5:30 am – I’m up at sparrows to record myself taking my morning ice bath. I refer to it as “my morning coffee”, delivered with a big shit-eating grin to the camera.
5:35 am – Upon reviewing the footage the yelp I involuntarily released is at odds with my alpha male image. I am forced to dry off and re-do the take. I got it on the 6th attempt.
6:00 am – I arrive at my run club and start giving unsolicited updates on my “training” and the “work they are doing on my body”. They’ll want to taste my little icy pole if they think there is a team behind me rather than just a physio I pay to berate me for my poor weights technique.
6:45 am – I invite the hottest girl at the run club back to mine for a “recovery session”. She tells me she’s just going to jump in the ocean. I make a big point about that not being cold enough for me. Believe me when I say I didn’t understate this point.
7:30 am – time for another cold plunge before work while listening to Joe Rogan. I’ll be a guest on his podcast just as soon as he sees one of my daily emails to his team, I reckon.
8:15 am – like any true alpha, my entrance to the kitchenette typically causes a flight response from my coworkers. I notice Bev get separated from the herd as she is waiting for the kettle to boil. I don’t hesitate and verbally pounce on her.
8:30 am – after 15 minutes of listening to me sloppily regurgitate some sciencey sounding shit about the healing benefits of hypothermia she says she can’t take it anymore and leaves. The truth hurts, baby.
9:00 am – 1:00 pm – my typical work day routine is to leave the actual work to those not employed by their fathers. I spend my time far more wisely on my social media channels about talking about health, wellness and success.
1:15 pm – while others eat lunch I “get my protein in”. I judge everyone else’s meal. It’s very important to me that they understand I am a finely tuned, high performance machine. Even a bite of your disgusting Tupperware slop could derail this train.
3:30 pm – that’s enough work for one day, it’s time to “train”. Some people have a problem with me calling it training given I don’t actually do any sports. Weak bodied slobs will never understand the life of an athlete like me.
4:00 pm – some older lifters express legitimate concern over my technique. They tell me I’m going to hurt myself. Hey, no pain, no gain if you want to stand out while walking around The Lookout Sunday sesh in a stringlet.
4:10 pm – I upload my workout to social media and can almost hear the spinal surgeons rubbing their hands together. I have a way of putting smiles on people’s faces like that. No doctors for me though, I have the medicine (tren).
5:00 pm – I head to a sports recovery place because paying someone lots just to watch me jump into an oversized esky makes me feel like a real athlete.
5:30 pm – I can tell the staff are impressed by the way I talk about running Jacob’s Ladder being altitude training. They should be paying me to recover at their joint.
6:00 pm – I collapse into a ball of despair. Wondering exactly how many more times I need to throw myself into ice to fill the void that going easy on the bags has left in my life. I remind myself Rome wasn’t built in a day and my ageing millennial existential dread is the whole fkn empire.
6:30 pm – to keep the creeping thoughts that I’m living with my head thoroughly up my own arse at bay I take another plunge. Am I overdoing it? Not even the ‘06 Eagles spent this much on ice.
7:00 pm – oh look at that, some random account told me I’m hot on my latest post. That’s all the reassurance I needed. I remind myself, I’m not an idiot, I’m the real deal. Intrusive thoughts retreat to the ol hurt locker where they belong. Hell yeah.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?