There’s a time and place for grunting–pig farms, death metal concerts and, of course, sex. (Or maybe that’s just…) But if you’re at the gym and not lifting the combined body weight of the Jonas Brothers, grunting isn’t an expression of exertion for you–it’s showing off.
For example, there’s a guy who works-out at the 24 Hour Fitness on Denny whose bench day is the same as mine. (Mondays, if you’re keeping track.) He almost always ends up at the bench next to me, and even if I’m blasting Lil’ Wayne’s “No Ceilings” at the highest possible volume my iPod permits, I can hear this guy’s grunts over it. He sounds like two rabid dogs humping in an alleyway while a garbage truck compacts trash in the shadow of their fornication. And you can hear it from the weight room in the basement to the yoga studio two floors up.
I wouldn’t object if the guy was pumping iron like Arnold, but he’s lifting about 150 lbs., or the equivalent of the skinniest Jonas Brother. I’m sorry–that’s not grunt-worthy.
But what is? Well, I’ll break it down for you:
If you are lifting the combined weight of the Jonas Brothers or the equivalent weight of two bull mastiffs, three dozen 24-packs of beer, 25 newborn babies, a Smart Car, 500 DVDs (in their cases, of course!), or one and a half times your body weight, you hereby have the power, granted to me by virtue of buying a domain name and publishing my own blog, to grunt your ass off.
Otherwise, please–and I mean this respectfully–shut the fuck up.