We Call Him J-Vicious For A Reason

I just ate half a rotisserie chicken. And a jar of pickle juice. In my car. On my way home from the gym.

One of my co-workers suggested I need more protein in my diet. As he judged me for the bags of potato chips I was shoving into my mouth.

What’s more protein than a rotisserie chicken?

The pickle juice, though.

That was purely for survival.

I went to PlayFITStayFIT today. For the first time in a week.

J-Vicious gets a little pouty when he thinks people aren’t paying enough attention to him.

He so desperately wants to be a Leo.

And poor B-Major, a genuine Leo, has a child to raise and a house to run and law to practice. The woman can’t entertain him nonstop.

So leg day today I think was supposed to be some sort of 9/11 tribute.

Which is nice.

He gave us four rounds of two exercises each. Each round was 9 minutes and 11 seconds. And you could break the two exercises down any way you wanted to.

So, if you wanted to do, say, front squats for 9 minutes and 11 seconds and skip right on over the duck walks in that round, because duck walks are bullshit and J-Vicious always makes fun of you when you do them, you could.

And at first you might get excited about choices. And having some control over your workout.

But let’s remember who we’re dealing with here.

J-V is not going to give you choices without consequences.

That reality hit right from the jump. During the back squats I was trying to do for the full round just to avoid lunges.

You might wanna go a little lighter for 9 minutes of squatting, right?

But no. J-V won’t allow that.

So fine. I pulled out the heavier weight as directed (because I’m compliant-we remember that I’m compliant, right?) and proceeded to whine about the bar sitting on my shoulders and the traumatizing, yet entirely ineffective massage I just got, and why does Fall Risk get a cushion on her barbell and can I please have one, too.

Because there apparently is another one. Which J-V just held out in front of me like a sadist. And then finally attached to my barbell.

After I was done.

LL thinks things like this are funny.

Until J-V builds a weighted snowman on her lap during her wall sit.

And I think that’s hilarious.

Until J-V throws two punching bags on my lap during my wall sit.

Luckily, I’m not coordinated enough to maintain control of two punching bags at one time.

So I wasted a solid 30 seconds of my 9 minute and 11 second wall sit wrestling those things around. Which was nice. Until J-V settled for one punching bag. And a 50 pound weight on top.

And then looked over at Fall Risk holding, I swear, a 10 pound weight. Like she was gonna get away with that.

“I would like to gift this 50 pound weight to her. Would you take it to her, please?”

“I reject her gift of the 50 pound weight.”

But you don’t get to reject gifts like that at PFSF.

And you also don’t get to just gift away weights. Because there are just other heavier ones he’ll replace them with.

So, by the time you get to weighted pop squats, you’re really trying to just disassociate from the entire experience.

I focused on dancing. Because Young MC.

Fall Risk cried.

She said she didn’t actually cry.

But those damn sure looked like tears.

It was around this time that my body was sending warning signals that it was gonna make my left foot just full on seize up at any moment.

It was so bad. At one point. That I was basically doing single leg weighted pop squats.

And begging J-V to go next door and ask Dominos for whatever pickle juice they might have leftover from their pizza toppings.

Surely some of you out there request pickles on your pizza.

I would’ve taken any form of vinegar.

Hell, just throw some mustard packets at me.

Give me something!

But J-V just giggled and mentioned all of the salt tabs and pickle juice packs he has in his workout bag. At home.

Which was obviously super helpful.

So, by the time we got to the 9:11 plank, I was struggling just to keep my foot at the appropriate angle to stave off full anguish.

I thought maybe distracting myself with the social medias would help me get through the whole plank.

But J-V doesn’t like for people to use coping skills. He likes suffering. Pure, vicious suffering.

So he took my phone.

And began taking selfies and posting on my Facebook.

I had a brief moment of panic when he implied that he was going to reference my current crush in the post. Because I talk too much.

Luckily, he got distracted halfway through the post. Because he’s basically a child.

You can actually see him lose his train of thought in the post. So I went ahead and hit post for him.

In exchange for my phone, he gave me a tire. Except on my back.

Fall Risk got one, too. Shortly after this. Because she was laughing at LL.

And that’s why, after it was all over, I began screaming out profanities as I desperately tried to get my shoe off.

I might have apologized to the new dude that stopped in to learn more about then gym.

But really, homeboy needs to know.

Because despite my suggestions, J-V did not introduce himself to new dude as, “Hi. I’m a sadistic bastard. I refer to my clients as victims. Welcome to my gym.”

It’s all good. I think my quiet whimpers and slow limp out the door got the point across.

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