Chapter 10: I Joined a Fitness Club. My Muscles Called the Police
After accidentally becoming an Uber husband, I decided to "work on myself."
New year, new Kelvin.
Strong body, strong mind... right?
So I joined a fitness club called "BeastMode Brothers."
The coach's name was Commander Zogo.
He had muscles everywhere—biceps, triceps, kneecaps, even his eyebrows looked buff.
First day, he screamed,
> "PAIN IS TEMPORARY, ABS ARE FOREVER!"
I smiled politely and nodded, but inside I was already regretting my life choices.
We started with warm-ups.
They were not warm.
They were hell.
After five minutes of jumping jacks, my heart filed for resignation.
After ten minutes, my legs began sending SOS messages to my ancestors.
Then came the squats.
Commander Zogo shouted,
> "Down! Up! Down! Stay down! Cry if you must!"
At this point, I looked like cooked spaghetti.
The final straw?
They told us to run five laps around the whole neighborhood.
I made it halfway...
...then collapsed dramatically on someone's flower bed.
Apparently, the homeowner thought I was a thief pretending to faint.
They called the police.
I tried to explain:
> "I'm just... exercising... for my future six-pack...!"
The police didn't care.
They said I looked suspicious because "no normal person sweats that much."
Luckily, Commander Zogo bailed me out by shouting from the distance:
> "HE'S OUR TRAINEE! HE'S JUST WEAK, NOT A CRIMINAL!"
Thanks, Commander. Thanks a lot.
I went home, looked at myself in the mirror... and ordered fried rice.
Gym life is not for everybody.
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