This is an email I received from my boss yesterday. He hasn’t worked legs in a while, and recently had surgery to remove his gallbladder, so he had a rough day in his first attempt at legs in quite some time…
As I walked into the gym, I noticed that the leg machines and squat racks were all empty. “Damn” I thought. “No excuse this time. I guess I should just man up.” The first exercise was simple; 3 sets of leg extensions. You know, to get some blood in the ol’ legs. Strangely, I notice a deep burn on my last set of 10. “Fuck. I’m screwed.”
My squats started out pretty uneventful. A warm up set of 135 for 10 seemed easy, with the exception of my ass being sore from the previous days sorry excuse for dead lifts. Let’s put on 225. The first set of 225 for 10 didn’t seem too bad until the 9th rep. I noticed that my groin was pulling more than I wanted. “Just man up” I thought. “Finish the fucking set.”
The second set of 225 for 10 didn’t fair much better. At rep 5 my left groin popped, creating a lighting sharp pain that resonated through my leg down to my big toe. “I hate Kong” cycled through my skull. “Fuck that dude”. I decided to wait a second and get some water.
While I was chicken walking back to my squat rack with my cone shaped cup full of water, a foreign though went through my head. "I need to go heaver. “Just put on 275 and deal.”
This last set I would describe as mind over hell. I unracked the weight and pushed out 4 without incident. On my 5 rep my left side again popped. I decided to compensate with my right. At rep 7, my right side popped. “I must do 10. I gotta do 10.”. 3 reps later I racked it my falling forward, creating a large crashing sound. I have now gotten everyone’s attention, and I’m only doing 275. “What a pussy”.
“Thank God that’s over… now on the down hill stretch”. I could not be farther from the truth. I racked 135 good mornings for 2 sets of 10 and didn’t feel too bad. The next two sets were 185 for 8. By the time I was completed, my hamstrings were tighter than the 12 year old’s pussy that Mike was hitting on at the bowling alley a couple of weeks back. I have ruined myself for the rest of the weekend.
This was my turning point… the point in which I needed to decide to either throw in the towel or finish the day. I looked at the 30 lbs dumbbells wonder how the hell I was going to get 3 sets of 8 walking lunges. “WWKFTD?” (What would Kong, Fatty, and Teflon do?". After 15 second of deep thought, I realized that Teflon and Fatty would have quit after leg extensions and cried all afternoon, so I had to revise my question. “WWKD?”
Knowing that I still didn’t want to ingest or inject illegal substance, regardless of what he does, I did at least want to match his intensity. “Just 3 sets left. Kong would finish, fact!”.
The first and second sets I completed without sacrificing form. Granted, I probably won’t shit sitting down for at least 3 days, but for the most part it was textbook. The third set, my knees buckled and bounded off the hard concrete floor with a force of a small industrial jackhammer. If I’m not bruised tomorrow, the lunge Gods were kind. Regardless, I did finish my 3rd set of 8.
I placed the dumbbells back on the rack and I started to feel something that I haven’t felt in years. The need to vomit. “I’m breathing too heavy. CTFD”. I stared at the weights, sweat dripping off my face creating a small pool of grossness on the floor. “I need to get to the fucking can now.”
I sucked in a big, fat gulp of air and floundered to the locker room, narrowly missing 3 people. When I got there, I went to the handicap stall, sat on the floor, and vomited water and dry heaved until my gallbladder scars hurt. “I hate my friends… I need to get new friends”
After I composed myself, and with 20 minutes left on the clock and not a chance in hell of doing cardio, I rounded out my leg day with 3 sets of calf raises.
Luckily, the standing raises were in use, so I used the seated machine. “Ahhhh” I announced when I sat down. “This is what I’m talking about.” The 3 sets passed without much of a problem. Ironically enough, by sitting down it took more effort to get off the machine than it was to do the exercise.
“Rejoice… I’m done.” I waddle into the locker room and grab my shit. I headed to my car, a quality breeze picked up and helped cool me down. God knows I’m in pain. “Thanks for the wind, sir.”
I head back to work, windows rolled down to the max, I realize that all of this could of been avoided my a simple weekly task. Just do legs once a week and this hell will cease. “I will never miss legs again. Promise!”.