I train like a HULK. I eat like a HULK. I ruck like a HULK. I live like a HULK, every day. I’m 6”3 250 before I feed the house and wash it down with a few beers and I don’t want my pants crowding my junk, ever. I hate that.
My neighbor’s a skinny guy, he’s not HULK. He doesn’t even have a HULK beard but he’s OK other than that. Sometimes we ruck up together and sling some sandbags. Our neighbors think we’re crazy, joke’s on them. You should see their faces when we ask them if they want to join.
Fight Club anyone?
I don’t wear spandex leggings, ever, and I don’t want my pants to fit like that. Sometimes I ride my bike, but I never look like a cyclist. I’m HULK. Squat down, stand up, my thighs need to breathe. A dude in spandex – it’s not a good look, it’s never been a good look, and it will never be a good look.
Not now, not ever.
HULK. That’s a good look.
Join us next time if you want to. It’ll suck in an awesome kind of way, the neighbors will think we’re crazy, the joke will still be on them, and then we’ll feed the house.