Why Watching Man of Steel Made Me Want to Quit Working Out

‘With great power must also come – great responsibility!’

-Stan Lee

            Well, shit. I’ve just quoted Spiderman. But just between you and me and whoever else may be out there – Kryptons and others, it seems – perhaps Jerry Siegel took the above Stan Lee quote and ran it straight to the gym. I mean, come on, look at them pecs. I’d imagine that Henry Cavill – I mean, Superman, I mean, Clark, shit! Kal-El, whatever his name is anyways – needed custom tailoring for even the baggiest of shirts for the filming of this two plus hour homage to physical perfection. Superman with his shirt off, Superman in a chesty t-shirt, Superman in a form-fitting uniform … it’s exhausting to watch. Those things strapped to his chest are more barrel than brawn, more brawn than brass, all thick corded muscle and hair. I’m not gay but, come on, nobody’s that straight, either.

It’s tough, man. Tough for me, tough for you. I want to Dear Superman him; ask the guy what he eats when he chooses to eat. You know – is it all protein and vegetables, or do you mix it up with some carbs in your weak moments? Have you ever had a drop of alcohol, or a taste of chocolate? Can you even taste chocolate? How much do you bench press? Where do you workout? Is there a ‘first week free’ option, or do I have to join the gym before I can flick sweat around on the same equipment you use?

The questions could go on and on and on. Superman should start a FAQ Blog, write a book, and give us Regular Joes some tips. I’ve never thought him selfish … the man does save the world on occasion … but he is awfully close-lipped with his workout regime.

So open up, Superman! When did you start pumping the iron? Don’t tell me you’d never worked a sweat before the whole ‘school bus incident.’ Share with us. Lois shouldn’t be the only one to get the inside scoop. Live a little! Let us connect, give us a look at the day-to-day routine … and pay special attention in describing when you work in that time to pick up those weights and put them back down. Inquiring minds – mine especially – want to know.

But that’s just what I think.

Christ, I don’t know … confessions from a megalomaniac: I always grew up hating Superman. Come on – the guy has an unfair advantage over everything. Oh? Pickle jar stuck? That’s fine – SNAP – enjoy your pickles, ma’am. It’s not fair. Like putting a pre-cannibalistic Mike Tyson in the ring with DJ Qualls (that skinny guy from Road Trip) and telling them to fight it out.

Tyson wins every time … and the pickle jar loses. Wham, bam, thank you madam. Earth is saved and is allowed to continue spinning on its axis.

Superman. What a stud, and yet, it weighs on the young youth of today. This idea that there may be aliens in our midst, aliens that not only have the power to fly, shoot lasers from their eyeballs, repel bullets, keep oil rigs from collapsing on helicopters, and save the fate of humanity on a regular, selfless basis … but can also – by the sheer mass of them alone – cause the Earth to orbit around their superhuman nipple hair. How frustrating for us humans, us lowly individuals forced to suffer through our Body Pump classes at the gym – us sweaty workout buffs who can’t help but check out our reflections in the street window while passing through town – knowing that there is a race –an entire planet of people – born into such bodies.

So to us men I say this: Why even try? Let’s go eat some macaroni and cheese and fried corn instead. There’s no use, no sense in the efforts … together let’s be fat and flabby and loving life because the codex himself – that buff bro with the strong jaw-line, this beacon of masculinity – can come and pull us off the john when we get stuck. And to the women? Keep dreaming, and if you want to set a date with the man, he’ll schedule you in the event of some disaster. Perhaps tossing yourself out of an economy airplane while it’s at cruising altitude will land you right where you want to be – cradled between those ham haunches he calls arms. Saving humanity, one life at a time … it’s in his contract or something.

So all together! Let’s have another beer! And let’s toast this man, this Superman, and all of his physical accomplishments. I’ve given up the pursuit of physical perfection … not that it was ever manifest before the Man of Steel … and have chosen a new direction – a less demanding route, one that leads to the refrigerator more than the gym.

Because somewhere out there, somewhere in this great universe of ours, there’s a man with great power, with great responsibility. A man who can save the world, one pectoral at a time.

And that man, ladies and gentlemen, is not me.

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