Helped out HANDICAPPED bros at the gym! (post #1)
Brothers,
I am thinking of getting into coaching for the disabled, both those with physical and mental disabilities- maybe something along the lines of the Special Olympics. A recent experience at the gym has, indeed, made me realize that NO MATTER what disability a person has, it should not deter them from pursuing the Iron Warrior lifestyle!
I was training back with my chauffeur and personal assistant, Nobby. We were doing weighted chins- the extra weight being a pencil neck we collared, frog-marched over to the chinning bar, and had him hang onto my legs as I repped out 10 chins, screaming with effort the whole time.
After my set, I noticed a number of handicapped folk training- some sort of group-home outing, no doubt. Nobby and I watched as one of the group-home workers tried to show a lad in a wheelchair how to do lat pulldowns, and had him using only 3 plates of the stack!
"This won't do", I sneered, and Nobby and I headed over to the woman and the handicapped fellow. "You think just because this man is wheelchair bound that he is a weakling?" I asked her. As she began to answer, Nobby smacked her across the face as I screamed "SILENCE!!" so loud the equipment rattled.
"Alright, brother- time for some REAL work!" I cried, put wrist straps on the man, put the pin to the bottom of the stack, added a 45 to it, pulled the pulldown-bar to his chest and while I held it there Nobby wrapped the straps around the bar. "BUSINESS- AS USUAL- NOW SQUEEZE....FEEL THE NEGATIVES!!" I roared, then let go of the bar. It snapped up, taking the man with it, and he flew over the pulldown machine and landed on the floor behind it, then began going into convulsions- he was having a seizure!
I looked at Nobby. He looked at me. I put my hands deep into my pockets and, looking as innocent as possible, sauntered off, whistling a piece by Handel. Nobby lumbered off in the other direction, stopping only to punch a punk wearing a wife beater reading 'Dumbell 150' on it in the face.
Later on, we headed over to the squat rack to do shrugs- but someone was using it! In this case, we decided not to toss them aside as a truly inspirational scene took place before our eyes.
There was a lad of about 20ish, suffering from Down's Syndrome, doing squats with 315- he was really putting superhuman effort into his sets! Once he was done, I approached him, offering my support.
"Bloody ****ing well done!" I cried. "What is your name?" I asked.
"Mawvin" he replied. Marvin was a happy looking fellow, and behind a pair of glasses with lenses 2 inches thick I could detect a warrior spirit. "Marvin, look about" I said. "You are the strongest of your group...I do hope YOU are taking bloody ****ing charge of this lot!" I cried. "See that man over there- the one in the wheelchair, drinking Gatorade...why not go over and claim that bloody Gatorade for yourself!"
"Roight. Show 'em who's bloody fookin boss!" Nobby snarled.
Marvin's eyes lit up, and he burst forth, screaming, in a frenzy not seen since Japanese 'banzai' charges of WWII, and charged straight at the man in the wheelchair, clotheslining him out of his chair. He snatched the gatorade bottle, and his maniacal banzai attack not quite over, he made a screaming dash at a fellow who was sitting on a bench analysing a bright shiny object he had picked up off the floor. Marvin crashed into him, and began putting the boots to him. At that moment, several group home workers and gym members tackled him, and as he screamed obscenities and struggled, one of the workers shoved a needle into his thigh and injected him with what was, no doubt, a powerful sedative. In 10 seconds, he stopped moving and the paramedics were called.
"I have seen enough. These poor fellows are being denied their DIGNITY!" I screamed. We headed out of the gym...and while heading out a man followed us into the parking lot. "Hi...look, I'm the manager of the group home...call me 'Projection'...and I know you guys are only trying to help, but-" at that point he put his hand on Nobby's shoulder "...we prefer to handle them ourselves!" he said warmly.
He had touched Nobby. The end was near, so very, very near.
I stepped back. The skies darkened, birds flew away, and Nobby stood there like stone, as the ramifications of what had just happened dawned on him.
Sreaming "FOOKIN POOFTAH!!!" Nobby delivered a kick, which would have sent a soccer ball into orbit, right into Projection's testicles, lifting him up a few feet into the air. While hanging in mid-air, Nobby lashed him across the face with his chain, and he came to the ground like a pile of dirty laundry, and lay quivering, in the fetal position with his hands between his legs, on the parking lot.
We jumped into the Rolls and roared off, as concerned members came out of the gym and, no doubt, the authorities were called.
Nobby and I are checking into coaching opportunities at the Special Olympics.
Any bros have experience in that department?
