" frame. My depression lasted for several days until I was ready to welcome the endorphins, shed the robe of sadness and hurt and "lift the iron" once more.

"Eye of the Tiger" began to play in my head as I boldly strutted to the gym. I would have kicked open the door and announced my return but 1. Nobody knew me and 2. the rather buff security guard whose neck muscles were nearly as tall as his head, had a twitchy eye and I didn't want to make any sudden moves that would give him reason to gore me with those extremely large, protruding back muscles. I opened the door quietly, set down my things and grasped the cold, rough arm of the barbell. The strain was intense but I welcomed it.

One year has passed and I have made it abundantly clear that I am no longer a small fry. The backfat is dveloped, the titties need a bra and the abs speak for themselves... literally, they've gone way past development and into evolution, they've reached the state where they developed brains and vocal cords each - they talk through the line in the middle of my stomach. OK maybe I exaggerated a little bit - I'm no God of War Kratos but I am... well... still shrimpy but more in a "biggest shrimp out of the catch" kind of way. I like my current size and I assume that it is safe to say that I am admired by all new shrimps that have recently joined the gym aka my playground!

To put the icing on the cake, I went back to the gym today. The scene looked as perfect as anyone could want. There were three out of shape, middle aged women on the treadmills, two fat chicks around my age (clearly poked fun at to the point where they decided to join the gym), a fat kid, my friend Gyasi and a skinny white dude (a "King Shrimp" admirer). So, after exerting my "manly force" on the circuit machines, I went over to the free weights to do some bicep curls. All was good until that instructor had to come in and mess up my flow and make me look like an idiot.

I'm doing the curls in a fashion that I deem proper and functional but somebody had to have a keen eye for exercise errors and a steady love for their job. Now I don't mind and instructor coming over to correct me because sometimes, I really can do crap and it's nice to know that somebody's there to guide me along the right path. hell, that's what you're getting paid for but please, don't come in the middle of a rep on my last set to try to fix the mistake! Here's how it played out:

I'm sweating and straining to make the 10 count on my last set of curls. The weights were heavier than what I usually use but I was getting along just fine. This do-gooder had to come and stretch my arms further down, and tell me to lift the weights to my chin instead of to my neck. I tried... and the result was atrocious. All the veins in my body popped up in a feeble attempt to try to pump blood to my exhausted muscles, the sweat pipes blew their valves and sweat poured down my face, as if a reservoir wall burst in my head, at some point in time my abs started to hurt, as if they were trying to climb my torso to assist my arms; and then it happened. I let out the most girly, not manly, sound effect from an ass-rape movie sigh that I've ever heard. Apparently it was so bad that the old woman on the stair master behind me stopped flapping her bingo wings long enough to give me that "shocked" stare. Then the jack-benny of an instructor had the gall to tell me "Uh, maybe the weights are too heavy for you" and then walked off into the distance.

What I did after that was what anybody would do to mask embarrassment. I just continued with my workout as usual, but I made it snappy. In two shakes of a lamb's tail I was done with abs and legs and left the gym.

I'm sure by now you're expecting me to crack open a wise proverbial book and blurt out some profound life lesson, but there is none, there's only what I learned. I joined the gym mainly to further impress the females. At heart I love being active and fit, but this whole "Getting big" thing wasn't ever really my plan. I mainly did it because that's was what girls were into and what I felt would cut down the time I spent actually tracking a girl thus leaving more time for the relationship (if any, after the first night at Movie Towne ;) ) So it wasn't entirely for me. What else I learnt was that you shouldn't go changing what you like about yourself (my build in this case) just because it's not up to somebody else's standard. Sure it sounds cliched, but I think I provided enough background info warrant the saying's application in this case. In doing so you only look like a fool in the end, as you can see I did.

As for me, i'm already on the "Stupid" boat so I'll just keep on sailing. My goal for the end of adolescence is to look like, you guessed it, Kratos from God of War. Wikkidd!!




One entry at a time i'll get all my issues off my chest. This was one of those demons that ate at me for a while now and i'm glad it's here, on the interweb for your viewing pleasure.

Hope you learned something.

I Didn't Wear my Watch Today...

This entry is more of a story... A story of my liberation from the only world that I've known, to the world that I have refused to know. The world that i've denied being a part of for the past 15 years. In order for me to reach the end, for this story to come to make sense, I have to take you back to the beginning, to the night the pain started... to the night the end of the pain began...

The time is well past the bewitching hour, I'm in the prime of the devil's work hours, up, sweaty, nervous, being blinded by the gamma-riddled beams of light of intimidation straming out of my text book. Occasional glances up at the computer screen calling me from it's den on the other end of the length of my dining room table revealed the obvious, that I would be much happier doing what I do best. I couldn't then, for I was a slave, a slave to the very thing that made me into the respectful individual that I am today. Sleep clawed away at the pillars of awareness that kept my eyes open until they, the pillars, eventually collapsed and I gave in to the ghastly temptation.

Rest was intended to go on for an hour, but instead, it went on for a vengeful eternity; an eternity that went past my scheduled awakening time yet contradicted it's own nature solely to conveniently come to an end just as soon as the sands of time I stole from the riverside of opportunity slipped through my fingers and into the pit of regret. I awoke, dazed, panicked. I stumbled my way to the dining room table like a new born foal, to resume battle with the monster that cracked my shield of my faith and with it, took my sword of hope as it continued along its path along the avenue of my frustration.

Too late to learn, I faced my fate, its light so dim that one can hardly see the future. Examination time was close at hand and all that was left to do was stare down into the eyes of the beast that will destroy me and let him work his worst.

...

The exam was over, my script resembled my life - important questions being asked with no relevant or real answer to suffice. I left before most of my friends finished, the flames of their pity would burn like thermite, not even the titanium defenses of my mental security could withstand.

On leaving the school's compound, I began a journey that would only lead to the ends of my slavery's outstreched grasp. The ground was hot, the sun scorched me from above, as I walked in a blizzard of the industrial dusts and sands. My destination was a local food place whose value was relentlessly unappreciated during the usual lime with friends, or the unexpected visit during a case of the munchies. Today however, things were different. A strange light of releif resonated from its exterior.

...

With my nourishment in hand, I made my way to fetch a taxi to my next destination.

...

I stopped off at my childhood neighborhood - the place looked so clean. As I walked up the street to my father's house, I glanced at my wrist to get the time and low and behold my watch wasn't there. I felt a weight being lifted off my psychi as I came to terms witht the fact that I was no longer a slave to commitment - my failed exam, the consequences of my failure no longer mattered, I felt free, untouchable... alive. No longer was I snapped to the grid of conformity, I was finally liberated from the one-track lifestyle that I have lived for so many years. School was becoming a burden, far too great for even me to bear and a long well-deserved rest was what I needed for so long. The watch that I wore on my left wrist was the tie that bound me to the system that evicerated my mental stablity - slowly but surely. That watch was not present, no, not this day; for all I saw when I glanced down at my wrist was the tan line that preceeded my carpal tunnel syndrome riddled wrist.

With this feeling of freedom came visibility, my line of sight leapt great bounds beyond my high walls of commitment and frustration and I was able to see the world in all its glory. I had noticed it before, but this time, my opinions, my awe and my mind's arms, forever yearning to touch it's beauty, all danced in unison.

I made my way up the street to my father's house - nobody was home. I opened the gate, it's rusty creaking disturbed the tranquility of my childhood home. I sat in the gallery to begin to eat my lunch, just then the beauty of my surroundings hit me again, like a heavy piece of masonry falling from the pinnacle of a high-rise building - the neighbourhood was sickeningly pretty, tranquil, birds chirping, plants dancing in the sunshine as the wind kised their leaves, the sound of children hard at work at the school just a stone's throw away, the collective sound of each household's ambience was a song, soothing, perfect yet never heard. I sat in my father's gallery chair with my foot resting on the banister. I plugged my headphones into my ear, my own personal stopcork to stop the world's insanity from flooding my mind. I scrolled to my playlist on my iPod that contained 12 short clips of some of Sam Lake's work. I listened to it and let it cleanse my mind while letting my spirit run free. In doing so, I was reborn a free man.

I take no pride in my failure, my crime, what I had done, and I wish I hadn't. It lies there, a hungry pit behind me that will keep gnashing and snapping its teeth in the depths of my mind. It will stay there as I dangle the one thing it craves - my peace of mind - in front of it, until I am rested enough to resume battle; pick up my shield and armor, sword and helmet, and face it down once more.