- Joined
- Apr 7, 2019
- Messages
- 2
(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.
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.