I love the Arnold. Even as jaded as I am regarding nearly everything surrounding the “fitness industry”, I still love the Arnold. It never disappoints.
On my way to visit some friends at the Play Again Now booth, I discovered one of the most poorly named products of all time. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce…My-O-Balls. That’s right, someone was actually PAID to come up with that name. I immediately wondered if I used My-O-Balls, would any onlookers see my “O” face. Then, while at my intended destination, I looked over and noticed one of the ladies working at that booth had what I assume to be her O-Balls wrapped around her leg. Exit question: How many times did those poor women hear the phrase “Can you put My-O-Balls on your face?”
The other thing I love about the Arnold is that nothing, and I mean nothing, beats the Arnold for people watching. Maybe Vegas, but I’m still leaning toward the Arnold. This year, I saw one that truly takes the cake. There are typically four categories of people wandering the expo: People who clearly don’t lift, guys who try to act way bigger than they are, girls who are pissed off that they’re not the hottest girl in the room, and WTFDJS’s (what the fuck did I just see). The guy in question needs his own category because he fits three of the four. The guy clearly did not lift. Like had never lifted. Ever. He was probably 25 and looked like he had emerged from 20 years of playing video games in his mother’s basement in between Dungeons & Dragons marathons. It was like being confronted by an H.G. Wells morlock with greasy hair and bifocals. In accordance with the Arnold bro dress code, he had on his finest beater and a pair of cardo shorts. To complete his ensemble, he carried around a 5% jug that he would swig every few seconds while giving people around him the “I am a badass stare.” Naturally, Mr. 5% Cave Dweller takes a big swig from his jug and then locks his stare onto me. Normally, I just ignore idiocy of this caliber, but I had a momentary lapse that day and burst into laughter before walking off in a different direction.
Random thought: The restrooms at the Arnold have to be the most disgusting things in the history of the universe. I literally take immodium every year just to make certain I don’t have to shit in one of those stalls. The combination of the spray tan butt glaze on the seats and the aroma of whey protein explosions is more than I can handle.
Useful advice: Be your own dog. I grew up watching a lot of Looney Tunes cartoons. A recurring character was the obnoxious, little, yappy dog hanging around with the big bulldog and acting tough towards all the other dogs because it hangs out with the big dog. I’ve seen this dynamic in adult life where someone in the entourage of a pro strongman feels the need to act like some sort of badass. Listen, hanging onto the nutsack of a pro strongman doesn’t make you a badass. You’re like an albino remora latched onto a hairy, sweaty, squishy shark. Be proud because of who you are and what you stand for, not for who lets you carry their gym bag.
Chris is a strongman promoter and passable masters competitor, having spent his formative years training with Steve Slater. Chris was voted "Whitest Man in South Columbus" for three straight years and was recently named in an injury lawsuit by several Greenpeace volunteers who suffered multiple contusions after trying to drag Chris back into the ocean after he laid down on the beach.