it wasn’t too long into my prison bit before I became intensely self conscious of the size of my chest. i lacked anything close to pectorals. except for a brief period in my teens, I’d never made a habit of working out, and as a result of that neglect, I had flat-ass chest. lol ive literally had inmates make digs at my flatness, like I was a late-blooming teenage girl. it was mortifying.
more frustating, however, was the little effect lifting weights had on the growth of my pecs. my arms, shoulders, back, all responded to weights, blowing up, but my chest stubbornly clung to its a-cup shape (or lack of one). Even the little I had gained in that region, I soon lost when the weight pits were closed due go covid. Stupidly, i started going for long jogs instead of doing calisthenics..even though you feel good after, distance running is not good for your muscles, and they atrophy.
in the last month and half, ive made a conscious effort to start doing intense workouts, either from an exercise book i had, or by keeping it simple it with a couple hundred pushups and squats. I ingrained that routine into a 3x per week habit; over the last 3 weeks, I’ve redoubled my efforts by upping the frequency to six times a week, and doing twice as many sets.
I’ve been so gung-ho about my daily pushups that I had struggled to take a say off, finally enforcing today as my recovery day… I know people recommend that switching up workouts and stuff for maximum gain, but this “in-the-hole” workout has been working jus fine.
(you probably don’t notice it as much as a man because you go home and spend time alone and aren’t constantly surrounded by others possibly hostile to your well-being, but the size of your chest really affects how you move around people. Women know this intuitively. When your chest is blowed out, you feel more comfortable around others, more calm and relaxed with yourself. )
im pretty impressed with the results. two guys this week said something about how big Ive gotten. I mean, I’m not a beast yet, but I’ve made serious strides, arriving at the point where I feel comfortable with my shirt off. shit, I actually feel proud, like I’m showing off, when I take my shirt off, which is a completely novel feeling, having in the past, been at best “not embarrassed” when taking off my shirt.