Here's the thing about guys like Arn:
... and guys like me:
I'm a member of 24hour Fitness, where I like to shoot some hoops, swim some laps, and, on occasion (biannually) lift some modest weights. Well, you can't help but notice these Arnold types, and I always wondered what it would take for a guy like myself to upgrade. 50 pushups a day? A tub of Muscle Milk? Is it even possible, or is achieving that kind of tanned, oily bulk a talent you've simply got to be born with? Then I realized, as I visited the gym during my scattered schedule, that those guys are always there! Always! I can go in at 9 am, or 3 pm, or 2 am for that matter (it's 24hour Fitness, after all), and I see the exact same Biffs sweating and glowering all the live long day. Either seven muscle dudes watch my house and wait for me to go the gym so we can all get fit together, or they're pumpin' iron 24/7, and I can't quite wrap my brain around either of those ideas (I guess they might be pro athletes, but if they're at 24hour Fitness, chances are they're not in the NFL). Now, you can call me a bitterly scrawny math nerd, although frankly I don't care for numbers, but I just have to wonder how it can be worth it? "Sure, I spend five hours a day at the gym, and am currently jobless because most employers won't accommodate my exercise regimen, but I can break leather belts with my neck like Gaston." I guess at some point weightlifting becomes a hobby that you dedicate your life to, like figure skating or playing the cello, but I can't imagine how picking stuff up and putting it back down again can provide the same satisfaction that might come from, say, composing a symphony. Diff'rent strokes for diff'rent folks, I suppose.
