My least favorite memory of going to a gym comes during my one semester in college, I was about a buck thirty at the time. A friend of mine from high school invited me to “get these gains”. I was tired of being skinny anyway so why not? The smell of sweat and desperation reached my nose before I even saw a piece of equipment. After we reached the actual room where the weights were, he looked around until he found an open bench for us to start our workout. Since he worked out more than me, he went first. “Slight work”, he said slapping a 45 on each side of the bar. He did his 10 reps then pointed at the bench for me to start my turn. My face scrunched up as I told him I would need a spot. He was far too focused on a young lady with shorts on to care what I was talking about. 4 reps in and I was shaking enough to cause Memphis’ first earthquake. Trying to squeeze out one more rep, the 135 pounds came crashing down like a car causing my shoulder to pop out of place. People on the other side of the room started ducking looking for the source of the most recent shooting. He grabbed my arm, pulled it out causing an even louder pop sound that was almost as loud as the door slamming behind me as I swore to never step foot into another gym.
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