Be an ass in *my* temple and you shall suffer the consequences.Submitted by OathMeal at 2014-04-09 15:09:57 EDT
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You all know I lift, bro.
Beyond having the ability to snap Shlongy's pencilneck with barely a hard glance, I consider myself also well-informed on the subject of today's post: Gym Etiquette.
I won't list every *last* thing that is generally known to be poor form while gym-ing - that would take too long and frankly I have got way more important shit to do (in fact typing this post just barely ranked above scratching my balls on my important-shit-to-do-today agenda). However, what I would like to write about has to do with an encounter I had this morning with a fellow gymite.
Now, bitches be hating on the plate-loaded leg press machine. They think squats are a superior exercise because when you squat, you're incorporating stabilizing muscle groups (i.e. core) to push through the repetitions - muscles you wouldn't be using while sitting in a steel cradle and moving a carriage of weight with your feet, a la the plate-loaded leg press.
What these SAME EXACT BITCHES don't understand is this: correct squat form is predicated on having generally good hip, glute and hamstring flexibility. That is to say, you can't squat correctly unless you've developed a sound gluteal chain (hamstrings -> glutes -> lower back fascia).
For badasses like me who JUST SO HAPPENED to be born with a transitional lumbar vertebra (read: fused sacrum), squatting is kind of a no-no unless one enjoys living with a chronically herniated L5/S1 vertebral disc. This is why the plate-loaded leg press is my go-to for lower body development.
Our story begins with my casual approach to the leg press. I saunter up, proudly sporting my pink COME AT ME BRO tank top and green plaid hotpants, and casually drop my water bottle near the machine. This is generally known as claiming, sandstaking, etc. It means the machine is mine, motherfucker. But, this isn't all I do to ensure I've asserted my right to use it.
I run my hand tenderly and lovingly along the base of the seating cushion.
Ask me why. Go on, ask me.
"Ok. Oathy, why would you tenderly and lovingly caress the seating cushion?"
Good question. I'm glad you asked.
I'm checking it's temperature.
You see, if the seat cushion on the plate-loaded leg press machine registers anything higher than ambient room temperature, then there is a good chance that someone has just been using the machine, and the probability is fairly high that they'll be returning after their brief trip to the water fountain.
So, it's a kind of check, just to be sure that I'm not encroaching on another gym-bro's regimen. Sounds fair, right?
See how fucking smart and courteous I am?
Anyway, the seat was cold. That's a good sign. It's now mine.
Until...a wild gym-bro appears.
"Hey man, I have another few sets here," he says.
"Oh, is that a fact?" I reply, "Were you just using it?"
"Yea, I just got up to get some water."
A LIKELY STORY.
"That must have been less than 60 seconds or so ago, right?" I inquired.
He began to fidget a little bit. This happens when gym-bros get the sense that their bullshit has been acutely detected.
"Well, yea. I guess. Just a minute ago," he says, "I only have another three sets. I'll be done soon."
He says this last bit as he starts making his way to the plate rack, where he starts loading 45's onto an OTHERWISE BARE CARRIAGE.
That's right folks, there was no weight on the machine. None.
"Pardon my curiosity," I said, "But if you were just using this machine less than a minute ago, wouldn't there have been weight on it?"
He stopped and looked at me while still holding a plate bound for the carriage.
"Well, I took it off because I wanted to lunge with the plates that were on there," he replied.
OH REALLY. LUNGE. With PLATES in your hands. Fucking buffoon. Time for me to exact righteous justice on this colossal d-bag.
"Sir," I began, "I am certainly no forensics expert, but I know a few basic thermodynamic rules, one of which is that if a source of heat, like YOU, radiates onto another surface for, say, a good 60 seconds or so, then that surface retains at least some heat - which is something I checked for when I first walked up to this machine."
He furled his brow and tilted his head slightly, sort of how a dog might act upon hearing a strange noise.
"It's my opinion," I said, "that you really were not using this machine, and that you wanted to contest *my* right to use it before you, by fabricating an easily refuted lie that most - MOST - people would buy without contest."
"Dude," he said, "I'm using this machine".
I squared my stance against him and allowed a soft smile to spread across my lips.
"No," I replied, "You're simply confused. See, you took me for a mark who might bend at your attempt at bullshitting, which I am not. There is no semblance of truth to what you've told me, and so I'm sorry but I'm going to have to have you wait until I'm done here."
"If you like," I continued, "you can check the padding here after my first set, to see that I am indeed correct about the seat staying warm for at least a good minute after my ass has left it. Would you like to do that?"
He put the plate he was holding back on the rack.
"Nah," he said, "Nah man. I'll just go do squats. That's a better leg workout anyway."
See, bitches be hating on the plate-loaded leg press machine UNTIL SUCH TIME as they see some jacked mother fucker like me pushing up half a ton and netting huge gains, and THEN they want to come get all froggy and make shit up just to get in on some of my leg-building action.
Fuck them, fuck squats and fuck your inane little lies you despicable, little man.
Be an ass in *my* temple and you shall suffer the consequences.
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Submitted by Mr T pities jonnytexmex the old child toucher at 2015-01-13 15:32:36 EST (#)