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My Epic Pushup Transformation

A story in which I do lots of pushups and transform slightly

I started my day off looking at the carpet. Peering over the edge of my bed, I inspected it for what seemed like the first time. It was sort of ugly. Someone had decided mustard yellow, pomegranate purple, and olive green was a good combination, but now that I was thinking about it, eating those three foods together might have been better than looking at those three colors together.

Nevertheless, I decided I wanted to look at the floor more that day, because at that moment an amazing idea struck me. Carpet diem, right? Why not do as many pushups as I could in one day? Little did I know the epic transformation and terrible pain I would experience as a result.

I decided to get started right away. I’d have to burn through pushups faster than a shark with toothbrushes if I wanted to do a respectable number. I dropped to the floor. “1, 2, … 20,” I counted in my head. Then I realized I had been holding my breath the whole time. I gasped, partly in shock, but mostly because I really needed air.

I managed to knock down four more sets before I had to run off to class. This was gonna be easy, I thought. Soon I’d have pecs like the Schwarzenegger himself!

It didn’t work out that way. My profs were so inconsiderate! They didn’t give me any pushup breaks. I sat in my desk, trembling with the desire to do pushups, but I could not. I only managed to squeeze a couple more in that morning. How was my epic transformation supposed to happen?

As soon as I had some free time that afternoon, I got right back at it. My arms were starting to feel sore, but it obviously would be worth it. I could already feel my left hand getting huge.

I looked at a clock. Woe was me! I had to go play Mario Kart with a class group to celebrate our success on a presentation. My pushup session would be interrupted. I persevered through the Mario Kart. Don’t feel too bad for me; I managed to throw in a few pushups in between races.

After dinner, I headed back to my room. Things weren’t looking too good. I was only at 240.

I got pushing like I had never pushed before. My face travelled like a mustachioed meteor towards the ground over and over again, always escaping being pulped by that ugly carpet.

I hit 300, taking breaks between each 20. I hit 400. My arms were starting to wobble. I was determined to push myself, though.

The sets started becoming less than 20. My face started getting a little closer to colliding. The repetitions had pushed me to the edge of my sanity. But I was no pushover. I was a pushupper.

As I finished pushup #499, my arms suddenly started wobbling like garden gnomes in a hailstorm. I went down for one more anyways. WHAM! My arms gave out. My mustachioed meteor crashed into the ground and extincted all the dust dinos.

No! This couldn’t happen! I just needed one more!

I stood up and made the angriest face I could. Shaky arms could not stop me. I dusted off my hands and leaned down to finish the job, grimacing maniacally. Down. Up. It was finished.

My arms were sore. My chest was sore. My face was even a little sore from the grimacing. I had earned my epic transformation.

But what was this epic transformation? Surely it is impossible to make huge gains in one day?

Actually, I managed it. My left hand had grown considerably. Some might call it swole, others swollen, but it had undeniably gotten larger. The blistering pace at which I went up and down had caused my hand to, well, blister. Further tests will determine whether this also increased my palm’s muscular power.

Dashing? Not? Say how you feel!