Snohomish County is still in Phase 2 of 4 since May 2020. However, many of the gyms, workout facilities, etc. are opening up. In my 30’s I was hellbent on being a gym rat, and definitely wanted to look “hot” in post-divorce mode.
One of these I’ll post my misadventures at the Costco Wholesale HQ Corporate Gym with my Icy Hot Incident, or Been Caught Kaepernicking. However, I’ll start with my first use of creatine.
If you’re reading this while drinking, eating, or an area that it would not be appropriate to be laughing out loud – I highly recommend you cease those activities and find some privacy. You’ve been WARNED …
My First Use of Creatine
Before my 30th birthday, I had meltdown. Many of my friends who were 30 + were in the best shape of their lives, and here I was, in the wrong shape of my life – and I knew it doesn’t improve by itself. I talked about my fitness goals, and someone who knew me, introduced me to her brother. I called him, Big Kenny, the Personal Trainer. This man completely changed my working information about personal fitness, nutrition, supplements including my first use of creatine for the good.
When we met for information intake, I kinda felt like I had to audition to be his client instead of vice versa. Regardless, we both stared at the piece of paper. We decided I can accomplish these goals (16 inch guns, V-like shape for my core, and broad shoulders – always wanted that) with a fitness, nutrition, and supplement plan.
One morning session aka sesh, Big Kenny asked me, “Hey have you used creatine before?”
I furrowed my eyebrows, “Nope, haven’t even heard of it. Is it a steroid?”
He laughs, “No, sir. It’s a supplement. You should really invest in some, grab some No-Xplode is the brand I use.”
This would lead to my first use of creatine.
That afternoon I purchased No-Xplode at Super Supplements if memory serves me well. I packed up my gym bag that night, and prepared to use it in the morning. The next morning I read the instructions, “One or two scoops of creatine into 10 oz to 20 oz of water at least before 30-minutes before exercise.”
Christ on a cracker, it should’ve read for me, “NO MORE than 30-minutes prior to being near a bathroom.”
I knew my drive from Bothell to Issaquah was averaging 45-minutes at 6 a.m. So I raised the blueberry flavored No Xplode to my awaiting lips. The first taste was good! Or at least, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I pounded it, and jumped into the Sapphire Sled to drive to the gym.
30-minutes down the road, my stomach started gurgling from my first use of creatine. Then my situation escalated quickly. Within a minute or two, my stomach and intestines roiled around in my body. I was bombing around the South I-405 exit to the East I-90. Still a solid 15-minutes away from a bathroom.
I’m deathly afraid of unclenching my butt cheeks at this point to let out a fart – I knew damn well it wouldn’t be just a fart. In fact, I’m trying hold back so much that I felt a bead of sweat trickling down my forehead.
My foot gets a grip heavier as I speed towards the Issaquah exit. If I was caught by Washington State Patrol, and I’m envisioning my explanation of a high-speed chase to a bathroom; all due to my first use of creatine.
I stopped at the street light, and thinking, “I might be alright.” And then? My stomach revolted. Gurgled, twisted in knots in my body cavity. DEAR GAWD! An alien is trying to leave me!
As soon as I saw the green light, I stomped on the accelerator as I raced to the Costco Corporate Gym. I remember tearing through any red light I encountered. This is DEFCON 1 type of situation.
I started planning what I needed: security badge, line-of-sight of the gym bathrooms, and an empty stall.
I mentally complained, if this what happens from my first use of creatine, then this is my last time!
Back to my dilemma … I parked as close as I could to the entrance, jumped out, and bee-lined for the door. The run–walk-with-my-butt-cheeks-clenched-tighter-than-a-snare-drum was so awkward. Must’ve resembled a penguin on crack, honestly. With an arm outstretched in front of me, like a NFL running back trying to score a touchdown, and my hand holding the security card, I storm through the first set of doors, and then next set. As I approached the door for the Men’s Locker Room, I slowed down.
My worst nightmare happened!
My best efforts to hold back the biggest Keister casserole failed. I soiled my boxer-briefs!
I still stormed into the nearest stall to finish blowing ass into the toilet. It was a literal shit storm coming out of me. In the first 20-seconds, I let out a whimper, perhaps a sigh of relief as 10 pounds of body mass was violently expelled!
And the stench was toxic, even with a courtesy flush. I dared to look down on my shorts and briefs inside of it. As my cousin Sami would say, it was a craptastic mess.
I wanted to cry …
Thankfully, no one else was in the bathroom area or locker room at this hour. I wiped as best I could, gather up my clothing and what was left of my dignity and dashed into a shower. I shut the curtain, my heart is pounding. Then it stopped dead.
My towel in my gym bag is in the car.
I removed the detachable shower head and directly rinsed off my lower half, and the soiled briefs. I wrung out the briefs, balled it up in paper towels, got dressed with my remaining clothing and left. I tossed the soiled yet rinsed off briefs into the outside garbage can and returned my car.
I contemplated leaving and ghosting my gym lesson for the day. I already learned my lesson on creatine intake! I drew in a deep breath, let it out with a “fuck it” resignation and returned to the gym.
Big Kenny eventually greets me with a smile and his Rockstar in his hand. “So, Los. Did you try that creatine I was talking about?”
I grumbled, “No explode, my ass … it was everywhere.”
He was confused. “Excuse me?”
“Yes, I did,” I confessed. “I know to make sure I’m near a bathroom within 30-minutes.”
“How was it?” he pressed, “What were the results? And why are your shorts wet?”
Again and always, Spaceship Earth and Seattle, be good like you should and if you can’t be good, be good at what you do!
Mic drop *bOoM*
‘los; out
los, Fil-Am Renaissance Man 