Friends, I come to you today with a confession: I am an aspiring meathead. I yearn for the cling-clang of clattering plates, and think wistfully of the sounds of two enormous dudes with the same haircut asking gym staff about the specific type of protein offered at the smoothie stand.
Before quarantine, I thought the answer to “Should I get swole?” was a resounding “Yes. ” I bought mass-gainer supplements, and learned the meaning of phrases like “progressive overload” and “eccentric training. ” I developed opinions on deadlift grips and sent texts to my friends when our gym installed a new squat rack. I know, I hate me too.
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