Do You Need a Spot?

I hopped on a treadmill last week for a quick 10-minute warm-up. The barrel chested man power walking two treadmills over said, "You better not come over here unless you're prepared to do the work for me." We continued to banter awkwardly about having to work out when our family members didn't, and he ended the conversation saying, "But we fat people have to go to the gym." Nice...

We met up once again in the free weight room. Mr. Bodybuilder was on the Smith Machine grunting away while doing some sort of upper body work while I was happily listening to Brent Dennen doing squats next door. "Why do you do them backwards?" Apparently I was facing a different direction than you were "supposed" to (whatever - squats are squats), so he took that as an opportunity to tell me I should do more reps. And yes, ladies and gentlemen, he offered to spot me through my next set. And on the bench press.

While a part of me was weirded out, the other, more athletic part was saying, "But you just did more reps then ever before." Then the other part countered with, "Yes, but you are sore as a mothafucka." True that.

Since our encounter last week, Mr. Bodybuilder and I have seen each other again. I've steered clear of him, but I also smiled on the inside when he said on Saturday, "Watch out guys - the queen bee is here."