Monday, June 6, 2011


No one understands the bodybuilder. No one understands why a seemingly sane person would put themselves through weeks, sometimes months of intense training and dieting. Training and dieting that pushes the person to the limits, drives them to the edge of sanity. No one one will ever understand why we revel in workouts that drive our body to failure, that leaves us grasping our legs in pain, with tears and sweat running down your face, pain shooting through the muscle fibers, blood dripping from old scabs--no, battle scars--blood dripping from old battle scars. No one understands why we eat the same thing day in and day out. Why we constantly mix powders, pop pills, drink liquids. Pre, post, intra, are all just prefixes to the outside world. Catabolic and anabolic are equally as estranged.

No one one will ever understand the lows you hit while carb depleting and doing two or three a days. Nobody. No one one will get why you eat a chicken breast and brown rice while everyone else is having pizza.

"One slice won't kill you" They'll say.
"One beer won't matter" they'll say
"You can work it off tomorrow" they'll say.

But you remain strong and turn it away and no one understands.

No one understands.

No one understands except your brothers at arms. A brotherhood forged not by friendships or allegiances--hell, you might not even like these guys. But you understand, and you respect them.

Because they understand.

They understand the long weeks and months of training. They--or should I say we--understand the training. The hours that turn to days, the days that turn to weeks, that weeks that turn to months  the months that turn into a lifestyle.   There are no off days for a bodybuilder, and even a cheat meal is bitter sweet as you wonder about what your competition is eating.

We understand the insanity it takes to compete in a sport of myths and legends. Mortals with Herculean physiques crafted--not given--with painstaking dedication and toil. 

We understand that every muscle fiber we feel tear is a microscopic advance in our war to grow or get defined. Every drop of sweat and blood a wink from your body telling you you're doing something right.  The scars on our legs and the callous on our hands aren't deformations or something we want to fix. They're a badge of honor and integrity a memento of the work we've put in and will put in.

The liquids, pills and powders aren't cheats they're the foundation. Pre-, Intra-, and Post- aren't prefixes they're the key, the tools that help us carve our physique.  The catalyst, fuel, and cure for our plight, our disease.

We understand the lows of carb depletion and water deprivation.
We understand the highs of victory!
The smell of protan isn't disgusting. It's the smell of victory. Whether you place or not, your presence on that stage after months of work is your victory.

But oh, what a feeling to hold up that trophy after your names been called and what a feeling it is when your name isn't called. A constant tug of war of emotions culminating on a stage in front of hundreds, yet so very alone with yourself.

"One slice won't kill you? One beer won't hurt? You'll work it off tomorrow"
The words of someone who's an outsider.
They think "no difference"
but you know better.
Your competition knows better.
The pizza can wait.

The outside world doesn't understand.
Hell, sometimes, we don't understand.
But we understand the passion, the desire, the work and dedication it takes.
We understand.

When no one else does.
We do.

Train hard.
Get big.
Have a great 2011 Season.

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