Ok, so lastnight after taking my ZMA I fell straight into sleepytown. There I found myself in a room, bed, rough unpainted walls, the smell of damp chalky air. inquistive to where I had woken I walked out of the wide doorless door frame down a corridor decorated in the same fashion as the room.
The building was tall, one floor, cold. There was a feeling of metalic particles in the air. I was met by another room, open, but not the emotional nor welcoming state. As i peered through a hard bulky desk stood, cluttered with things. Behind the desk stood an equally or more so hard bulky man, standing below an invasive discourteous and powerful sign.
There I was, looking face to face at Dave Tate, Standing in Westside Barbell, Where I lived, Next to the training room, Where I stayed living for all the best training years of my life.