Friday, November 7, 2008

Training Drugs!

I have recently had the pleasure (and a fair bit of pain) of starting to train with Jo Stewart again. It has only been a few days, but what an experience so far! I won’t go into the details of all my stretchy wobbly bits being grabbed and pinched into plastic measuring devices (I call them the ‘jaws of life. They can take a lot) or being stripped down and weighed like giant marlin in a deep sea fishing contest, as you’ve probably read about these experiences in my last stories.

Besides, we’re all friends already, so I’d like to share a much more inappropriate story with you.

It started with a meeting with Jo, to suss out my nutrition and training plans. Jo and I hadn’t caught up in about a year, so we had a lot to discuss before we got down to business – specifically Labia Remoulding and Anal Bleaching (I am not sure how we drifted onto this topic). But after a good chin-wag, it was straight into business. I was fortunate enough to be guinea pig for one of Jo’s newer diets. This particular diet doesn’t have a name, so I took the liberty in naming it ‘The Giant White Rubber Egg White and Burnt Chicken Breast Fast’. Jokes aside, it wasn’t quiet that bad!

After meeting with Jo, I took a trip to Extreme Nutrition in the City. I had gone in to see if Mo was around, as I was keen to purchase some muscle building Protein powder, and also some fat melting stuff. Mo had just set of to Dubai for the Worlds, so I spent some time discussing my requirements with his friendly associate.

“I want something strong”, I said to the man in the shop.

“Try this one, it is pretty good, will give you some energy and help speed up your metabolism”. He held out a small bottle of pills that looked like something that belonged in my Nana’s medicine cabinet.

I don’t think he understood what I really meant when I said strong, so I went into it a little more detail. Just to reinforce my point.

“But I REALLY want to really feel it. Don’t sell my any weak shit. I can handle it. Honestly. I’ve been taking the soft stuff for years! What have you got hiding on the top shelf, or better yet, what’s behind the counter”?

Aside from a sideways look, upon inferring the store stocked under the counter goodies, the man in the shop showed me a bottle which had images of flames and lightening on the packaging! Surely, something with this sort of imagery would be bound to get me going! The man in the shop went on to explain that this was the final frontier of energising fat burners, and being a liquid, it was more readily absorbable.

I like readily, so I bought a bottle.

That evening, my best mate Kel came over to hang out. We missed our weekly date night the previous Thursday (which normally always involves eating Sushi and getting shit faced at Japanese Karaoke Bars on cheap Sake, and doing Abba renditions, while dancing inappropriately with loose Japanese business men), so we planned a quiet DVD night in, including pyjamas, protein shakes, and pillow fights.

For those who don’t know my mate Kel, she is a rather fabulous.

Kel doesn’t leave the house unless she is wearing high heels; something labelled Dulce and Gabanna; and carrying a bottle of
Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin Champagne in her handbag. And all the aforementioned items must match the ensemble and be current season, darling.

Anyway, Veuve aside, I explained to Kel that I on this particular occasion I was unable to partake in drink because of my 2 week ‘The Giant White Rubber Egg White and Burnt Chicken Breast Fast’. Although she didn’t outright say she was disappointed in that I was unable to partake, her sudden pale complexion and instant ‘blow up doll’ facial expression was enough to exhibit her complete shock at my otherwise unusual remark.

So there we were; a couple of sad tarts with no booze, and no-where to go. We were about to admit defeat to ‘The Note Book’ DVD sitting on the shelf beside a box of tissues and the empty bottle of Jacobs Creek RosÄ—, until I caught a glimpse of the Liquid Amp’d I had bought from Extreme Nutrition earlier in the day.

A much more exciting beverage, with fewer tears! Just add lightning bolts and flames.

“Should we give it a go?” I said to Kelly, sounding unsure and looking for reassurance, like a nun visiting The Den. “I don’t think we should take anything that is dispensed through a syringe”, replied Kel.

“People might think we are crack-whores”.

Then after a short pause, “But it looks fabulous, give me 10mls”.

We each took the RDI (that is Recommended Daily Intake, for you commoners who are fitness illiterate), which filled the syringe. Kel went first, squirting the antibiotic looking fluid into her mouth like a shot of flaming sambuca (we are both originally from the Shore, you see, we can handle the hard stuff). “It tastes like bloody battery acid and cat piss” scoffed a not so impressed Kel.

I went next, and wasn’t as phased by its unusual taste. Perhaps I am used to the many flavours of these ‘potential releasing’ potions, as discovered from other training excursions. Personally, I thought it tasted lighter fluid, wasabi, and REALLY hardcore sherbet. I’d have liked to mix it up with some L&P and Feijoa Vodka. Regardless, I carried on with my experiment - waiting for the desired effect.

What happened next can only be described as complete mayhem.

“It’s not working”, I said, as I reached for ‘The Note Book’ DVD and tissues, wishing I hadn’t polished of that bottle of Rose with Mariah Carey the previous evening. And in that very moment, an explosive surge of euphoria passed through me, as well as a glorious wave of raw energy. And a hiccup, a burp, and a couple of eye twitches.

I stood there for a moment, looking at my tingling hands and fingers, enjoying the uncontrollable giggling. The giggle turned into a roaring laughter, the roaring laughter turned into full body crumping on my bed. This resulted in breaking several slats in the frame, putting a number of tears in my Egyptian cotton bed linen, and almost giving myself a hernia. I managed to gain my composure for a short while, so looked about the room to check on Kel, who was no doubt off her tree as well.

“I am an angel”, said Kel, in a soft, slightly schizophrenic monotone. She was lying on her back doing carpet angels, leaving an outline among various pieces of clothing and other assorted items of designer bric-a-brac that had fallen out of her handbag. Her pupils had dilated and resembled black pearls. I flashed her a concerned look, and offered my hand to help pull her from the floor. In a cat like state of readiness, she let out a feline HISS and went straight for my eyes with her perfectly manicured fingers.

Ok, that last bit didn’t really happen. What REALLY followed was a dishevelled attempt to get ready or our BIG Liquid Amped night out! The DVD was definitely on the shelf tonight, and if I wanted to keep my apartment intact, we’d need to be out the door a-sap!

“Do you think people will think we are tragic losers for going clubbing at 9:30 at night”? I cautioned to Kel. In the split second it took for me to hyper-communicate this question to Kel, she had already whipped on her frock, and was speedily drawing all over her forehead with eye-liner.

“MY EYES WONT STOP MOVING”, said Kel, who now looked like a piece of kindergarten art work. She was getting speed wobbles, so I busied myself with my hair to steer my focus away from worry.

Now, I can say from my rather limited experience with hair and performance enhancing supplements, that it is hard to do your hair when you can’t stop moving. I had Kel’s GHDs, and attempted to straighten my very short hair – which seemed like a good idea at the time. I was doing this while doing ‘the running man’ dance to Beyonce, while changing my top every 2 minutes due to uncontrollable body sweating, while tying my shoes, and trying to fix my bed frame. In this process, I almost burnt of an ear, an eye brow, and three fingers. My left ear lobe still looks like a piece of burnt bacon. Anyhow.

We finally got into a cab, and headed for the bright lights of K Road. My conversation with the taxi driver, went something along the lines of, “Do you think we are on drugs? We aren’t on drugs! We had fat burners. They are great, but they are not drugs. You can buy them over the counter. Why are you looking at me like that? Do you think I am on drugs? Well I’m not. Stop questioning me. Stop looking at me in the rare view. What’s your manager’s name? Let me out. I want a refund”!

The poor taxi driver hadn’t said a word. Infact, I think the only words in his English vocabulary were ‘yes’, ‘you pay’, and ‘ass hole’.

After dancing all night on the stage at Family bar to Rihanna and Britney with a bunch or 18 year old runty teenagers, we decided us oldies better head on home. Good timing actually, as soon as we got through the door we both collapsed on the floor for several minutes, trying to build the will to drag ourselves up stairs and get into my bed. Which was in pieces on the floor still.

Moral of the story – moderate your fat burners, reinforce your slats, and don’t straighten your hair under the influence!