Ode to Leg Day

Ode to Leg Day

Poetry is a lost art form. Gone are the days of meaningful stories told in a rhythmic manner. Or something like that, I don’t really care. But we here at Broscience are cultured and refined folks. We bask in the finer things in life. Poetry, fancy cheese, fine wine, all that classy shit. Well I’m here to slam some culture down in this bitch with my Ode to leg day! You can ridicule me all you like, I welcome the mocking. Also I’m all hopped up on pre-workout as I write this. I’m smelling colors and seeing radio waves. I burnt my toast and I don’t even own a toaster… or bread. I’m quite jittery and I’m in need of heavy things to pick up and put back down ever so aggressively. Why am I 5 scooping it just to write a shitty poem you ask, because it’s fucking leg day!


Ode to Leg Day.

I wish I may I wish I might,
wake from this awful dream I’m having tonight.
Want to sleep without a peep but my brain will say,

Don’t skip fucking leg day.

Sounds of clanging,
from the plates banging,
I will pay,
this I say,

Because it’s fucking leg day.

Dreams of quitting,
feel like shitting,
never again sitting,
who the hell came up with lifting in such a way,

Stupid assholes, it’s fucking leg day.

Want to quit wish to stop,
Cannot sit heard a pop,
Cannot stand need to lay,

Why oh why did I fucking leg day?

Go down deep,
ass to grass,
fall in a heap,
as parallel I pass.

Cannot walk,
shouldn’t of trained this way,
hurts to talk,
of these weights I did not slay,

My ass is kicked once again by fucking leg day.

Broken knee
or a torn calf,
this I plea,
should’ve done the math.

Too many a plate,
My body will pay,
Couldn’t lift the weight,
on the floor I’ll stay.

Training ends as I’ve sealed my fate,
I look at my phone and regret to say,
it seems I’ve trained for the wrong date,

It’s suppose to be fucking chest day.

Probably not a great way to psyche myself up for leg day but whatever. I’m off to get the quads of the gods. A thigh the girls can’t pass by. The hammies to get the mammies. The glutes to knock the boots. A calf to… make them laugh…fuck. I need 3 more scoops.

Auhtor: Caleb James for BroScience, see more here.

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