Competition

One of the things I pride myself on down here is that I work out harder than just about everybody else I see in the park.  There are a pair of twin male ex-gymnasts that have an insane workout routine (decline pushups on kiddie slides, pullups where they flip up so the bar ends against their waist, etc), but other than that I rarely see anybody else push themselves like that in Parque Bustamante. 

Today after my normal 30 min run, I jogged into the little exercise area where I do my pullup/pushup/situp/dips routine.  I had finished everything except for pullups when one of "those guys" walked into the park.  For those of you who frequent a gym, you know the exact type of guy I'm talking about.  This is the guy who spends more time manscaping than actually lifting weights.  Everything he's wearing is perfectly color-coordinated, his arms are all evenly tanned, and his hair is thickly gelled into place.  No matter how profusely he sweats, the bonds of space-age technology supporting his hair follicles will not be compromised.  This is the kind of guy whose bedsheet laundry routine involves paint thinner and a chisel.  As I was standing on one of the two pullup bars next to each other, he hops on the one next to me, and starts doing pullups himself.  Game on.

With my blood rushing from the douche proximity, I snap off 18 pullups to his 10 or so.  I didn't really count his, I just made sure that he had stopped long before I did.   I threw in a quick set of decline pushups on the same machine just to make a point, then hop off and sit in the shade for a minute.  He stands on the machine while he rests, making sure all parts of him receive even sunlight.  Giving myself less break time than normal, I jump back onto the machine, choose a slightly wider grip on the pullup bar, and then rip off another 12.  He jumps in halfway through my set, and we both finish about roughly the same time.  I throw in some more decline pushups, and retreat to my spot in the shade.  He turns around, making sure to let the back of his shoulders feel the sun as well.

Man, this guy is driving me nuts.  I wait about half my normal break time, and then hop back on the bar, this time choosing the widest possible grip for my pullups.  It's hard as hell, but I manage to bang out 8 before having to give up the ghost.  The other guy doesn't even look in my direction, doesn't even try to do another set yet.  In fact, he starts looking around the rest of the park, to anywhere but where I was.

Blood in the water.  Time to go for the kill.

With no break, I return to my narrow grip pullups and bang out as many as I can again.  I want to scream on a couple of them, but remain completely silent.  I end up getting 7 or 8, and then am totally exhausted.  As I finish, I look over and see that he's stopped looking around, and is now concentrated on another set of pullups.  This set is weak - he's only going about halfway down, and his legs are twitching as he ascends - a sure sign of fatigue/loss of control.  I feel comfortable in my victory, and walk to the water fountain to grab a drink.

The water fountain is in the other direction from my house, so I had to repass the pullup area as I started walking home.  As I looked up from the water fountain and glanced over at the pullups, I noticed that he started to bang out another quick set of his half-assed pullups.  "What a joke," I thought to myself.

Then I noticed a beautiful little chilena in painted-on workout clothes walk up next to him.  She was just finishing up a run herself, which might as well have been a runway show for every male in Parque Bustamante.  This girl was also perfectly tanned, with radiant skin and piercing brown eyes carried by a photoshopped-figure.  The guy comes down off the pullup bar, plants a kiss on her lips, and they both walk away, hand in hand, towards the other side of the park.

Damn it, he won.