The gym facilities here at the Hyatt are very limited unless you're a bikini competitor or a schmoe, but in a pinch, you can put together a decent workout.
Today's chest day and no one who lives in Chicago seems to know where we can train within 5 miles of the host hotel. Ok, fine, whatever, you don't wanna let outsiders in your gym, screw ya.
The dumbbells only go up to 55s, but they've got an adjustable bench and a chest press machine that goes up pretty high, so I'll be able to manage.
My buddy's using the incline bench, so I figure I'll start on the machine. I ask the guy standing next to it (on his phone, no less) if I can work in and he says, "I've only got 3 sets left, then it's yours." He then sits down on it, still on his phone call.
Whatever. I go do my 4 sets on the incline. He's *still* there...sitting. I usually don't really notice other people in the gym, but because he'd already pissed me off, he was on my radar and I swear, this fucker was on his phone WAY more than he was lifting.
Then I go ahead and do my flyes. Finally, he's done then tries to act like I was holding *him* up. Are you fucking kidding me? Whatever.
Next fuckstick...big, fat mother-fucker, shoulder-pressing the 55s...and throwing the goddamn things to the floor, what, in an effort to prove how hardcore he is in a hotel gym??
Bitches.
I got my shit done, but I left with a little anger in my heart. Forgive me, Jesus.
