The Sheer Size of Them Guys
You see these massive rugby players on the telly, eh? Absolute mountains of men. Proper units. Always made me wonder, how in the world do they get that big and still manage to run around, smashing into each other like that?
My Own Brilliant Idea
So, a few years back, I got this bright idea. Not to play pro, nothing like that. I was already past it. But I figured, y’know, I could pack on a bit of that ‘mass’ myself. Thought it’d be straightforward. Get a bit bigger, feel a bit stronger. Simple, right? Oh, the innocence.
My so-called ‘research’ went something like this:
- Flicked through a few muscle mags at the newsagent.
- Watched some blokes on the internet lifting enormous weights.
- Convinced myself it was all about “eat big, lift big.” Easy peasy.
The ‘Transformation’ Begins – My Way
Right then, I dived in. Started cramming food down my gullet like there was no tomorrow. My diet? A complete shambles, looking back. Plate after plate of spuds and pasta, cheap protein powder that tasted like wet cardboard. Honestly thought I was some kind of dietary guru.
And the gym. Oh boy. I was in there, trying to heave weights around that were probably way too heavy for me. My form? Shocking, I bet. For about a week, I felt like the strongest bloke in the village.
When Reality Hit. Hard.
Fast forward a couple of months. Was I looking like one of those rugby lads? Not a chance. I looked more like a poorly packed sleeping bag. I’d put on weight, no doubt about that, but it wasn’t the ‘solid’ kind of massive I was picturing. It was just… soft. And a bit wobbly.
The real kicker came when I tried to join a casual game of touch rugby down at the park. Thought I’d impress everyone with my newfound ‘bulk’. Got run ragged. Absolutely gassed after two minutes. My ‘mass’ was just dead weight, dragging me down. Couldn’t catch my breath, couldn’t keep up. It was a proper laugh for them, I reckon.
Some highlights of my failure:
- Realizing I was more out of breath than an asthmatic ant climbing a skyscraper.
- My shirts suddenly being tight around the belly, not the chest.
- That sinking feeling when you know you’ve gotten something completely, utterly wrong.
A New Level of Appreciation
That whole disastrous episode, though, it did teach me something. Those professional rugby players, the ones who are genuinely massive? It ain’t just about shoveling down more chicken and doing a few bench presses like I thought.
It’s years, mate, years of incredibly specific, hard graft. Their diets are dialed in by people who actually know what they’re doing. There’s genetics involved, no doubt, but it’s also an unbelievable amount of disciplined work to build muscle that works. They need to be huge, yes, but also fast, powerful, and able to take a beating and get back up. That’s a whole different kettle of fish to just being ‘big’.
So now, when I see those massive rugby players, I don’t just see a big fella. I see the ridiculous dedication, the science, and the sheer grit that goes into it. Something I once believed I could mimic with a bit of wishful thinking and extra toast. Definitely learned that lesson. It’s serious business, that.
