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Squat til you collapse. Head rush. Near blackout tunnel vision. Blood vessels bulging to escape. Face red. No. Purple. Sweat covering every inch. Rack the bar. Take a few breaths. Hit it again. Rage at it. Take everything out on it. Nothing matters. No emotions. Except hate. Squat til you can’t hate. No pain. Period. Hit it. Hit it again. Once more. Kill it. Kill everything. Killing machine mode: achieved.
“you can’t out-exercise a bad diet.”
A Mexican Grandmother’s reason for everything. (via rocket-grunt-daniel)