My alarm rings an hour before dawn. I open my eyes and drop to the floor for six sets of dips, three single-handed, three double-handed. And bro, I feel awake like within seconds. I feel so pumped.

Once I’m done I count to sixty as I walk to my home weight set in the apartment gallery. I lie down on the slab and start bench-pressing like mad. Seven sets. Ninety pounds. In less than 5 minutes. Can you believe that? Sweet. At the end, something tells me this much isn’t enough, so I move over to the bars and complete one hundred pull-ups. Damn, it feels so good. But I’m still not satisfied, so I then complete 50 crunches. And bro, my arms burn like hell after that.

Now it feels right.

So. Damn. Sweet.

I drink two liters of water to quench the thirst and then rest for ten minutes. Hydration and rest is important, bro. Like so important. I can’t even tell you.

After brushing, showering, and gearing up, I leave the house for my 5k run down the market road. My legs really pump up. Returning home by the promenade, I pick up a fresh dozen of eggs and oranges. Back home, I crack eight eggs open into my tall tumbler and gulp them down. I dump the peeled oranges into the juicer and gulp down the tangy glass of juice too. Bro, I can practically feel my muscles grow. These gains are sick.

A few minutes later, I head to bedroom, tie the tourniquet around my arm, and inject the doze of steroids that will help me get through the day, which has only just started. Bro, I feel it spread through my bulging veins like wildfire. It’s like getting high. It’s sick.

On the way to work, I watch WWE and read The BodyBuilder magazine on the train. I pick up a few tips and tricks I think I need to try out. I tweak my current routine and plan it on my phone. I think I will make these changes next month, mix things up a little you know. You gotta do this sometimes, bro, else things get boring. It’s important. I can’t even tell you.

At the office, people stare at me. Like, that’s all they do. They stare. At my form-fitting shirt, my body-hugging trousers, everything. They always stare like this, bro. The women gape. The men glower. They want me. They hate me. They wish they had my body.

Can’t get enough of it, bro.

I. Love. It.

At lunch, I feel full with all the attention, but I still have to eat. I finish my tuna on rye, half a ball of cabbage, and a liter of water. An hour later, I munch on a protein bar.

I clock out of work and walk my way to the gym in the evening, finishing my home-made protein shake on the way. I spend the next two hours spotting others, being spotted, counting sets, sweating like mad. Weightlifting and arm-wrestling and measuring muscle mass. My biceps have grown to thirty-two inches, bro, my chest to sixty. Sweet. It’s chest and back day, too. One of my favorites. It’s so sick I can’t get enough of it. Before leaving, I decide to quadruple my crunches. Tonight I will need my eight-pack to be harder than steel when I am asked for a teaser. Gotta keep the ladies happy, bro.

My dinner at home is a liter of water, four chicken breasts, baked beans, boiled and lightly salted asparagus, potato, peas, and carrots. Two hours later I feel guilty watching the Rocky re-run on TV, so I jump rope for 15 minutes. My calves need some attention anyways. Don’t want them feeling left out, you know.

Two hours before midnight, I make my fruit and vegetable smoothie with skim milk and gulp it down, followed by half a liter of water. Hydration is important bro. Like so important. I can’t even tell you.

An hour later, I strip in front of my mirror and take stock, scrutinizing what needs work. Everything seems to be in order though, all tight and firm, and I couldn’t be prouder, but I still don’t feel like I have done enough. Which is why I face-off with the punching bag in my living room till my arms wear out. Twelve minutes. Not bad, bro. Sweet.

After my third shower of the day, I put on my best T-shirt and jeans and leave for the club, where the music is pounding. The bouncers wink and let me in. In minutes, the ladies have me surrounded. In seconds, they are begging me to show some skin, bro. I have half a dozen of them falling all over me, their hands up my T-shirt, on my butt, squeezing, refusing to let go. Sweet. I throw back a few shots, but not too many lest I undo my progress today, and after picking a girl for myself I think twice about my choice. I pick one more girl and leave the club with both.

Back at my place, they stay with me for an hour, and then they leave. At the end of the night, no one is left disappointed. We’re all happy, bro. I myself am spent. Damn. I fall asleep immediately.

My alarm rings an hour before dawn. I open my eyes and drop to the floor for six sets of dips, three single-handed, three double-handed. And bro, I feel awake like within seconds. I feel so pumped.

———-

© Amaan Khan, November 8, 2018.

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