Cygen Blogger Contest Winner!!!

At the end of February, we launched the Cygen Blogger Contest. It was a chance for people passionate about sports nutrition and training to let their voice be heard (a chance to win some free stuff)and today we've picked our winner!

Of all the entries we received, we felt that Steve Weigel's entry "Bodybuilding: Just Another Day" best emobodied the spirit of why Cygen Laboratories was created; for people like Steve.

For his efforts, Steve (pictured here) has won a Cygen Labs Prize Pack worth over $400!!! Congrats Steve!

Here is Steve's entry. Enjoy.

Bodybuilding: Just Another Day
By: Steve Weigel

Dedicated to all the guys and girls who push their limits every day

I sit at the table, watching the clock slowly count the hours away… 5 o’clock…6 o’clock…8 o’clock…I’m tired. Every slight movement of my body sends blistering pain deep into the battered muscle brave enough to even consider ascending from the comfort of rest. I look down at my plate. The rice and eggs that once occupied my plate have now been reduced to a few cold scraps. Even still, it’s valuable fuel which will be needed for the battle that lies ahead, and so I close my eyes, bite my tongue, and shovel the last of that god awful crap down my throat. Sometimes I believe cars have it easy. Some days I feel I would rather toss back a glass of gasoline, than have to muster down another bitter mouthful of egg, but that’s beside the point. I check the clock again…9’oclock…It’s time. The gym closes in two hours, which means it’s time to stop procrastinating, pull my balls out of my purse, and head to the dungeon. This will be the third night in a row I’ve given my body a pounding, and as I walk down the driveway to my car I consider calling the whole thing off. Then for a brief moment, I recall I have a date tonight with 1200lbs. What was I thinking?! I couldn’t stand her up! I’m not that type of guy! And so with that thought I hopped into my car, cranked the stereo to a level only a dog could hear, and bolted down the road I knew oh too familiarly. Upon arriving, my body was again a little hesitant to step out of the car, but time was ticking so I pressed on.

The first few sets are always the hardest. Not because you’re gassed and you have no energy left, by god no. They are hard because your mind is still picturing the five hundred other things you could be doing with your time right now, and your body is still in LaLa land, completely oblivious to the hundreds of torture devices surrounding it, just waiting to get their piece of you. So that’s it. I climb into a leg extension machine, and begin the first few sets of my workout. As my mind still wanders, I hardly notice the creaking of cold joints and the screams of the other members across the floor. Another two minutes, another set down. I think to myself “This is rather easy! At this pace I could put a wrap on my workout, shower, AND press the lady at the juice bar to let me “Squeeze the lemons” into my drink myself, all before closing call!” ….

Forget that thought.

All of a sudden, it hits you like a pissed-off freight train full of starving bulls. As I near the end of my third set, the burn begins to set in. Now, the burn, for those of you who aren’t aware, is a love/hate relationship. The burn is what we fitness fanatics aim to achieve, though when achieved, it is not uncommon to see us cry like little women in the corner of the nearest vacant squat rack. Others, who shall remain nameless…okay, Arnold Schwarzennegar…have equated the burn feeling to that of “cumming”. Now, I don’t exactly know what his definition of cumming is, but I can assure you it most likely involves being whipped in the ass by a 300lb dominatrix, and no safe word. Plain and simple, the burn BURNS!

Now I’m in the zone. Everything else going on in my life disappears. It wanders off to god knows where, probably the ladies section. Now I am free, I have nothing to worry about except accomplishing my mission. And my mission, you ask? To train until I can’t breathe…to sacrifice my body to a greater purpose…to train until I have puke climbing up my throat and knocking on the back of my teeth.

Next up: Leg Presses. Now, although I don’t smell as nice as I probably should, nor have I brought flowers, my date is waiting for me just as I’d pictured. I stumble towards the leg press machine, and it grins at me, as if to say “Come on, I dare you...” It takes nearly five minutes to gather all the plates that I need, and hustle a spot off of a trusted friend. The spot is not so much to help me push the weight back up if I fail to lift it, but rather to call the ambulance if shit goes down. And so we begin. I drop my ass into the seat of the dreaded leg sled, and momentarily close my eyes. “Here goes nothing”, I say to myself, and unclip the last bit of comfort known as the safety pins. Some find pleasure in golfing. Some find pleasure in shopping at the local malls. Some find pleasure in drinking on the weekend. Me? I find pleasure in strapping a small Toyota to my feet, and saying “To hell with it!” This is what I live for, this is what I know. This is me.

The workout progresses and I take comfort in knowing the worst is over with – for this week, at least. Although I’m out of the trenches, this war is anything but over. I hop between machines and free weights, giving my muscles a lashing they won’t soon forget. The barky calluses protruding from my palms serve as a reminder that this has all been done before, and so I continue to press on. Despite every single voice in my head (there’s quite a few!) telling me to give up and go home, something drives me and others like me to muscle through the pain. Does anyone care if I push out an extra rep on this set? No. Do I have a coach threatening to bench me if I slack off? No. Then why, people ask me, do this to yourself day in-day out? Why, you ask? Because if I don’t, I have to answer to probably the most terrifying critic I know; myself. I refuse to submit to mediocrity. I see way too many people just accept whatever is thrown their way, and I, for one, will have none of that. I don’t want to be just another Joe, another lifeless man running the same routine day after day with no dream or aspiration. Regardless of if I actually become something bigger than life or not, the very action of resisting normality at least gives me a reason to live.
As the clock nears 11, the gym has cleared out. I think I’m the only one still in this place. The screams from each corner of the gym have at last come to a halt. The dungeon is at rest, and the iron may finally sleep. The only noise to be heard is the soft hum of the janitor’s vacuum cleaner. My workout is at last complete, and I stumble down the stairs towards the exit in a fashion reminiscent of my ninety-three year old grandfather. I open the doors to a blast of cool air and a starlit sky. I waddle over to my car, toss my gym bag in, and climb into the driver’s seat. I look at the clock – 11:11…make a wish. What do I wish for? I smile to myself, and wish that I can still feel my legs tomorrow morning.

At home, after sitting for some five minutes to catch a breather, I get to work. Time to pound back another shake, cook my last meal for the night, and catch some late night Jay Leno before I hit the sack. I think I’ve probably spent more hours in the kitchen than Martha Stewart, though my culinary skills would surely not attest to that! Anyways, I eat my meal, watch my show, and then snap off the lights in anticipation of my well-deserved sleep. Oh yeah, did I forget to mention I have Buzz Lightyear pyjamas?
‘Just another day in the life of a bodybuilder…'

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