One Final Prep, a short fictional story about professional bodybuilding.

SenecaTheSwole · Jan 1, 2020

(Part 1)

My body is covered in sweat again, I’m not sure whether it’s all the gear running through my system or due to how nervous flying makes me, either way I can feel a deep chill that runs all the way down to my bones. I need to get out of bed and start getting ready for the shuttle to pick me up in two hours, the wet blanket is so heavy and I feel so weak it’s going to be a hell of a time getting ready.

I packed all my meals for the next few days in advance and all my bags are packed, I could have slept in more but the tren and orals are really doing a number on my body right now. My joints crack and strain as I stand up finally, even though I am at my lightest I feel heavier than I’ve ever felt before. I had a good off-season and put on a good twenty pounds of stage weight in all the right places. I would be elated, but all this extra weight is really doing a number on my heart and kidneys and I feel like at any moment something could give. I saw one of those life alert commercials the other day and wondered if I should get one. If my ticker explodes I doubt they’d be able to get to me in time anyways but the peace of mind of at least having a chance at making it seems awfully comforting in moments like this. A thirty one year old with a dang life alert necklace, boy I’ll be a hit with the ladies.

My coach is calling me, I bet he just wants to make sure I’m up and getting ready. But he actually called to change around my drug regimen for prep. He’s worried I’ll hold extra water from the long plane ride and he instructed me to modify my diuretic protocol a bit. Shit, the shuttle will be here in thirty minutes and I still need to take all my drugs. Normally it’s a quick and painless endeavor but all the stimulants and tren is making my heart race and my hands shake like I have Parkinson's disease. I can feel a sharp pain as I clumsily stab each of the needles into my quads, the needle moved around inside of my flesh as my hands trembled. Fuck me I’m going to be sore as hell tomorrow from all the tissue agitation. I’ll probably pop some Oxies so that I don’t limp and wince on stage.

The shuttle arrived, coach is already in Phoenix meeting with old friends in the industry. He said he might have another juicy supplement sponsorship lined up for me if I place good enough, I’ll have to promote more useless junk to my Instagram followers but they couldn’t care less if it works or not as long as the packaging has me plastered on it they feel they are getting a boost from what is little more than dry milk curds laced with sweeteners. I kind of hate myself for making it seem like the crappy supplements had anything to do with my two hundred and seventy pound frame, but this is not a cheap sport to compete in so I am quickly able to get over my guilt when I see my medical, food, and drug bills come in. I do hope coach manages to secure the sponsorship without me having to do any more “favors” for the company rep but you can never be too sure.

I’m at the airport now, I’m the best I’ve looked all year. Dry, hard, and shredded to the bone at two seventy. I look like a real monster to all the onlookers in the airport. Some recognize me and want photos. Everyone looks thou and I love it, each glance fills me with delight. Quite a few people took it upon themselves to flirt with me I don’t mind it, it feels nice to feel wanted, during prep when you are at your most miserable each waking moment feels like death so their admiration is the fuel I need to keep going. Some knuckle heads will tease or disrespect me, envious twats. They catch their lady friends gazing at me and lose it. Little do they know that they have nothing to worry about, despite what people think about bigger being better when you look like a veiny bronzed hulk it tends to scare rather than arouse the fairer sex. Their girls will probably even tell them that, like hell they’ll believe it thou, go figure.

I always book two seats, the window and middle so I don’t have to get up and have plenty of room to stretch out. Dammit, the person in the aisle is a real motor mouth and really wants to know a lot about what I’m doing, due to all the gear coursing through my system I simply give them and angry piercing glare and put my headphones on. I immediately feel bad about my untempered reaction and make a mental note to buy them a drink when the stewardess rolls around. I end up passing out and waking up drenched in sweat four hours later, my neighbor had an understanding look on their face when I came to it and seemed to have long forgotten my abrasiveness from earlier. We chatted a bit about this and that and then the plane landed. My coach was waiting for me, he had a weary look on his face, god dammit I’ve seen that look before. Now I’m just wondering if it’ll be one of the judges, the rep, or god forbid both. I don’t even need to ask, he knows that I know what’s coming so he grants me the dignity of not having to discuss it openly.

SenecaTheSwole · Jan 1, 2020

(Part 2)

We drove up to the hotel to get ready for the expo, I packed all my food up and coach showed me my stash of goodies to get through the next few days. He knew that prep was a nightmare and a mental game as much as a physical one so he hooked me up with some benzos to chill me out a bit so I can be more amicable with the fans, I am grateful.

The expo is a nightmare, I had to be on my feet for most of the day talking to thousands of people. Taking pictures, having horny strangers grope me at every opportunity, pretend to be a role model, exchange the same pleasantries over and over, and most annoyingly answer the same stupid questions a thousand times over. I am grateful, truly grateful for my fans. But during prep all I want to do is hide in my hotel room and lie down. The pre-judging is in eight hours, my coach is having me really push the gear and water cutting this year. I feel the worst I’ve ever felt. Every organ is my body is buckling under the immense strain. As I take a quiet moment to myself to get a meal in I think back to why I got into this sport.

It’s too painful to think about right now, all the steroids and the lack of food, sleep, and water, really puts you in a mentally fragile state. All I can think about is getting through the rest of the day one hour at a time or I’ll lose it before the show. I took every measure I could to win it this time, I’m not going to let myself become distracted now. Everything boils down to the next forty eight hours. Hopefully my backroom dealing happens after everything is over, coach’s word is trusted so they likely know I’m good for it. I wish I could drink beforehand but the orals trashed my liver so I’ll have to conduct business sober, I should have been more careful with the benzos, in my sleep deprived state they are really making me dozy and the fans will mistake it for inattentiveness. They paid a lot of money to be here and see me so I’ll go see if the coach has any uppers on hand for a little get up and go.

The expo was exhausting but I made it through with a little adderall, the pre-judging starts in three hours so I’m working on my tan and carbing up. I haven’t had any water in twenty four hours and all the diuretics drained out almost every last drop of fluid. The rice-cakes are so incredibly dry, I would do anything to gulp some water down right now but it’s go time in two hours and I need to be dry to really bring the definition out. I met my secret patron from the supplement company, he’s a disgusting old man with a large protruding pot-belly. Luckily he has a lot of pull so the contract I’ll be getting out of it holds whether I win or lose. Luckily he’s fine with waiting until it’s all over, I always go no contact with coach after a show. The shame is to much and just being in the same room with him knowing what I had to do to get ahead is too much to bear. Coach understands and doesn't take it personally.

I shouldn’t complain too much, for a night of humiliation I’ll secure six figures of additional future income streams. That leaves plenty of dough for therapy and rehab. I always run the math over and over again in my head to make myself feel better. Doing these kinds of deals comes at a great cost to the soul so one tends to reach for every reason to feel better about it afterwards.

The judge was waiting for me back in my hotel, he was a twisted man and liked to make it as demeaning as possible. He never actually stated what he was offering but athletes on the ground all knew better than to turn him down. Those who did always placed lower than they should have so it was almost just a cost of doing business. I’d out the bastard but I’m too invested at this point that I don’t want to risk my sponsorships and prize money, I also have to keep in mind that my fellow athletes would be dragged into it as well. They have families and bills of their own to pay, I do wonder if they still would have chosen this career path had they known what dark places it would take them.

I’ll make out like a bandit by the time it’s over, the prize money alone is a little over a million bucks. The value of winning to my personal brand is probably worth even more. I briefly chuckled at the thought that I’m basically a prostitute king, a modern day Cleopatra. Almost instantly the shame tore through me again and shattered that brief moment of humour.

I’m now pumping up backstage, everyone is silent. They too made some back-room deals. It smells like sweaty ass, pro tan, and baby oil. You could cut the tension with a knife, everyone is unified by their physical misery and extreme fatigue. You can hear the tren in their breath, they can barely breath as they gasp for air and try desperately to catch their breaths. A lot of dirty looks are being shot back and forth, in their own worlds they’re used to being the biggest around by far. Bodybuilders are not often known for their humility so being around other equals or athletes better than themselves in a real nasty to blow their often inflated egos. Most if not all of the guys have extreme cases of muscle dysmorphia, so their insecurities are running wild. You can see it in the way they shrink up when another bodybuilder higher up the totem pole flexes near them.

It’s showtime, I can barely stay standing well I wait for the judges to call out our poses and move us around the stage. The twisted judge had a self satisfied look on his face, all I wanted to do was charge his ass and throw him off the stage. He’s lucky I’m too damn tired to run anywhere right now. I held my own, but two of the guys out shined me in some of the key poses, I’ll almost certainly place third this year. The guy behind me was close, but I knew he had enough pride not to whore himself out for placings. Forth place is a big drop at this level, I’ll never know for sure but I saw him look at the judge with a hurt look. He almost certainly though he should have placed higher than at least me, for a brief moment I reveled in his pain, you little arrogant shit you thought you were any different from the rest of us I thought to myself. My schadenfreude was quickly replaced with envy. He still had his dignity, I doubt in that moment he appreciated it but he will later in life.

I’m glad I secured that sponsorship, even though I placed third I will be the highest paid man on this stage. The two above were too focused on the prize money and forgot to get their other affairs in order. Had I fallen one placing lower I would have still lost it thou, so I guess it pays very well to be whore, maybe someday I’ll be able to get a tattoo of Cleopatra and laugh about the whole thing. I badly want to win, but my organs has exhausted their resilience. This year will be my last and with a little luck I’ll have another twenty years or so to enjoy my immense fortune before the damage I did to by body catches up. Who knows maybe by then they’ll be printing organs and I’ll get to have my cake and eat it too. My cardiologist is less enthusiastic about my prospects. I guess I’ll just try to live life and hope for the best. God damn, I really want to do some coke right now.