You finally got the energy to go to the SERF. You noticed yourself out of breath halfway up Bascom and decide you want to be like Oprah and transform from an obese lady into a thin, judgemental lady. Besides, you're out of excuses not to go. (Guys: ""Gatorade has protein."" Girls: ""but guys like junk in the trunk, right?"") So you lug your fat ass up to the cardio room and kick it up all the way to speed-walk pace.
Five minutes later you get sick of the douchebag next to you who is sprinting and reading his Kindle at the same time. Fuck Kindle. Fuck productivity. Plus, running makes you gassy and there is only so long you can pretend you're not the one making it smell like an orgy of buttholes.
So you turn the tredmill off and mumble something stupid like, ""solid warmup. Gonna pump some iron."" You pass the Group-X room and smile at the 200 girls and one guy kicking into the air They probably think they're learning self-defense. Except there's a difference between kickboxing with a coked up lady screaming at you while a shitty Black Eyed Peas song blasts overhead and trying to fight someone with a gun in your face.
Now you're down into the weightroom with machines and dim lights. You feel like you're in a Saw scene or Michael Jackson's basement. Muscle, bad music, A LOT of dicks. No, I'm not talking about Lady Gaga. This is the testosterzone. Guys all around the room are flexing their huge pecs and biceps in the mirror. The only thing you have in common is that you're both turned on by the Shake Weight.
You see bulging biceps lifting hundreds of pounds and walk around the machine to see that it is, in fact, a girl. Aside from her, the room is a complete broverload. One guy has a Chinese symbol tattoed on his bicep, which likely stands for something manly like ""sports,"" or ""beer, deer and titties.""
You make your way over to a machine next to a chunky guy with a beard. He looks like Leonidas ate Precious. You sit in visible pools of sweat and grab the handlebars. After straining until your face is red, you accidentally let a little poop out. You decided to lower the weight down to 20 pounds and do five more reps. Time to get out of here.
You do the awkward pants-shit-shuffle all the way home. As soon as you walk in the door you say ""smells like shit in here,"" so your roommate won't think the poop smell is from you. Then you decide to reward yourself by eating three Cosmic Brownies and take a shower. As you throw your disgraceful skidmarked undies in the dumpster outside you say: ""I'm never fucking going back to the testosterzone.""
Pooped your pants in the testosterzone? Start a support group with Ben at stoffelrosal@wisc.edu.
