I’m a morning workout person. I like the early hours of the day; it’s quiet, there’s no traffic, and no one wants to talk to me. I go to the gym before work because it’s almost empty. More importantly, the gym is running a promotion with my company where everyone gets a free 8-week membership. So going after work would be like visiting a meat locker of coworkers. Not my favorite idea.

There is one major problem with working out in the morning: there’s a screamer. The screamer is a massive, grunt-yelling Megatron-shaped dude who is bench pressing 225 when I walk in at 6 AM and doing pull-ups when I leave at seven. As far as I can tell, he only does about five or six sets in the hour I’m there. For most of the time, he swaggers.

RoidMonster, as I call him, is not the world’s tallest man. He is maybe 5’5”, but he weighs at least 220. He wears Affliction T-shirts every day and has arms as thick as your leg. He knows this. He also gels his hair in the front, which I thought was not allowed after seventh grade. RoidMonster is undoubtedly shooting up some kind of testosterone-based substance, an assertion I make because he walks around the gym yelling, “HEY CHUCK! HOW ARE YOU? I’M GREAT, JUST GETTING SWOLL.” It’s six in the morning. Stop screaming, Mighty Midget, and stop using the not-word “swoll.”

He spends the majority of his time sauntering and racking weights. Once every twelve minutes or so, he does a set. When he does, you can hear him no matter where you are in the gym:

He starts with a guttural grunt for his first rep, rapidly escalating to a full-blown primal yell by the third. Veins pop out on his head like a scene from Alien. He turns the color of sriracha sauce. After four reps, the last of which is spent doing that hiss-breathing thing you can hear from across the room before climaxing with a scream, he triumphantly drops his three-hundred-plus pound bar and saunters away, whipping his towel over his shoulder. Where he goes, I have no idea, but he makes sure to walk past everyone in the gym before he completes his loop.

I actually saw him outside the gym yesterday morning. He was sitting at a table outside a café with three Muscle Milk boxes in front of him, shaking all three at once. He was also – I am not making this up – eating what appeared to be a Chipotle burrito that he must have bought the night before. As you may know, I am a Chipotle maniac and I know a leftover double-meat steak burrito when I see one. A 1000-calorie Mexican dinner was RoidMonster’s breakfast, along with like 90 grams of extra protein. Fascinated, I stuck around to watch him chug the first carton of his protein shake. Have you ever tried to chug a protein shake? It’s like trying to shotgun a can of maple syrup. But RoidMonster polished it off no problem, then triumphantly crushed it in his hand. He looked up to see if anyone saw his feat of massive strength.

(I should mention that Muscle Milk cartons are made of cardboard.)

What a beast. I’m gonna go buy an Affliction t-shirt.

5 thoughts on “RoidMonster

  1. I love those guys! I have to know, is he the type that has a massively huge upper body, but sickly and underdeveloped chicken legs? Those are the best, guys that spend most of the workout flexing their guns in the mirror, but totally neglecting one of the body’s main muscle groups.

  2. Pingback: Med School Begins! …Kind Of | Laughter is the Best Medicine

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