2004, 11:30 a.m. at the University of Illinois' ARC. Jägerbombs the night before are to blame for my sphincter's low shutter speed and (false) confidence to squat 370 lbs. Long story short, I sharted. No, sorry, I think 'rocketed Yoo-hoo out my ass' is a more accurate description of what took place that fateful Autumn morning.
Anyway, my balloon knot now constricts every time I enter a weight room, and I have Jacob Singer-like flashbacks whenever I see a golfer marking their ball, or watch ESPN2 after midnight.
What's the Single Best Exercise? In this reader's humble opinion, ANY EXERCISE THAT DOESN'T SIMULATE DROPPING A DEUCE IN MID-AIR!
Yikes! I don't even know what half of that means, but it sure sounds bad! If you're so inclined, share your exercise horror stories below.