Dear Calves

Dear Calves,

Why do you mock me?

I provide you with nourishment in the form of amino acids, and glucose polymers on a daily basis. You receive ample stimulation throughout the week. The mind-muscle connection is Zen-like during a set of calf raises. There are contractions so hard that the subsequent cramps feel like I started my own menstrual cycle. I have produced enough lactic acid inside of you to ferment a freaking vat of yogurt.

…..and nothing. I have seen more growth out of a Buddhist Monk’s ego, than I have from your muscle fibers. Is this some kind of sick joke? I can’t wear shorts because my legs look like upside down bowling pins. Even the color is the same.

 One potential option...

One potential option...

Shorts are now my forbidden fruit that I yearn to taste.

Why must you shame me like this? I have to fight off witches from trying to ride around on my lower legs.

Is gastrocnemius Latin for Satan?

I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking like a damn walking triangle.

What will it take? The tears of a thousand kittens? A secure e-mail server for Hillary Clinton?

I will do it.

Cross-fit?

I will do it.

Even for one smidgen of muscle growth.

I will do it.

TELL ME.

No? That’s what I figured.

Silence.

One day we will show the world your glorious growth.

But for now, back in your pants…

*slides on one pant leg*

*quietly muttering*

“You bastards. I’ve seen better muscle bellies on a skeleton.”

*slides on other pant leg*