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The car screeched to a halt. I dont know about 0 - 60
in ten seconds but James had redifined the art to be 60 - 0 in two seconds. How
anybody could do an emergency stop outside their home in a nice subburb every
single time was beyond the understanding of the neighbours. James jumped out of
his car and saluted his neighbours with the usual middle finger show of
appreciation. He saw them behind the curtain shaking their head. Disgusted. No
jealous. Jealous, measley, pointless lives behind the curtains. Always watching.
They never missed a thing. Nothing better to do. James would get up at three in
the morning most mornings to have his dose of amino acids and protein shake and
growth hormone potentiating supplements. Most of the time when he was on a cycle
he would throw down a handful of oral tabs to get the testosterone levels
elevated during his nightmarish catabolic state known as sleep. Even then, at
three he'd be sure he could see them peering out. Watching him. Watching his
every move. Mocking him. Laughing at him. So many times he'd thought about going
over there and ripping the doors off their houses. Going in there and showing
them what he did to people like them. Weasels. The lot of them. Hated them.
Absolutely hated them. But at the end of the day, they weren't worth it. Not
worth the energy expelled to show them. Energy that could be saved for leg
training. He'd just started a very heavy and volume intense squatting cycle.
Wanted to build those thighs huge. Bigger than synthol could even make them. But
maybe synthol would be an added bonus. Have to consider it. He was keen on the
idea. Maybe try it out in the calves and then work up. All over would be the
best approach so it couldnt be spotted. So there was no uneven development.
James carried his carrier bag of drugs inside and sat
in his living room at the table. Emptying out the contents all in front of him
like Christmas day, opening the stocking santa used to leave him. James' eyes
twinkled and lit up. Ah! Just perfect. Everything that was meant to be there.
Just as promised. And paid for. Thirty minutes checking the labels and contents.
Counting every pill, every tablet and every vial. It was all there. Some were
fakes - but good fakes. Originals no longer manufactured. Fakes were good by the
right people. James thought some fakes were even improvements upon the
originals. They were obviously made, designed, for the athlete, such as himself,
in mind. No longer were they being made for the sick and ill through legitimate
medical health care, but for the underground black market. Stupid government!
LEgalise cannabis probably, but not something to improve your lifestyle. James
thought about this more and more. They legalise alchohol and cigarettes - both
dangerous and mind altering drugs. Negative effects on the body and health.
They'd legalise nearly any drug if they could tax it. But steroids! Oh no!
Steroids were bad! Steroids were banned. Dangerous. Dangerous my arse, James
thought, eye's wild and pupils narrowing. Dangerous to who eh? And dangerous in
what way?
Clutching his chest, James tried to slow his heart
down. It was banging and rattling so hard he felt as though his rib cage was
about to smash open and explode in a shower of splintered bones. Damn
governement. Face swelling, red and hot. Fist clenched. Ready to lash out at
some politicians head he could see in his minds eye. Blod pressure was soaring.
Blood gushing through the ear cannal, like roaring water at the ocean. Damn
government! They were all in league together. Needed shooting the lot of them.
All of them were coked up, corporate prostitutes. James finally broke free from
his fevered one track thought pattern as he felt the cortisol release may be too
high to handle and the catostrophic muscle breakdown was too much to handle.
Instead he calmed himself down and reach for his hypertensive and blood pressure
regulating drugs. Never used them before. Hoped thye weren't as scary as them
damn diuretics he'd tried out. They made every muscle cramp up. Made his heart
feel like it was gonna implode. Shooting pains down his left arm. But he looked
damn good and took second place. This year first place would be his.
Packing up the stockpile of latest goodies back into
his bag James thundered into the kitchen far from gracefully. Almost clipping
the door frame with his oversized, inhuman shoulder mucle. On the kitchen table
lay the application form for the biggest door company in town. His friends at
the gym worked for the same company. They were reknown for having the hardest
and safest doors. Best men in britain. They knew the people. The contacts. The
dealers. An exciting lifestyle. Pubs, clubs, women. Fights and team work.
Sounded like the perfect job. James needed to look for something. He figured he
was gonna be fired form his place anyway the way he had been carrying on and the
mortgage did need paying, he supposed. Still it had been worth having the time
off so that he could concentrate on the important things in life.
Yes, the door job did sound like the perfect
opportunity. There were just a few flaws. James thought to himself as he read
over the application form. James preffered to work alone. Didnt like teams,
didn't trust people. Didn't even like most people. And it was gonna be busy on
the door with..people too. Drunk ones. Losers. And he didn't seem to be
interested in women any more. Too much of a distraction from the goal. In fact,
as he thought a little more, James couldn't stand pubs and clubs much. When he
was younger in school - all the popular people went out and came home with their
latest finds. He would be left out and never invited. Bullied almost. But he'd
show them. He'd show them was life was really like and who was gonna be the best
and the biggest and the strongest and the best looking. James would rectify all
of that that went wrong in the past. Put it all right. Everything they had
taunted him with. The name calling. The punches. The kicks. the chewing gum in
his hair. Bet they were like his neighbours now. Skinny pointless existances. At
least he was different. He was a champion.
James had hung a large mirror in every room. There was
one in the kitchen. If he had been on Big Brother - the world would have seen
him posing at every opportunity. Posing to see the areas that were working.
Posing to see the areas that needed work. There were so many of them. How could
you strive for perfection - when perfection could never be reached. Bodybuilding
was a sport of dissapointment. Once you entered the world of a professional
bodybuilder - you were entering a world of bleak, dark confusion. Positive
motivation and inspiration driven by negative, desperation. And maybe that's
what James liked. As he hit a double biceps pose and shook his head. Synthol was
definately on the cards. I mean, you would just get one look and one size and
then some freak in the states would come out with something new. Something
extraordinary. Then the whole world would be striving to compete with this, not
knowing what the magic drug was that produced that result. James had definately
been toying with the idea of getting some growth hormone and synthol. He was a
little nervous about insulin. But looking at himself somedays and he was sure to
be swayed. Anything would help to pull up them lagging biceps, and even out the
mis proportions of his triceps. And that dodgey left deltoid that never grew
like the right. He'd have to iron out that flaw.
Thwip! A sharp shooting pain suddenly winded James.
Agonizing electric current through his head and skull. Pressure build up in his
temples. Not to worry, it would pass soon enough. It was all worth it. Just a
few side effects. Just a few minor problems. His body was strong. It could
handle it. Nothing to worry about. Just a migraine or something. Dont get
stressed out by it. Stress was cortisol. Cortisol was the hormone of losers. He
would never succumb to the hormone of losers. James would fight on.
SItting at the kitchen table, James has brought over
one of his ten meals of the waking day. In a see through tupperware container he
was presented with two plain boiled turkey breasts and a small serving of
wholemeal pasta and six trees of defrosted broccoli. The food of a champion.
Tough to chew, horrible to swallow. It would take a good half an hour of torture
for every solid food meal to be eaten completely. Gluging down a litre of water
to wash it down. Torture toughened up the champion. Made him used to pain. Made
him stronger. Stronger mind, stronger body. Stronger body, more weight. More
weight, more fuscle fibre recruitment. More of that meant more growth. James
smiled wryly as he started to chew the almost un-chewable turkey. Every
immpossible chew was strength. Every painful swallow, like a painful repition of
the barbell. Every dry burning gut wrenching tormentful moment was the key to
success. Ah, now that was life. a life with a purpose.
Chewing over his meal of the champion, James leafed
through his photograph album. This was another, near religious, in-grained
experience. Every meal time, flicking through his entire muscle career. There he
was, a young teenager, not an ounce of muscle. There he was on the day of his
first competition. An embarresment. A joke. Why had he gone up on stage that
day? There he was on a sunny day in the garden before going on his first major
cycle. Looking pretty good for a natural guy. good shape, symmetry, and all that
crap the natural athletes looked for. But that's not what the Flex people were
looking for. Of the American Olympia judges. They wanted a whole different look.
The look of a true champion. The body of a god. That was the goal. That was what
he was striving for. It didn't matter that he was bigger and freakier than half
of the olympia athletes. James' plan was to be one step ahead. He wanted to beat
them at their own game. He wanted to be the next breed of bodybuilder. The next
breed of super athlete. That was his cause and purpose in life. That was his
calling. That was dedication to pupose. Half an hour of endless chewing and
James' jaw muscles were aching and burning like hell. But at last his body was
fueled optimally.
Suddenly James' mind became plagued with an onslaught
of unrelenting images and memories of pizza. He could see it. Smell it. Taste
the soft, gooey texture as he imagined biting into it. Mmmmm. Mouth watering.
Salivating like a rabid dog. Then it was chinese takeaway. Unwrapping those foil
containers and taking a huge deep whiff of fragranced air. Like an unforgiving
attack, next came the worst craving. Chocolate Fudge cake with double scoops of
vanilla and mint ice cream.
'Strong Mind! Strong Mind! Strong Mind!' were the words
that kept repeating, over and over and over and over in his obsessed and fevered
mind. Extreme dedication was what it took to bcome a champion. everybody knew
that, right?! Before he knew it, he had thrown his tupperware lunch containers
against the kitchen wall in a rage. Oblitterating them, splattering remains of
broccoli against the walls. Sliding down, ripping and sad looking. James screwed
up his fist and growled. To nobody but himself. Sometimes he really hated being
him. But that was also just a trick of his mind. A trap to take him off track.
Had to stay one hundred percent focussed. There was a mission to undertake.
Barely satisified by the bland and boring meal that was
to get him into the greatest physical shape of his life, James picked up his bag
and headed back upstairs to the bedroom. A room that used to be fun. Now it was
just functional. It was time for a thrity minute growth hormone releasing growth
nap. Now, where were those sedatives and sleeping pills? He'd put them down
somewhere there before. Ah, there they were, next to the sharps bin of used
needles. James unscrewed the lids of two different varieties and swallowed the
pink and the red pills. Followed up by a chaser of anti-histamines and a couple
of paracetamol. All without water. When you took as many pills as James, you got
used to taking them without any liquids. That just slowed you down and got in
your way. Water was something you played around with close to competition day in
order to fine tune your physique.
Taking another five minute look in the bedrrom mirror,
James admired his physique as he removed his clothes for the mid afternoon
growth hormone releasing nap. There really was so much more that needed doing.
Small! So small. So insignificant. Why even bother? Sometimes those were the
thoughts before bed. Other times they were just focussed on training. Mentally
rehersing full blown, arse to the floor, free bar squats. Imagining in vivd
detail lateral pulldowns with plates tied with rope to the machine stack because
it wasn't heavy enough. Shoulder Pressing overhead with three plates a side to
near death exhaustion. James thought that if he mentally rehersed these things
in his mind over and over and over and over again, he may dream about them, and
then train his mind to muscle connection. Really firing those motor units and
muscle nerve fibre recruitment.
Hitting the pillow, a little dribble fell from James'
mouth. Those sleeping pills kicked in fast and had a powerful relaxing effect.
He would normally counteract this side effect upon waking with ephedrine,
caffeine and aspirin, a handful of clenbuterol and maybe some amphetamines or
even cocaine to get his system geared up and ready for training. Some of those
things gave him the most exceptional workout imaginable. Normally that cocktail
with four ibuprofen, because he was bigger than the average male, would have a
nice pain reducing effect allowing him to blast through the most strenous
marathon intense volumen routines on the planet! James drifted into half sleep,
neither here nor there, but mentally, it was the only time the voices stopped.
During that sleeping nightmare of being bullied at
school and being defeated by the weights in the gym, James' body rested half
heartedly and begrudgingly. No amount of chemical assistance was to quieten the
demons in his mind. They were never that good to him. A good hour later and the
drugs were wearing thin in his bloodstream. Two alarm clocks fired and James
snapped back to a semi conscious state. Barely able to reach his weighted,
lifeless arm out to the dressing table by the bed, he scrunched up his eyes.
Seeing double, blurred and swaying. Finally he grabbed his handful of wake up
pills and slammed them down his throat. They'd kick into his system fully in
about fifteen minutes, when he would get dressed and head off to the gym at full
speed to train back and biceps. His heavy eyelids drooped down, barely allowing
his dilated pupils to keep their watchful, hypnotised eyes on the ticking clock.
Waiting, wondering when his heart would beat like he was alive again and the
wake up drugs would really start to make his system buzz with activity.
What a life, James thought in his hardly living state.
Now nobody can tell you what the life of a professional bodybuilder was like,
James thought to himself. Nobody could ever tell you the things that went on
behind the scenes to create such a public display of perfection. Nobody could
tell you the thoughts on the inside that created that outside phenomenon that
was the ultimate human body. There was no one person that could ever believe the
life that was going on inside dedication. A world of struggle. A world of
hardship. A world of striving. A world of science, of knowledge, of honour and
pride. A mixed up world of angels and demons. Nobody knew what taking the inside
and making the outside was really all about. James knew only one thing. There
was no person that could tell you the reality of a professional bodybuilders
life. All he knew was that this was his reality. This was his life. Nobody knew
or understood. This was true. James threw back the covers and leapt out of bed,
heart thundering, sweat pouring off his head and down his back. Muscles tensing
and firing all over. Rippling, like waves in the ocean. Staring one more time at
the image staring back at him in the mirror, and for one of those brief moments,
James felt satisfied. He liked what he had achieved. He admired the hard work,
dedication and determination that had sculpted the god like being before him. He
was the only one who truly understood what going inside out was really about.
And there was one last thing that James knew and was
deadly sure about. Thursday, was back day. And indeed, it was Thursday....
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