I figured I would jump into the storytelling fray here. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.
During my sophomore year of college I started a pretty intensive workout program to lose the 95 pound weakling tag that had been affixed to me after years of long distance running. My best friend from high school, Mark, was well in ahead of me in the bodybuilding arena and acted as my personal trainer. He was already competing in local shows and was the authority on nutrition, proper excercise form, and supplementation.
After months of hammering the weights in the gym I was displeased with the marginal gains I had made and constantly complained to Mark.
"Dude, you're an ectomorph, whadda you 'spect?" was his mantra. I wanted to be a mesomorph, or whatever morph that packed 20" biceps.
Mark said, "Well there is another way", nervously looking at the ground.
"And what would that be?", I reluctantly asked.
"Well supposedly there is a doctor in Indianapolis that supplies the Colts with steroids as has been known to hook people up without any questions asked."
It was at this time I visualized a 290 pound MD in an elaborate sports medicine complex with treadmills, free weights, and nurses with big knockers handing out little pills to Ivan Drago clones.
"So whadda ya gotta do? Do I need an appointment?", I inquired.
"Yeah, let me get his number.", Mark offered.
A couple of days later Mark produced the number and I went through the mental gymnastics associated with making a call of this magnitude. What exactly do you say the appointment is about? Do you just come out and say, "I wanna be huge?" With all this weighing so heavily I postponed the call.
A week later I bumped into another buddy at the gym, James, and told him about the doctor in Indy.
"Wow dude, that is unreal. I'll tell you what, if you make the call, I will go with you. I have always wanted to try a little cycle."
I should note that this was very unusual coming from James because he was one of the biggest, strongest, most timid individuals I had ever met.
"Really, you wanna go?", I asked.
"Hell yeah, it's a doctor dude, it must be on the up and up.", he exclaimed, giddy with the prospect of his bench going over 500 pounds.
I got the nerve and dialed the number.
"Dr Baker's office, how may I help you?"
"Well, ya see, I got your number from someone that mentioned that you might be able, to sort of, help with the process of putting on muscle mass."
"Would you like to make an appointment?"
"Ummm, yeah, but I have a friend coming. If that is okay?"
"Sure thing, I will schedule you both. How is this thursday?"
"uhhhh, that works I guess."
"Alrighty then, we will see you then."
I got off the phone and immediately called James to inform him of our impending appointment. He was pumped and offered to drive since I had made the call. We got a list of the drugs we should specifically ask for from Mark and set off for the sterile environment of the sports medicine complex that was surely awaiting in Indianapolis.
"Dude, this is a f*#$@&*& house. Are you sure these directions are right?", James asked as we pulled up to the address I had obtained from the receptionist.
"Yes, I had her repeat it twice."
"Well, go up to the door and see what the f@#$ is going on."
I got out went up to the two story house that ressembled a rental property more than a medical establishment. I noticed the doctor's name next to the mail drop. "Well..", I thought to myself, "it is now or never."
Slowly the door opens and standing between me and the screen door is man, middle 40', in leopard bikini underwear, smoking a cigarette.
"Can I help you?", he said glaring at me.
"Yeah, I have an 11:00 o'clock appointment with Dr. Baker."
"Jesus Christ, my receptionist didn't call you?", he said craning his neck to look past me at my buddy while he slouched in the car.
"No she didn't. Is this a bad time?"
"Oh hell, you made the trip. Tell your friend to come up. Let me put some clothes on. You two can wait in my office.", he snarled. Charlene, show these guys to my office. For Chrissakes, can't get good help anymore."
I motioned James up and Charlene, who BTW had exteremely small breasts and a hint of Mad Dog odor about her, deposited us in a room that was just what I imagined from the experience at the front door. A desk, blackboard, autographed posters of Colt's players, and stuff strewn everywhere. Not one excercise machine, free weight, and void of any modern day medical equipment.
We plopped down in the two chairs positioned in front of the desk.
"Dude, you have got to be kidding me? Is this for real? Is this guy even a doctor? I am freaking out here, dude.", James muttered nervously looking around the room.
"Like I am not freaked out too. This is the bizarro image of what I had imagined.", I replied.
"So, you two want to get big?" Dr. Baker had just entered the room and was stepping over piles of papers to reach his desk. He was now clad in a hawaii print shirt, khaki shorts, and sandals.
"Well, yeah. I guess. We were told that you could help us out.", I eeked out.
"You boys go to college."
"Yes.", we both offered.
"What are you majoring in?"
"Business management, sir.", James said.
"Physics.", I said.
"Physics?!!??!?!? I'll be godd$%#$%. I had to take physics in college. There was this problem that always stumped me. Hold on a minute." It was at this time that he made his way over to a bookcase and retrieved a physics text book.
"Aha, here it is.", he said pointing to a page while handing me the text book.
"Oh, yeah, that can be a tough one.", I said handing the book back not really taking notice of the problem.
"No, you take it. I wann see you solve it. Go up to the board there and show me how to work it out.", he exclaimed full of glee.
I looked at James who shrugged his shoulders and made me through the gauntlet to the blackboard.
It was the typical tension on a boom at a specified angle problem.
So off I went, showing each step required to solve the problem. I would periodically look back at the good doctor who was feverishly writing also. I remember thinking to myself, "He is taking notes for Chrissakes."
Finally I arrived at the last step and turned to the doctor. "Excellent!" he proclaimed. At this point he got up and walked out without saying a word. I resumed my place back in the chair.
"What do we do now?", James asked.
"I dunno. What do you suppose he was writing?"
"Get up and look. He kept writing stuff on some sort of little notepad the whole time you were talking."
I made sure the coast was clear and walked over to the desk. It seems the whole time I had been talking the doctor had been writing scripts. I picked them up, divvied them between James and I and we headed for the door.
Just as we were getting ready to leave James blurts out, "He didn't give us any deca-durabolin!" Charlene overheard him and said, "Oh he didn't? Well here." and proceeded to write the script herself.
We get in the car and I rememeber James looking straight ahead and so solemnly stating, "I am pretty sure that's not legal." before driving off to the pharmacy.
"Could you go over the 22 guage syringes again?", I asked looking up at the pharmacist. We had arrived at the pharmacy and were trying to get away with the least intrusive needle possible. Mind you, this was at a time when the steroids were legal.
"Yes, these hold 5ccs. Now if the substance is oil based you can mix different scripts in one syringe so that you can forgo multiple shots in a given week." Satisfied that we had secured the proper paraphenalia we were off to get big.
Eventually our stash ran out so a call to Dr. Baker was in order. I called the number only to find that it had been disconnected. James was distraught. After calling some other gym buddies we were horrified to find out that the good doctor had been arrested for smuggling children in a black market porn ring. Pipe bombs were also found in his possesion. Seems he was busted two days after our office visit. It was at this time that I went back to protein shakes and amino acids. James still "juices" to the best of my knowledge and has a personal best of 650 punds in the bench press.