, where I hear you ask? In the Meathead area of my gym.
The grunting and sweating accompanied by shouts of encouragement to one muscle-bound freak from a group of fellow carpet carriers almost bought a tear to my eye.
Speaking of the gym, I recently lamented on Facebook that after yet another successful free-weights session I had decided not to continue fighting nature and give up running in favour of power-lifting, after all I already have the physique of a Hungarian shot-putter so should be an easy transition.
|I wish I actually looked this feminine|
A friend of mine replied that ironically power-lifting was all about transition. I messaged back that I only wanted to get into the sport so that I could use words like 'snatch' and 'clean and jerk' although I also wanted to avoid shitting out my own insides.