Will Heavy Leg Presses Give You Big Legs?

It was a leg day. I went to the gym, said a dead “hello” to the manager and paid for one workout only. He looked at me with his hanging dog face and said: “You come here frequently. A membership would be a cheaper solution.”

I said nothing and looked at the refrigerator full of overpriced mineral water and some of those “ISO” sports drinks that are supposed to replace your internals after a “hard” workout. Then, he added: “But you can do whatever you want. This is better for my anyway. More money.”

I remained silent, took a key and went to the locker room to put on my lifting armor. Naturally, in the process of undressing I decided to check out how my ecto parts were doing that day. Horrible. Very skinny. I looked like I had just returned from the Kon-Tiki expedition. Still, I wouldn’t trade my ecto parts for the world. They are priceless.

The lockers were all open, which gave me hope that I was going to be training alone. “The king of the gym is here. Weights, you better be ready.”

I opened the door of the locker room and began walking towards the lifting zone when I saw the manager and his annoying dog face once again. I returned to get my backpack and wallet. The guy was not to be trusted. Who knows, maybe he was going to gather some data while I was destroying the weights. There was no need to risk it.

I entered the weight room, and to my surprise I was not alone. There was a latino steroid user with a greedy smile on his face, another guy who was a young dentist and a girl spinning a cardio machine like a Duracell rabbit.

It was time for my heavy leg press session. Ironically, the machine was right in front of the cardio section. “She’s gonna be impressed by my breathtaking macho leg press strength,” I thought.

I cracked my back and began warming up with just the sled as if it was just another day. I did 20 reps with the sled, 10 reps with 2 plates aside, 10 reps with 3 plates, 10 reps with 4 plates, 5 reps with 5 plates and finally it was time for my working sets. It was something heavy. Definitely over 3 times my bodyweight. The sound of the cardio machine behind was giving me some extra power and I felt really strong. I completed about 10 reps with my working weight. No grunting either. That’s for losers. Real men make no sounds when they lift.

Thereupon I added a little more weight and did 5 more reps. My range of motion wasn’t the best, and I didn’t look like an embryo from the side, but some movement did indeed exist which is already something compared to other leg press warriors who barely bend their knees.

Out of nowhere a wannabe gangster with a hoodie on came to me and started talking like I was his chimney cleaner or something.

“Can I join, brah? I am in the middle of a giant set,” he asked.

“Sure. Do you want me to remove some plates?” I kept the “brah” silent and used my eyes to say it.

“No, brah. I will rep this shit, brah.”

He put on his iFone headphones, which were pumping some LiL Waynesque music and started doing some half reps with my weight. He did 20 reps without a warm-up which was pretty impressive. When he got up he was shaking a little but still managed to get to the leg extension machine and did some baby sets there. I imagine the burn in his quads was demonic by that point.

The whole time that cardio bunny was there so we both had an image to maintain. I was the mysterious skinny warrior trying to represent internationally recognized leg strength while he was a hood rich underground rapper getting ripped for a new music video.

My total tonnage that day. source: https://pixabay.com/en/users/kassy11-53770/

My total tonnage that day. source: https://pixabay.com/en/users/kassy11-53770/

Finally, the leg press session was done. I don’t know how much my total tonnage was, but I probably moved at least a decently sized car park. I was a machine. My legs were so pumped that a sinful though entered my head – I was really close to checking how my quads looked in front of the gym mirror. However, there were too many people and I wasn’t sure I could handle the attention and the possible jealousy. Besides, where’s the class in that? I hate when other people strip in the gym and start examining their pimples. Disgusting and narcissistic.

That workout took place during a period when I was doing many exercises that lead to hell according to permabulkers.

The next movement in my plan were ultra heavy calf raises on the calf machine. I started with a light warm-up and just when I was about to begin my working sets that brah with the hoodie came to me once again.

You have remember that the calf machine was in a small separate room with a broken lamp that was constantly flickering and stopping from time to time. I felt like I was in a dark alley with a dealer.

“You doing calf raises too, brah,” said the hoodie guy.


“Do you mind if I join you?”


“Cool. Let’s kill it brah,” he added some weight and began pumping heavy reps. I could see a bag full tobacco coming out of the pocket of his dark blue sweatshirt. The guy also had one of those digital watches that are supposed to have a GPS, compass, thermometer and probably a penis meter too. Not very stylish, but I guess it was fine for a dealer and/or a wannabe be gangster with no taste.

In between my sets I was able to hear the cardio bunny talking to some guy. He was schooling her on how to do some stupid exercise, probably crunches or something even more brain deprived. Very often there are people in the gym who don’t know how to put their socks on, so I wasn’t very surprised by this conversation.

I didn’t want to distract myself and muted my surroundings. I was in the gym to train legs not my gossip muscles.

After a few sets I was done and my lower legs were feeling like they were about to explode. It was time for some back hyperextensions for which I had to return to the other room. Oh, boy. The image was colorful already.

One of those aerobics instructors was on top of the cardio bunny, teaching her how to do a weird sit-up variation on a floor mat. He was wearing a black tank-top and soft tennis shoes, of course. His disgusting sweat was contaminating the floor and a serious amount was also dropping on the mat and the cardio bunny. I felt extremely grateful that I have enough brain cells not use that mat for anything.

From the side, it appeared that they were about to do a few sets of the most popular exercise in the world know as “ins and outs”. Nevertheless, their conversation revealed to me that they were not actually close.

That was expected. The guy was obviously taking advantage of an old and unwritten gym principle, which allows exchange of sexual vibes during which the involved parties pretend that the goal is to learn “proper exercise form”, and nobody is thinking what everybody is thinking.

“Whatever,” I thought and started doing some warm-up sets on the hyperextension machine.

After a few minutes that same aero guy went to the leg press machine, which I had left loaded with thousands of plates, and asked: “Who is lifting that?”

I was going to say me, but then I remembered that the cardio bunny had already seen my leg press prowess, and this guy was probably going to make me unload the plates, which I was going to do later anyway, and decided to keep quiet. The cardio bunny looked at me, which was enough for this guy’s six sense to activate. He approached me with some of that “look at my muscles” body language.

“Are you lifting that?”


“Lol. You have to be kidding me. I don’t believe it. How are those sticks of yours holding that weight?”

“It’s a leg press, you know,” I replied while hoping that this moron will understand what I meant.

“Seriously. There are over 200 kilos here. How is that even possible?”

What did this idiot want me to say? That I am a master of an old leg press based martial art and can activate my chi to smoke heavy weights? That aero man was annoying and smelled like a dirty swine. I said nothing.

“Come on, man! Tell me! What is you secret? I mean your legs are smaller than my arms. {this was not 100% true} How is this even possible,” he continued.

“Some people are just naturally strong but cannot add a lot of mass, you know,” I said.

He didn’t like my answer but it was time for his next set, which ended the interrogation.

I started my weighted sets. 20 kg – 5 reps, 40 kg – 5 reps, and finally I put 60 kg on the ground for my work set. I got in perfect position but I immediately knew that something was wrong. Even without a visual confirmation, I could feel that somebody was looking at my butt, and it was not the right person. It was aero man.

I guess he had never seen a guy do weighted back hyperextensions. My will to my destroy the weights got even stronger. I did 4 reps with a semi-perfect form and when I was just about to do my 5th rep aero man decided to sabotage me.

“Stop you are doing it wrong,” he said.

I finished the rep anyway and put the plates on the floor with a vengeance while imagining that I was letting them fall on aero man’s pretentious and squishy tennis shoes.

“You are not doing the exercise with full range of motion,” he said and got on the hypertension machine to show me “proper form”.

This is when my critical mind caught something I had never seen before. This particular hyperextension machine had a special hole for your genitalia. It definitely makes sense because I’ve done hypertensions on a wooden bench and it could be quite painful. The level of sick increased when I saw this guy’s little gun occupy the very same place I had visited just a few seconds ago. I thought of the 1000s of other guns that have been there over the last 10-20 or even more years. One could only wonder how old that hyperextension machine was.

The guy was doing his hyperextensions with such a big arch that his dick was coming in and out of the special hole every damn rep. I didn’t like what I was seeing and felt disgusted looking at aero man fucking my training equipment. When he was done and finally got off the machine, I could see traces of his perspiration on the pad. Sickness level 3 was reached. I took my backpack and left.

Surprisingly or not, this imagery left my head fast while I was still on the way to the locker room. I had made a more important observation than the fact that the hyperextension at this gym had the characteristics of a shared sex doll. To me it was more worrisome that heavy leg presses, just like heavy squats, turned out to be ineffective muscle constructors for me. “I guess it’s because I am natty,” I said to myself, wrote 240 kg leg press for 10 in my notebook and left.


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