smash_logs | PUT AWAY YOUR SHAKE WEIGHT. GET A REAL WORKOUT. BE A REAL MAN. OR WOMAN. GO LIFTING WITH MAX.

Who: Max and YOU and your intense feelings of inadequacy.
What: WORKING OUT IN THE WEIGHT ROOM
Where: THE WEIGHT ROOM
When: EVERY TIME August 8th - 21st
Warnings: 150% TESTOSTERONE. Max may swear at some point.

After spending two weeks as a venusaur, and not being able to work out, Max returned to his normal self. He could still feel the shameful, shameful potbelly that he used to have as a venusaur. Two weeks of not working out is like two weeks of wasted life for Max. And now he doesn't have all of those darned classes to take getting in the way of getting in a real workout. As if somehow six hours of weightlifting a day hadn't been a real workout before.

So anyway. Max is pretty much living in the weight room when he isn't doing his cardio in the mornings, having a meal, or sleeping. Or teaching the occasional class. But he's happy to take out some time to show new students around the weight room, or to help the less muscular set up some sort of workout routine. Need a spotter for the bench press? Max is your man. He may be wearing a tank top that says this on it.

((START A THREAD, GIVE A TIME, PUT ON YOUR HEADBANDS AND GYM SHORTS, AND TURN UP THE CLASSIC ROCK-SLASH-PUNK. YOU'RE IN MAX'S WORLD NOW.))

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But you did, Jeff. You quit after four because you couldn't lift more. You were doing reps with your tiny baby arms until you couldn't do anymore. That's the very definition of burning out.

"Rest ninety seconds to two minutes between sets, try to do four sets total of every exercise. Lift at least twice a week with a day in between to rest. Three times a week's better. If you only do two days a week, try not to repeat any of the same exercises on each day."

Max just kept ticking off the rules of weightlifting.

Okay those... were quite a few rules. Jeff tried to keep up, but was having trouble remembering everything Max had just said. He should've brought a notebook.

"Uh huh..." The oaf might've been slow in other fields of expertise but talk to him about weight lifting, and the blue haired man spoke 90 miles per hour. "You have a list of recommended exercises?" Jeff sarcastically asked.

A light glistened in Max's eyes as he quickly scanned Jeff's girlish frame.

You just opened up a Pandora's Box of workouts, Jeff.

"If you work out twice a week, every time you wanna do leg press, seated rows, squats, dumbbell bench press, leg curls, shoulder press, situps, lat pulldowns, lunges, back extensions, and upright rows."

"Then you need to alternate between pullups and shoulder presses on one day, and dumbbell curls and dips on the other."

See, Jeff. It's easy.

Oh my god what. Jeff only caught about half of what Max had said. Talk about easily enthusiastic.

"Uh..." he responded. The blond was half-tempted to ask for all of that in writing. But no, that would be unseemly. "Right. I'll... keep that in mind for next time."

When he exercised on his own. Without Max. As far away from the weight room as possible.

"You need me to write that down for you?"

He could sense you not understanding, Jeff.

And now Max was looking down at him. Figuratively now, not just physically. Not that the oaf would've been wrong to assume Jeff hadn't caught everything he said but still. Jeff frowned, his hands clenching into fists by his sides.

"Sure, thanks," he hissed. Might as well try to appease the larger man. The sooner they finished, the sooner Jeff could bolt from the weight room and never come back.

Max looked at Jeff and his hissing and his fist clenching and his general Jeffery Angel-ness.

"You ain't gotta act all angry about it," said Max, lecturing a guy on not losing his temper as if that was something Max never did.

"Excuse me?" Jeff glared. It was bad enough he was taking workout tips from Max. Now the blue haired man had the gall to comment on Jeff's attitude? That was where the blond drew the line.

"I'm not angry. I'm simply annoyed that you're taking up so much of my time. I accepted your assistance because I thought it would be helpful. If I had known you'd be so slow, I would have never done so."

"Are you callin' me stupid?" Max asked. All of the muscles in his person seemed to swell two sizes. "I'm tryin' to help you and you act angry and complain about me bein' stupid?"

Is Max standing closer to you now? Much, much closer than would normally be comforable? Staring down at you (somehow) from beyond the wall of pectoral muscles. Yes. He is.

Yes, obviously Jeff was calling the overgrown ape who probably couldn't even tie his own shoes stu--

Oh. Oh, that was... a lot of man. A lot of height and muscles and intimidation and okay maybe Jeff should have rephrased that.

"No," Jeff attempted to stand his ground, "I didn't say the word 'stupid.' I said 'slow.' As in a measurement of speed, not intelligence level." The blond quickly bit his tongue to restrain himself from adding a rude, snappy retort.

Max looked down at the whiny little baby.

"Well it ain't my fault that I don't got a pencil or a piece of paper on me so I can just write all of that up for you in like two minutes. I ain't a computer. And anyway, if you thought you could get a good workout done in, what, fifteen minutes I guess? You've been watchin' too many infomercials on TV about how doin' a workout for fifteen minutes a day will get you rock hard abs. I can tell you, that's a lie."

It's a lie, Jeff. And Max is still looking down at you balefully. "You got somethin' to write with?"

Fifteen minutes? Did Max seriously think Jeff was that gullible or stupid? He had more common sense than that. The thought that Jeff was no doubt at a higher academic level than the blue haired man made him feel a little ~~smug~~ better.

"No, I don't. The only people who believe that sort of nonsense are idiotic girls who think they can eat only diet bars and still stay healthy while losing weight."

Turning, Jeff rummaged through a small sports bag ~~which he totally had with him the whole time~~ and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. "Here," he shoved the paper towards Max, "just write it down." So Jeff could ignore it like this whole thing never happened and leave already.

Hey Jeff, guess who's an instructor and who's a student? Yeah. That's what I thought.

He took the little pad of paper and pen and scribbled down everything that Jeff Angel should do to get a totally hot bod like Max's.

Max would never see Jeff Angel ever again.

He passed the pad back over to him. "Here," he said. "That's everything."

Taking the pad back, Jeff frowned. That was a lot of writing. A lot. Max might've been a bit dense, but when it came to exercise, he was certainly thorough. Not that Jeff was going to actually read the entire thing.

"... Thanks," he replied. Shoving the pad into his bag, he picked it up and headed towards the door. Pausing, he stood awkwardly for a few seconds before forcing out "And thanks... for helping me... or whatever."

And with that, he was gone from the weight room. ~*~Forever~*~

PUT AWAY YOUR SHAKE WEIGHT. GET A REAL WORKOUT. BE A REAL MAN. OR WOMAN. GO LIFTING WITH MAX.

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I STOLE THIS LIST FROM MEN'S HEALTH

what a manly list it is

Jeff, stop having such an ugly face

no shut up his face is beautiful and smooth as a baby's bottom

His face is, indeed, like a butt

the most pouty and sparkly butt

Butt Angel, you did not just call Max "slow" did you?

he totally went there /bitchy finger snaps

You're a douche, Jeffery Angel

he's got a reputation to uphold

He's a hateful creature of spite and ire

just as planned