-Nymphomaniac Vol 1
Before I begin, I rummage with my eyes a cold grill with the intent to feed on anyone who steps in my personal space. Anyone who glares at me from a distance gets the fuck you look as well because I share this gym with the rest of everybody. I forge my right to be here by the numbers, by the purpose of colossal concentration, by the visualization of the day and the body action at night. I grip the steel of the dumbbell and I surge with immeasurable power before a single rep has been executed or an exercise exercised. It all starts in the mind.
It may be the luck of being a woman, or a dependent on the man, who stands in front of me, but, there are times where I display my puppy dog eyes big and wide and remain uncomplaining, waiting by a bench like a sit dog sit until their hearts soften and they pass the bench along to me entirely without a moments hesitation. I thank the stranger and smile with a queen’s happiness and during his training session I’ll boost his ego (and he’ll train harder) for being nice to me by staring him up and down attentively while he strengthens his temple.
Now I’m seated with an angry face and underneath my baggy shirt from the mirror I can see my muscles working, how glorious they look, tenacious, pumped and embellished. To the left of me, I gaze at my arm in motion, performing an incline bicep curl nonchalant as taking a selfie in public. To the right of me, an array of men peers onward with a combination of riddled emotions and contemplated expressions.
And in the background, there’s a woman highly amused by the numbers on the weight I’m lifting. She can’t for the life of her stop looking at my face and the unleashing of effort that cannot be contained. She can’t stop watching the way I grate my lips with violent teeth noticing how my mouth turns sweltering red when I come close to failure.
Who knows if it’s out of delight
she observes or
if the very thought
of my passion
gives her nausea
through her eyes?
I’ve recently written a post about the positives of Planet Fitness, but this entry is dedicated to that one negative issue I’ve happily come across more times than I care to share. I find it comical how the people who market and advertise lustfully say Planet Fitness is indeed a judgment free-zone forget to mention that it is a judgment free-zone and gymtimidation is alive and booming in the gym.
takes place by gym members
who train IN the gym.
I had quite a few unpleasant experiences in many different gyms, but in particular, Planet Fitness takes the cake not far from where I live (there are 3 locations around). Now I assume this gymtimidation occurs because these machismo men are machismo men. Most are Hispanic and some of these Hispanics prefer their women to be, look, smell like flowers and femininity. They don’t appreciate my snot-rockets; scratching my crotch or watching me lift the same amount as them or more.
I had a few machismos wait until I was done with my set as I saw them staring me down from the peripheral while performing chest presses and as I set down my dumbbells took the opportunity to say, “You want to look like a man? Why are you lifting like one? You’re going to have very big muscles if you continue your path to lifting heavy.” A few times, I’ve made sarcastic remarks or just simply nod my head and continued to train much harder so they could feel the force within my space until they became bothered and upset they’d leave my presence.
Tonight in the middle of my shoulder pressing, rowing and supersetting push ups on the bench I was moving on to the next exercise where I was stopped short because I couldn’t find the rope I needed and became quickly surprised by the pleasant experience I received in Planet Fitness since there’s only been a few.
I actually had a group of men, all individuals and perfect strangers trying to help me out to get an attachment for the Face Pulls without my asking. All despite my trying to bully a girl for her rope attachment assuming she wasn’t lifting anything at all (and performing an exercise she doesn’t need yet because of her high body fat) and despite blurting out SHIT loudly in some guy’s ear when I realized he was about to use the rope attachment I needed; these people decided to help a bitch out!
Luckily and gratefully, a man was watching the entire deed unfold as one Hispanic guy suggested using another attachment and another looked around the gym though I never hinted for him to do so, but in the end, one guy wrapped up his sets rapidly and signaled for me to take the rope attachment and we exchanged the respect of head nods while we both went on our way.
For a moment, I forgot I was in Planet Fitness and was astounded to receive some love from other fit men. I guess, I shouldn’t assume that every time I clock in and out of PF I’ll bump into creeps, pricks and egotistical men who aren’t into womanly boys and women lifters.
This evening was a good night with no form of judgment placed or gymtimidation within sight and I had a tremendous workout destroying my body with extreme focus to no end. I just wished advertisements wouldn’t lie to people, especially since some people may not be able to rise above the stupidity of pricks or take the higher road of not smashing their face in with a fucking dumbbell.
This is kind of a semi-list of things that have differed since I’ve been in the world of fitness. This isn’t a complete list mind you and this isn’t in any order. I find it interesting to take up a lifestyle and see how many things altered then after. How have YOU changed since your lifestyle change?
1. I’ve tripled my confidence with broad shoulders and Popeye forearms. I probably no longer care about my large breasts being a spectacle anymore for some. I rely on mass.
2. On every social media site I’m on I make sure it involves and dominates a whole culture of fitness. I can tell those who are closest to me get annoyed by it.
3. I look for artists who draw worthy physiques. I watch cartoons of bravery, courage and more fit bodies. I find myself looking up to superheros.
4. It’s hard to find people the opposite of repulsive if they don’t workout or attempt to change some of the things they eat and drink. This includes my favorite aunt, it’s hard not to look upon her like a complete pig by the atrocious food she eats and by all the illnesses that’s caught up with her as a resort of it, not to mention zero exercise.
5. I don’t want sitting down work.
6. I stand more in the train; probably due to brainwashing and saying my glutes will flatten.
7. I used to date overweight men. Not anymore.
8. I now feel a man must take care of themselves by being physically active and as frequent as possible. There should be zero reason why a man has a gut; he isn’t a woman who carries additional fat and estrogen. A man has testosterone and should put it to use as much as possible, if he’s overweight than he’s lazy in probably every aspect of his life.
9. A man I date must have muscles now. If they don’t, I will assess their potential and along the line make them feel like complete shit about their bodies until they do something about it.
10. If a man has lack of conditioning, I don’t expect him to have sex with me properly. So, I guess, I consider this a deal-breaker.
11. I probably have become a bully in some ways. I have a brother and a few boy cousins who can attest to this firsthand wrath. Still, maybe I’ve always been (never to truly weak people) a bully and coupled with my feminist and Dom tendencies, it’s not a real wonder why. An example of a form of small bullying: When a guy (could also be a coworker) is smaller than me or has less muscle mass I grab him by the back of the neck and shake him up like a rag doll. Or I literally push smaller guys around so their heads jerks forward while the rest of their body flings back.
12. I only have 2 pairs of jeans since my journey and adventures with fitness. I have a hard time trying to get jeans past my calves than my quads. It’s much easier to get a cotton shirt, baggy shorts and comfortable sweat pants.
13. Since I started fitness, over time I realize I went from sanitary napkins to tampons, weak deodorant to heavy deodorant, to carrying hand sanitizer and additional locks in my book-bags for gym locker rooms.
14. I can’t bring anyone in my circle of life who doesn’t know their worth, who doesn’t move forward, who isn’t looking for personal growth, isn’t striving to live the life of being discipline, lacks passion or tolerate bullshitters. Thanks to fitness!
15. The more muscles I get, the more I’m able and actually desire to be more of a woman. Therefore I paint my nails often enough, wear spandex from time to time and wash my hair more than once a month.
16. I learned a thing or two about patience. Still learning.
17. I’ve achieved great orgasms by rubbing on my DOMS while masturbating. You should try it some time, delectable pain and pleasure.
A lot of times I train for my mind, probably more so than I train for my body. I also train for pain. I train for anger management. I train to make sure I’m productive. I train to remain disciplined. I train to be committed about something because I’m not committed to a lot, besides personal growth, writing, poetry, education, reading and so on. I train for therapy. I train for strength and power. I train to put fear in people when they look at my gigantic arms. I train for every time I felt weak in childhood. I train and train like a locomotive.
I used to train for the pump all the freaking time when I first started training back in two-thousand and three. But this proved more for my ego and less to get me anywhere as far as gains were concerned. Again, I train more for my mind and anger management than anything else. I don’t eat good nutrition half of the time (unless I’ve made a conscious decision to do so for a lengthy period) although I would want to be more aesthetic looking at some point or other. That’s another topic however.
This ties into how, who, what, where and when someone can’t understand why I may take a cup of caffeine to my system and go sixty straight minutes of cardio only to perform sixty straight minutes of weightlifting or more to no end. They can’t understand why I do this. They’re too busy assuming I wouldn’t be growing because I have no fuel in my system. This is a load of bullshit! Of course one can grow even though you didn’t eat beforehand. What a load of crock shit!
It’s easier for someone to judge and say, “Oh this person is doing such and such wrong” as if they had all the fucking answers in the world to why you train and how you train and when you should train and whatever the fuck else. Fuck them! Half these people have never picked up a dumbbell in their life or know what polyunsaturated and monounsaturated fats are. So a BIG FUCK YOU TO THEM!
I like to push my mind and body to places without food or water or music at times because I don’t want to be comfortable training in only one or two ways. I don’t want to feel like I need to be on a full stomach in order to lift heavy or collect PR’s or do better rep-wise then the last time I did my routine and jot it down in my book. Why would anyone want to train comfortable all the time? How could you not long for an exit out of the comfort zone from time to time or every single time?
Many people don’t know how to mind their fucking business when it comes to you, how you train, what you eat or why you do the things YOU do. Yet they’re too busy observing everything you do because they wish they could DO what YOU do.
They wish they had the ongoing motivation, passion, desire and the discipline to do everything you’re striving to perform day in and day out. So whenever you do your own thing or turn your back on conventional methods, believe you me they are there to hunt you down waiting for the chance to lash at you and jump down your throat with how wrong they think you are because they’re a bunch of soft penises.
If you ever come across these unkind people just ignore them. They don’t do anything to assist except help to make you vent on your fitness blog like me. I’m very glad I never listened to anyone in my life. I barely care about other people’s opinions and perceptions of me. There are plenty of people who couldn’t handle my life or my fucking training. As long as I know myself, why I do the things I do and am comfortable doing what I’m doing then all is right with me and the world.
They don’t need to exist in your world if you don’t allow them to, but let them continue to observe your life and how you train because there’s no doubt about it they’re making your importance valuable in their world.
I love his work and all he stands for with fitness.
Imagine you are a dragon slayer, and you know you’re among the very best at slaying dragons. Every day you wake up, prepare yourself for the day, sharpen your sword, and step outside to fulfill your potential on behalf of the world. Confidence abounds.
Soon you spot the first dragon of the day, and he is headed toward you in full glide. You’re ready. You have lived your whole life for this, and you know you are going to win. The dragon approaches as if it’s his responsibility to be slayed. You raise your sword just as high as your arm will reach. You look him in the eye as he dives, take aim, and time it just right. You lower your arm with all your might, and… you miss. The dragon looks back with a sardonic smile as he flies away, and you stand there in failure.
View original post 824 more words
I had these crazy doubts after the shift in hormones over the course of a few months. I felt like I was held hostage by life for a moment while I struggled to regain my whole self again. It’s now safe to say I’m no longer tear-jerking myself over Grey Anatomy episodes or telling my Partner in Crime I want to marry him as soon as possible. I may be back to what I know as my normal self, the kind who does none of what I just mentioned.
Okay so my body’s chemistry threw me for a loop and for a long period of time I thought I would just continue getting fat while losing hard-earned muscle. I thought I would continue eating sugar and wanting to make out with Coke and Tang on a regular basis. I thought I would never be motivated to workout once more let alone find my inner beast to blaze me back up.
Then one night I said, “Fuck it!” and decided on Monday cardio, and on Tuesday I did even more cardio, except I refused to be a cardio bunny and leave the gym without caressing and groping the weights. Training arms seemed like a good place to start to see if I could get over my foolish uncertainties of being a weightlifter again.
I wrapped my hand around the dumbbell and performed a One-arm Overhead Tricep Extension and the motion flowed gracefully and every rep became about cherishing each contraction and cherishing the blood surging through my veins and cherishing the pleasant out-and-in-and-in-and-out body experience. Without a second thought I moved right into barbell bicep curls and lifted the weight passionately as everything I put my heart into.
All in all it came back to me like riding a bike and I couldn’t ask for anything else to accompany me in this moment. I became alive as day and any thought of pacing myself with exercises, equipment, reps or poundage went right out the gym entrance along with every one of my insecurities and qualms. I was back at my one true home!
From school I started to head straight to the gym and in my mind I’m in a dark corner in the center of the room because my ego places me there. I have an imaginary audience yet I tune out the real life folks all around me in the gym like an awful lecture coming from a married-in uncle who tried to molest me once upon of time by cold lust. I. Just. Tune. Everything. The. Fuck. Out.
The music that was blaring in my headphones suddenly vanished once I positioned my feet under the barbell square in the middle with a stance almost narrow. I make no fancy flailing or martial arm movements and I make no thunder roar like a powerlifter. I remain powerfully silent, looking at both sides from where the stained rings are on the barbell steel and with one hand over and the other hand under I roll the bar so it pushes the excess accumulated calluses towards the rest of my palm so it fits snugly to one side and won’t rip open.
I look straight at the mirror but I don’t even see myself in it. I can see clothes. I can see broad shoulders. I can feel glorious energy multiplying. But it’s time to get into that low squat and it’s time to pull the barbell up and on my shins, time to maintain focus to deadlift with my traps, lats and entire posterior chain on mental command so my body does exactly what I desire. I nail it. I nail it. I nail it. I nail it over and over and over again. I’m happy like a kid in a candy store like a woman who just achieved her first orgasm by the tongue of a man like a fat kid with a buffet of food. HAPPY!
At certain moments I pulled and held my breath and then I started to see myself in the mirror. I could see how ugly I look with a deadly mixture between being a woman, a man and a beast. I felt my abdominals cave in and tighten itself within as if I were about to get hit by a baseball bat and I continued pulling. During one of the reps I felt pain bordering by the side of my spine and my mind in quick fear blinked the word danger.
I felt my fingers fatigued and go into a frozen state while my forearm stiffened like I imagine a snake’s body would if it were to be lit by fire and around a tree bark or some human’s neck holding on for treasured life. I felt my body like this many times before trying to go against me by breaking form.
And all I know is this is how I feel like when I’m all up in Kanye West’s song when he says, “I’m in it and I can’t get out” except he’s talking about orgasms and the lovely things that come along with sex. However that’s exactly how I feel.
I’m in it and I can’t get out of the gym because it’s my strength and my therapy. It’s my happy place, my go-to home! The gym is where I go to deal and/or get rid of my doubts and concerns. The gym is the place where I continue to forge my character. The gym gives me my sanity back. It’s my constant haven, not to mention it’s an orgasm away from an actual orgasm.