Went to my first bodybuilding competition over the weekend. My friends’ kid was competing in his first local show. It was quite the eye-opening experience. “This should give you PLENTY of good material for a blog,” said my friend Tracey. He was 100% correct.

Now, bodybuilders don’t faze me in the least. They’re just regular human beings who have grown exponentially. It’s all the other stuff about them that freaks me out, like the unnatural orange hue that coats their body. Or the fact you can see veins crisscrossing under their skin. Or that the women are really men.

I’ve been fast-friends with three-time Mr. Olympia Jay Cutler for several years now. We’ve worked together on several TV campaigns. He’s an affable sort, for a 300lb. behemoth. I always see Jay during his off-season when he’s training, but not psychotic. All the bodybuilders I saw on Saturday looked like they were ready to kill someone. And those were just the women. The men, meanwhile, teetered on the cusp of delusionary rage. I averted eye contact with a majority of them.  I guess that’s what happens when you haven’t eaten a single carb (other than dry oatmeal) in twelve weeks.

The very first time I met Jay it was my birthday. He ended up coming to my BDay dinner that night. I may have failed to mention that to my friends ahead of time. It was fun to watch their mouths crash through the table when The Incredible Hulk walked in to the restaurant. I still laugh about that. Jay didn’t say much until after he wolfed down three chicken breast dinners. I cannot confirm or deny, but he may have had one small bite of my BDay cake too. (Tell no one.)

My friends’ son Charlie competed in the teen division, and he ended up winning his category on his first try. The kid was floating four feet off the ground after his win, that is, until he realized he could now eat whatever he wanted.”We need to go to Chipotle—NOW!”, he grunted. Apparently, he wanted to replace the giant trophy he was holding with a giant burrito. After dinner, we swung by the grocery store to pick up some ice cream for Charlie. I’m no fool.  Ben & Jerry’s would forever endear me to this kid. It worked. He dove head first in to the Caramel Dulce. I think he said, “Thank you,” but I couldn’t tell as he was gnawing on the carton by that point.

When I informed Charlie I was tight with Mr. O, I ratcheted up a couple notches in his book. So, Jay , when you read this, keep the name Charlie Cramer in the back of your mind. He’s a big fan—and he’s gonna do big things in your sport. Once he gets over his ice cream-induced sugar coma.