You can always workout. If u can’t go to the gym, go outside!!!! It’s always a good idea to have a good pair of shoes, some light weights to strengthen your muscles, and a yoga mat so it doesn’t hurt to lie on the ground. And find a routine that works for u!!! I use Kayla itsines bbg! I love it. Your gonna have to work for a good body, but YOU CAN DO THIS! Make it happen so you can become the better you. DO IT FOR YOU!
Tyler Dillot was 27 years old, not good looking, and very
much “out of shape.” The last time he had been “in shape” was back in high
school at Regis Prep when he had been on the track team. Back then he had gone
by Ty, the Dill Man, or Dildo (only by his closest companions). Then college
had come and gone, as had his physique and his innocence, and then he became “out
of shape.” In fact there was no shape to him. He wasn’t a rhombus or a
quadrilateral or even a parallelogram. He was a torso and limbs. But he was
determined to make a change.
It was a Calvin Klein advertisement that prompted the sudden
urge for physical enlightenment. The billboard was on the corner of East
Houston and Lafayette and depicted a half naked woman and half naked man embracing
while only wearing Calvin Klein underwear. The half naked woman was beautiful and Tyler
had seen her before on some Instagram feed on one of his late night rabbit
holes, but the man on the billboard was otherworldly. The man’s body was
rippling with muscle, and Tyler very quickly became aware of how sweaty he was
under his thin t-shirt, even though it was only 65 degrees out and breezy and
not even mid April and all he had done that Saturday morning was wake up at
11:20, eat a bagel, drink an almond latte with an extra shot of espresso, check
Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook, then Instagram again. He could feel a pimple
forming on the back of his neck.
“I am going to join a gym,” he announced to the world.
“Shut up,” said a stranger passing by.
Later that day he had joined Equinox ($200 initiation fee,
$250 per month), bought a new pair of Nike Free Run Trainers ($130), three pair
of Nike Flex Running shorts ($45 per pair), and three Under Armour t-shirts
He had wanted to get Nike shirts as well, for he hated
mixing brands almost as much as he hated wearing brands, but the Nike tops were
all too tight on his chest and made his nipples feel exposed. Being self
conscious about ones nipples is one of the worst things in the world, aside
from global hunger and YouTube personalities who play the ukulele, so he went
with the Under Armour shirts which were more forgiving on both his physique and
He would have to phone home and let his father know about
the additional charges to the card, but he was still skiing in Aspen and
wouldn’t be home for another week. The charges wouldn’t be an issue, he just
wanted his father to know so he could be proud of his son for the effort. His
father was rich and the rich are always happy when their children spend money.
If they don’t have any children, they spend their money on Porsches or plastic
surgery, both of which have a near 100% success rate.
Tyler had planned on getting into the gym early the next
morning but had drank too much that evening at Erik Brennan’s 32nd
birthday party. Erik was from an improv class Tyler had taken when he first
moved to the city, and had recently made a video where he interviewed people on
the street and asked them what their favorite sexual positions were. Then Erik
explained to them if they were subconsciously sexist or not. The video had gone
viral and been featured in both Vox and Bustle that morning and subsequently
retweeted by Ellen. It was important work and Tyler had shared it on his own
Facebook page with the caption “funny + thought provoking work = Erik Brennan.”
The party was at a Mexican bar in the East Village, and
Tyler had a few beers, said hi to Erik, had two shots of tequila, sang Erik
happy birthday, had a Sangria, said bye to Erik, then ate 2 slices of pizza
(one sausage, one sausage and pepperoni), and left at 2 AM. When he got back he
ate a spoon of peanut butter straight from the jar (for protein) and fallen asleep.
He woke at 11 AM, checked Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, than
Instagram again, where he liked one of Erik’s photos from the party, taken
after he left. “Good friends, good timesss” he commented. Then he got dressed
and went to the gym, stopping only to purchase a green drink ($7), a Smart
Water ($4), and a protein bar ($3).
Equinox was packed, like church on a Sunday morning, only
with more self-righteousness and sweat and judgment, and Tyler felt as if
everyone was staring at his nipples. He had planned on pairing with a physical
trainer but none were available when he arrived at noon, so he sojourned into
the unknown, alone.
The treadmills were all full, as were the ellipticals, and
he briefly entertained the idea of trying out the rowing machine, before
realizing he had never rowed a boat in real life, why would he start on a lie.
So he made his way to the floor of free weights and barbells.
Tyler did a few reps on each arm of the twenty-pound
dumbbell then moved over to one of the benches where a muscular man with a tan
was just finishing up a set with a large amount of weight. He was grunting and
panting as if mid-coitus, and when he finished he let out a moan of pleasure
Tyler had never released in all of his life.
“Are you finished with the bench?” Tyler asked.
The tan man took one of his headphones out.
“What?” he replied.
“Are you finished with the bench?” Tyler repeated himself, a
little louder this time.
“No need to yell bro, all yours,” the man with the tan said
as he walked away. Tyler watched him make his way over to the water fountain
and noticed a tattoo on the back of his bulging neck. “For Strength &
Honor” it read in a cursive font worthy of an encyclical.
Tyler smirked and made a joke in his head about how any neck
tattoo should really just say “unemployable,” then thought about tweeting it
and ending up typing it out and saving it in his drafts to tweet out later that
day when he was likely to get better circulation.
He sat on the bench and checked the weight on either side of
the bar. It was 150 pounds, forty pounds less than what he weighed. He knew he
wouldn’t be able to do any reps of it, but he was curious as to see how heavy
150 pounds really was.
“For strength and honor,” he whispered to himself,
He lay back, ducking his head to fit under the bar. He
reached up and gripped the steel, still wet with sweat from the tan man’s
hands. He exhaled then pushed up slightly. The bar didn’t budge. Then he pushed
slightly harder and felt it move a bit. Finally, with a grunt like a small
boar, he pushed up with all his might. He felt it lift up a little then raise
into the air just an inch.
The bar was already wet from the tan man’s hands, and
Tyler’s soft palms were oily and sweaty and added to the steel’s slippery
state, and so as slippery things often do, the bar slipped.
It fell from his grasp and rolled just over the edge of the
cross beams meant to hold the bar secure. 150 pounds came crashing down onto
Tyler’s throat and crushed his windpipe, severing his intake of air. He
screamed but nothing came out and the tan man with the tattoo couldn’t hear him
due to his headphones being noise-cancelling.
By the time he noticed it was no
use. Tyler was finally in shape.