A new guy just began coming to the gym, and wow, does he stand out. His upper body is very big and muscular, almost no fat, and covered with random peculiar tattoos. He is tanned, possibly due to not wearing shirts much. He probably wouldn’t have worn shirts at all here, except that gym management reminded him of its policy.
Unlike Delts, who has very balanced muscle development, this guy has neglected training his lower body. From a distance it looks like a giant pizza slice, pointy end down, has attached tiny legs to itself so that it can walk. He bench presses most of the time, just like a stereotype gym rat, but he also does lots of pullups, the likes of which cause the average gym rat to cower in fear. But anything lower, forget it. His chest may be actually too big for him to notice that he has a lower body. In fact, he’s only an exaggeration of the chest-a-holic guys you find in any gym.
No Leg Days For Him
During our workout Wednesday, Delts was dismissive, saying the guy needs to hit the squat rack. Doc Delts is more competitive than I am, but I had to agree. I had attempted to say hello earlier, as I enjoy meeting new gym patrons, but the newcomer looked away. On our way out, we saw “The Non-Flying Vee” leaving. He got onto a very tiny 1-speed trick bike, and pedaled off rapidly, shirtless again. This freakish combo drew stares from onlookers. The site of a tattooed giant pedaling away furiously with little legs on what looks like a tricycle is not a common site in our neighborhood.
What Evil Lurks in the Heart of an Inverted Pizza?
“What is his deal?”, I asked. “That bike doesn’t nearly fit, and he doesn’t seem to have a car. I wonder if he got a DWI”.
“Ha, maybe that’s his leg workout,” Delts replied.
“Maybe he’s a steroid dealer, or, oh, maybe exercise is part of his rehab program,” said Monica. You met her a couple weeks ago. She presents a tough exterior, and can seem unapproachable at first. But once you know her and hear her whooping laugh, her face lights up, showing her other side. Of the three of us, her curiosity is the most conspiratorial. Not that we gossip at all.
“Maybe he’s part of some black ops thing, or is part of some sleeper cell,” she said. We both looked at her, eyebrows raised, but could see that she was grinning. “Let’s follow him and find out.”
“Yeah, sure, let’s do that. But next week,” I said, as we headed off our separate ways into the early evening.