The Gym Rat
So a gym rat? I’m guessing you find this type of gay… in the gym!
You’re getting good at this! Correct! Pretty much any time of day.
What’s he doing there?
Well, unlike the rest of us who only have a gym membership because the vending machine has the coldest Coke Zeros in town, he’s actually there for a reason – perfecting the body beautiful. Pity the poor gym rat, spending days and nights padlocked to the lat pulldown (no idea) or doing biceps curls (again what?) at virtual gunpoint. The gym rat is a hostage to his own body. He must have muscles, but doesn’t really know why.
And when he’s not in the gym?
He’s in your local neighbourhood bar, eyeing you up and pitying your woeful pecs, wondering if he should slip you his business card so he can PT you.
How will I recognise him?
He’s the dude in the too-small vest with shoulders wider than an American fridge and a tinier waist than Kylie. If you can see a nipple *and* a shoulder blade, it’s a gym rat.
Who are his pals?
Other gym rats. They compare gun size and butt firmness but it’s all totally above board. No homo. Unless it’s homo.
What does he do for fun?
Fun?! Well, in his spare time, when he’s not at his job in [name of horrendous letting agent], he’s on FaceTime giving motivational talks and doing push-ups for paying customers who, inexplicably, want a body just like his.
Would he make a good boyfriend?
Well he’ll be out from under your feet all day at least, such is his devotion to the gym. Downside: his dick will probably taste like protein shake.
Most likely to say:
“Do you even lift, bro?” “Cor, leg day is the worst :(” I hope you’re going to offset that croissant with some squats later.”
Who are his enemies?
Beer bellies and anyone pointing out how skinny his legs actually are.
Am I a gym rat?
If you can’t travel on a train without doing pull-ups on the handrail, you may well be. Now drop and give me 20, you musclebound marvel.
Words: Justin Myers
Illustration: Ian Nicholson
Next week: The Stan
