Last moments behind the scenes … Showtime
Crazy pumping and posing then turned into an almost serene silence when our class settled in a niche behind the scenes. We were eagerly waiting in the dark for a hand signal on stage that would lead us under the bright lights under the howls and cries of an uncontrollable crowd desperate to cheer, laugh or bow to the last generation of bodybuilding hopefuls.
My mind remembered what must have been thousands of years ago, when Christians were thrown into the Roman Colosseum to be pierced and eaten by lions, while the bloodthirsty crowd roared with joy. It turns out that after almost 2000 years, little has changed.
The race and time spent on stage are almost surreal. Food exhaustion, dehydration and diuretics confuse athletes on stage, and the noise of the crowd drowns out the orders of the chief judge, who shouts various obligatory poses. The burning sensation in my muscles reached an almost excruciating level, my muscles s gathered, bent and shrivelled under the blinding light of light.
It seems that time has stopped when I hold every pose in the statue for silence, struggling to avoid shivering from intense muscle contractions. My breasts roll between positions, my lungs breathe heavily, and I feel the taste of my own blood in my parched mouth. I draw a well-trained smile on my face as I move from one skin-splitting pose to another, feeling as if I’m strolling on a cool spring morning for the morning newspaper.
Half of the crowd howled with joy, while the other half tries to muffle the cries of a chorus of whistling while the judges make decisions. Tough judges, all experienced athletes themselves, look at the line of bodybuilders with the slightest movement of pencils, deciding for them the fate of several.
Before you know it, the voice of MS echoes through the speakers, and we are breathlessly carried away from the stage, stumbling in search of sports bags, where we hurriedly take a tiny sip of water.
Months of dieting, exhaustion and drug use – it all squeered and turned into fleeting moments on stage, but in the end, when the last participants leave the stage, the lights go out, the music turns off and the curtain closes.
The competition is largely over, and the ensuing evening spectacle will be more or less a parade for handing out trophies, T-shirts and a few buckets of protein to the new champions. The winners like the attention of photographers who are in a hurry to take some photos of each of the winners. Perhaps one of the winners will be lucky that the editor of the magazine with a set deadline will fill the empty section of 2×2 on the last pages of the script of the story about the events of the day.
Killed shyly gather with their friends and families and chew cookies, candy and the most expensive “taboo treats” that have been avoided like the plague in the months leading up to the show. Faithful friends immediately point out how each athlete was robbed or how unfair the appeals were. Almost everyone agrees that the show should be rigged, as they all mumble in agreement, closely following the promoters, judges and staff.
Absolute irony of bodybuilding
The irony, for the most part, is lost in athletes who have spent countless years of training, effort and unspeakable insecurities to get to this point, only to blow it up when most people need a Bag Eat Doritos.
Testosterone nourished the body and minds, filled with the relentless desire to become the maximum possible, with an almost insane amount of effort, sacrifice and discipline to develop you in the latest version of Hercules, not at the peak of the Father’s time.
The moment of glory goes back to history, as it should be, and the hopes and dreams of most participants rush into the rocks of reality. These few are the lucky ones, as the winners often win, supported by the illusory glory that a temporary victory can bring.
In the end, even the greatest bodybuilders will turn into mere mortals before the Dark Reaper calls their souls home. Unfortunately, this is happening faster and faster with today’s bodybuilding participants.
Additional show on bodybuilding revealed
Of course, in between the morning and evening shows, the well-known “competitive scene” is outside the hall in all the stands. Anyway, I can see what the “real world of bodybuilding” looks like, and it’s like a circus show filled with jumbled quirks that drive Mark Twain crazy.
Bloated stomach, swollen suitors, in a dense spandex, strewn with a pair of professionals with glazed eyes, signing autographs in various kiosks with additives. Meanwhile, spectators in “cartoon proportions” go out and bend with flared planks, arms outstretched and extended breasts like frogs ready to mate. It really is a sight when everyone struggles to get the attention of others.
After the game I met the winner outside the game, who was depressed. Congratulating him, he said to me, “And now,” how can I compete with the pros?
I trained with this guy a few weeks before the show, and he told me how many drugs he had been taking for 3 years to “be in the winners” circle. Now that he has really won, he has realized that he has no heart, no genetics, no money to make the leap into professional bodybuilding.
It was great to see him on the sidewalk that night and his words echoed in my head for many months after the game.
Razor blade
Current competition requirements can be a dangerous game that can lead to ultimate disaster. Most people don’t know how many emaciated bodybuilders are behind the scenes in oxygen tanks or, at worst, rushed to the emergency room because of drug overdoses and diuretics. I call these methods razor sharpness, because at any moment everything can turn into a disaster. Wins and losses seem to be determined by the level of risk a competitor is willing to take.
Obviously I was lucky because I didn’t need medical attention, even though I was abusing water, juice, etc. Coca-Cola. after the show in a very dehydrated state. I lay on a bench while walking on a boat for about 2 hours, trying to calm my parents, as “knife” pain ran through my kidneys.
