Here at T-mag, we have mixed opinions of steroid users. Sure, we think the doctor-supervised use of steroids in sane dosages can be a good thing, and we believe steroids can be used in a safe and intelligent manner for cosmetic reasons.
But on the flip side, there’s nothing we hate more than seeing some dumb kid using bodybuilding drugs after three months of lifting. Usually he’s clueless not only about steroids, but also about basic nutrition and training.
In the middle are men like “Anonymous,” a regular guy who decided to scratch the anabolic itch. In his own words, this is his story.
A Rough Start
After fifteen years of lifting I decided to take nature’s growth governor off and see what would happen. I figured I was about as big as I could get naturally and it was time to try steroids.
I researched for a year, reading everything I could and hanging out on the drug forums like a silent sponge, absorbing whatever information I could. Finally, I felt ready to try a “safe” cycle of Primobolan and D-bol. About that time, I met a guy who said he could hook me up. I gave him $600 for 50 amps of Schering Primobolan and waited for the phone call that would let me know my gear had arrived.
Weeks passed. Weeks turned to months. Finally, a customs letter came down the chain to my friend saying that my “birthday video” from Finland had been confiscated. Damn. There went 600 bucks.
Not long after, I got hooked up through a guy I chatted with on the Internet. This flung wide the doors of the anabolic candy store and a virtual smorgasbord of anabolic choices was now spread out before me. I was wary, ordering a small amount of Primobolan, planning to add another injectable as the base and an oral to the mix along with a host of ancillaries, if the first order came through. I couldn’t wait to start my cycle.
Progress naturally had stalled. I wanted to grow again – really grow.
A week after placing my order, I pulled into my driveway one afternoon and noticed something suspicious. A van with tinted windows lurked a few houses down the street, in full view of my house. Was the law onto me? Was this a controlled delivery? As if to confirm my suspicion, a small package sat unmoving on my doorstep, daring me to pick it up.
Odd that such big dreams could be stuffed into such a small package, I thought. Van be damned! I picked up the package and went inside, then grabbed a permanent marker and wrote “Return to Sender” in big, bold letters. I threw it in the closet so that if the cops came I had somewhat of an excuse.
The package sat in the closet for about ten minutes. I had to see it, to hold the amps, my first steroids. This is incredibly stupid, I thought, feeling like Gollum as I pawed through the packaging. My precious… The amps were smaller than I’d imagined. They clinked together like tiny glass wind chimes as I scooped up a handful to examine them more closely. I rolled the smooth glass across my palm and gleefully danced over to the computer to compare my goodies with pictures of legit gear on the internet. Yesiree, I had the real deal. Now I just had to wait for the rest of my stack.
I couldn’t imagine why my other injectable was taking so long. Impatient, I contacted my supplier who informed me it would be coming soon. Another few days passed. I really needed to get started if I was to run the planned eight-week cycle and not come up against some hard dates when I didn’t want to be juicing.
Finally, I came home and found the last piece of my anabolic puzzle on the doorstep. Barely breaking my stride I picked it up and went through the door, tearing it open in one smooth motion. There it was, a multi-use vial of EQ guaranteed to make horses grow. I looked out the window–no vans, no cops. Even if there were, they’d have to wait until I got this stuff injected into my glute before I’d even think about answering the door!
I ran downstairs, eager to begin my journey…
I was pumped. I ran and grabbed a syringe from my stash, needle-phobia forgotten, then snapped the top off an amp of Primobolan. I plunged the needle into the top of the EQ vial, hands shaking with excitement, and sucked up a dose of the thick oil. I was ready.
Grabbing a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a paper towel, I sterilized a glute for injection. Sweat formed on my brow. I sat down on a chair in front of the mirror and prepared to stick it in. Beads of sweat started rolling down my forehead. Taking a deep breath I lifted the syringe and prepared to jab it home… but I couldn’t do it! I felt sick.
Arnold’s words from T2 ran through my head: “I cannot self tuhr-mah-nate.” Fuck! Why could I not stick this little thing in? I sat there for an hour cursing the pediatricians who’d made me so afraid of needles as a kid. Trying to mentally bully myself didn’t work either. I couldn’t believe it. I thought getting the stuff would be the hard part, not this!
Finally, my wife comes home. “I want to, but I can’t do this,” I tell her, handing off the syringe with the same seriousness Arnold handed off the crane control that would lower his broken body into a vat of molten metal. I’m ashamed to say it took a good half hour of her chasing me through the house before I even let her get near me.
(What sort of twisted chick would actually have fun chasing me through the house with a syringe full of steroids? Answer: My kind!)
Finally, she persuaded me to surrender. I lay face down on the floor, sweating. Of course my two-year old daughter was curious and decided to come see what was going on.
“What’s that, Daddy?”
“Uh, this is medicine for daddy’s ‘small arm disease,'” I told her.
“Oh,” she said. Then the needle went in.
It wasn’t that bad. I got excited again and decided to go for a bike ride. Hopping on my mountain bike, I cruised through the neighborhood with a huge smile on my face. I’m juiced!
I wanted to say, “Hi, I’m the friendly neighborhood juicer” as I waved hello to the neighbors.
Groggy, poor sleep, but am I starting to feel something?
Last night I slept poorly and today the injection site is sore. I realized that in my excitement the first day I neglected to wipe off the top of the multi-use vial. Crap! Was this the beginning of an infection?
In the gym my strength is down. Not a great start to a cycle, but wow, am I ever hungry! The EQ at least, seems real.
Today, another injection. This time I remembered to wipe the top of the vial before loading a syringe full of the distinctly evil-smelling oil. But as I pulled my pants down, I noticed something: there was a rash on my quads. What the fuck? I grabbed my books and started hunting for an answer.
An allergic reaction or anaphylactic shock? If it is anaphylactic shock I could die. I think about it for a few minutes, then decide. I skip the BS and have my wife inject it straightaway. A few minutes later I’m still alive, so I go and work out.
Then it was time to go boating with a friend. We weren’t on the water long before a couple of cops came flying through the waves in pursuit of us. Cripe! Did they know? Turns out the boat we were on had expired tags. Fortunately everything went okay and they didn’t notice the several hundred milligrams of steroids circulating through my system.
Sleep finally went okay! I don’t function well without sleep, so this is exciting. I actually feel like lifting! Last night I went to bed only to wake up ravenously hungry a few hours later. From now on I’ll make a point of eating a huge bowl of cottage cheese before bed, though every morning still comes with astonishing hunger.
My arms were so pumped I could barely wash my hair. I noticed a loose hair in the shower – one hair. Am I losing my hair or just being paranoid? Just being paranoid, I decide. Then I felt my nipples. Were they unusually sensitive? I couldn’t decide. They looked fine, but…
At work I had a strong urge to tackle people. This isn’t a normal thing for me. I fought the urge and made it home without jumping on anyone.
Another injection. I drew up two cc’s of Primobolan, then a cc of EQ. The two oils of different viscosities swirled and mixed inside the syringe like a miniature lava lamp. Cool. I pointed the needle up and pushed the plunger to expel any air bubbles.
The needle flew off, releasing a stream of foul-smelling oil. I cleaned up the mess as best I could and reloaded a fresh syringe, this time making sure the needle was on tight. I won’t be so easily deterred.
At work people are starting to notice something. No one says anything directly, but when something heavy needs to be moved I hear comments like, “Jack can lift that by himself.”
I weighed in right before bed. Up eight pounds! I was so excited I couldn’t fall asleep! I hate that, because it’s hard to work out in the morning when you’re dead tired.
Workouts continue to suck due to lack of sleep. Under lots of stress at work. Life is not good.
I slept fairly well last night, which was a big improvement. Strangely, my hands sometimes fall asleep while I’m sleeping now. This can’t be good. My strength seems to be up a little. This morning I get 225 for ten reps on bench while my previous record was only eight.
Slept good last night, but I desperately need more sleep to catch up and make this cycle work to its full potential. I was on my way to bed early when I was confronted by a naked chick begging for some hot, sloppy sex. Who was I to deny her? I dished out some hot, sloppy sex.
Then my two-year old decides this is the night to learn how to climb out of her crib and bust into our room – right in the middle of things! Twice! Climbing into bed for the last time, I caught my reflection in the mirror and did a double take. Yep, I was definitely lookin’ bigger.
Strength is up. Not only that, but so is work capacity and drive. Didn’t feel I hit it hard enough in the gym this morning so went another round after work. Speaking of work, those bastards announced there would be no raises again this year due to the economy.
No raise means I can’t afford the electricity to set an alarm clock. Shucks. I get a good night’s rest and sleep in late to boost recovery from my double workout yesterday. Then I worked out hard again. Finally I drifted in to work. First things first.
Okay, I’m learning the rhythm now: if my butt doesn’t hurt, it’s time for a shot. But I have new worries. On one hand the weight I can handle has just started to increase at an exponential rate. On the other hand, for every pound I go up on bench, I think I’m losing ten hairs. Not only that, but my libido seems to be decreasing.
Some say steroids can cause an enlarged heart, but I think they can also cause your heart to shrink. Let me explain. It had been a long day and I arrived home just long enough to do an injection before going out on the town with my wife. My two-year old comes running up all excited.
“Daddy! Hold me, Daddy!” She wants me to pick her up, to hold her, to spend time with her. As I brushed her aside, her bright smile faded and I could see the tears coming. I hurried into another room, locked the door, and picked up a syringe instead of my daughter.
As I held it, I felt a strange, detached sadness as the sound of her crying came through the door and stabbed into my heart. I couldn’t believe what I was doing. This was just plain wrong! She rattled the doorknob, trying to get to her daddy.
My heart was shrinking even as my muscles grew. Was this worth it? What was happening to me? I felt horrible.
I got a haircut today. It looks okay, maybe I was just being paranoid. I’m unstoppable in the gym.
Once home, I spent extra time with my daughter, holding her, hoping to overwrite the memory of last night for both of us, but I can’t seem to forget it.
I got up early and hit the gym just to get a pump on for the beach. (I went cruising with some friends on their triple engine cigarette boat.) When my parents arrived to watch the kids and I took them to the room they’ll be staying in: ground zero, the injection room. My dad called my attention to what appeared to be big drops of oil on the ceiling.
“What is that?” he asked.
I wiped the oily gobbets down with a paper towel and sniffed it: juice. I kinda like that unmistakable smell now, and I breathed it in deep as I walked over to the trashcan.
“No idea,” I replied. How can you explain to your dad how a mix of illegal steroids came to be on your ceiling? My heart shrinks down another notch.
By the time we got to the beach I was starting to feel better. I was by far the most jacked looking guy there, and the women, hot women, were shamelessly checking me out. I saw my new and improved, sun-painted reflection in their sunglasses as we talked and could hardly believe the guy with impossibly thick pecs, huge arms and a six pack was me.
I’m not Arnold, but I look fantastic nonetheless. I’m jacked!
I feel very beat up and run down. It’s a difficult decision, but I’m going to take the rest of the week off. I’ve learned the hard way that training, diet, and recovery are equally important.
I noticed my nipples are kind of puffy looking. They felt funny too, but maybe it’s just the skin stretching over my huge new pecs. I haven’t been running anti-E’s due to the fact that only one of the drugs in my stack aromatizes and that one only to a small degree.
Could I feel a small lump in there? I started popping Clomid and Nolvadex.
Driving to the gym I realized I hadn’t touched a weight for six days. What was going to happen to me? Had I shrunk? Had strength gone backwards? My workout partner greets me with wide eyes.
“Wow! You’re twice as big as you were four weeks ago, with less fat!”
With that I was ready to rock. We went postal. There wasn’t enough weight in the gym to hold me down. Flying through my chest routine, I stopped and admired my pecs in the mirror. Let’s see what these things can do.
I’d never done three plates on the bench. I got a liftoff and the bar felt light in my hands. I brought it down slow and the six big plates rattled as I blasted it off my chest like nothing. “315, you’re my bitch!” I exclaimed. Grinning from ear to ear, I floated around the gym in a state of euphoria the rest of the morning.
The Nolvadex worked like a sledgehammer in flattening my nipples. The mirror says I’m looking great. Seems like I’m losing bodyfat. Drawing up the oil for my last injection, I realized I now love the smell!
I’m nearing the end of my cycle. The plasma levels of steroids are decreasing and I’m expecting strength to decrease accordingly, but, happily, it’s holding steady.
Order of the day: mix up a batch of HCG. It comes in two amps: one contains a white powder, the other contains a sterile solvent. I snapped the tops off and drew up the solvent into a 3cc syringe, then injected it into the powder amp. Like magic, it dissolved instantly.
Next I drew the mixed solution back up into the 3cc syringe since an insulin pin won’t reach the bottom of the amp. Then I got stumped. How was I supposed to get this crap into an insulin pin while keeping it sterile? Finally I pulled the plunger out of the insulin pin with my teeth, squirted the solution in from the back, then replaced the plunger. Stuff spilled all over, but it worked. This ain’t the Mayo clinic.
Strength isn’t holding steady or decreasing; it’s actually increasing! Nailed 315 for two reps today, maybe could’ve gotten three! And yeah, I definitely look jacked; it’s unmistakable now.
The half-life of my last injection has come and gone and plasma levels are plummeting today. I started on Methoxy-7, lots of Clomid, and… I felt strange. For perhaps the first time in my life, I think I’m in touch with my feminine side.
I care about people, birds with broken wings, the plight of the homeless. A conversation with my wife ensues in which I not only cry, but bawl like a freaking baby. This is ridiculous! I’m sure she loves it, but God is it embarrassing! I’ve never had this happen! Must be the Clomid.
Not only that, but I have no interest in sex! Someone please hold me! This must be what it’s like to be female. No wonder chicks are so… different.
Elvis has left the building. Bench has gone from 340 or 350 down to 330, and I’ve lost three pounds.
Apparently Elvis is still in the building; perhaps he was just in the bathroom or something. I mentally regroup after reading the T-mag article, The Psychology of Big, and my strength returns – or perhaps it never left. I’m back at 340 on bench. Body-weight is holding steady minus the three pounds.
Strength is holding steady or maybe even creeping up.
I took my last injection six weeks ago, yet strength is still holding at 330-340 on bench. Incredible! Of the 15 pounds I gained, I’ve lost maybe three or four, and haven’t gained any fat.
I give a lot of credit to Clomid and Methoxy-7 for allowing me to hang on to as much as I have. (Author’s note: Upon further research, I now feel the HCG post-cycle was a bad move that inhibited recovery.)
This morning’s workout established the fact that I haven’t lost a thing on squats. I put in a good day’s work, then headed home. Driving along, I thought about how I’d probably keep the gains I still had at this point.
Suddenly, a car shot across the road. With an explosion of glass and screeching metal, we collided. I sat in shock for a minute, dazed by the incredible force of the impact, amazed to be alive. Even more amazing was that I didn’t seem to be hurt!
Climbing out of the wreckage, I decided it was a good thing I was in such good physical shape as I was relatively unharmed. I resisted the temptation to wring the neck of the chain-smoking, skeletal idiot who blew the stop sign. By the time the cops arrived, adrenaline had subsided and my neck and back felt a little sore.
I couldn’t help but notice that I’m way bigger than the cop. I measured him up as he wrote the ass-jack a ticket and decided I could take him. At the hospital the doctor checked me out and told me not to lift for a couple weeks to make sure things can heal. Crap.
At home I was pleased to discover I’d regained some interest in sex. I’d also weaned myself off Oprah, for the most part.
Day 150 – Epilogue
I didn’t lift for three full weeks after the car accident, and when I came back to the gym after my hiatus I’d lost all but a few pounds of what I’d gained.
Fortunately (call it muscle memory or whatever) those pounds came back as if by magic within a couple of weeks of heavy lifting, leaving me with a net gain from the cycle of about ten pounds. At the risk of jinxing myself, I’d say I’m going to keep what I have at this point, which is about ten of my fifteen or so pounds of lean body mass, and about 20 pounds on the bench. Squat poundages continue to creep up slowly. I’m bigger, heavier and stronger than I’ve ever been in my life.
So would I do it again? Absolutely, but never again will I let picking up a syringe come before picking up my daughter.