In my gym, I’m the biggest guy there. Big fucking deal. This fact don’t mean shit to me or any of the regulars. Doesn't matter if any of them are competing or not, there’s a brotherhood here, one based on mutual respect. When I enter this place, no one cares. If they see me, they’ll give me, a fellow mover of iron, a look of recognition, a quick nod, and get back to the business at hand. No stares. No expectations. Only way they’d look twice is if I was growing a second head. Between us is a respect only men who respect the iron can have. When you’re lying under a thick stack of plates, you aren't any different than the guy next to you who’s busting his ass. Shit, you could be Elvis Presley for all the weights care—they don’t give a shit who you are. They’ll try to bury you just the same. Business is business and pleasure is pleasure. But in this candy store, business is pleasure and pleasure comes from taking care of business.
Frank McGrath
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