I had a college friend who swore by getting stoned before hitting the gym. Without fail, I’d swing by his apartment en route to the campus rec center and he’d answer the door with a shit-eating grin and bloodshot eyes. Stoned as bejeezus. Every. Single. Time.
I never understood it. I can’t think of a worse place to be stoned than a gym. I can’t think of less appealing activities to do while high than lifting weights and running (basketball, skiing, swimming — that’s another story, which we’ll get to shortly). But he swore by it, and it worked for him. He was always stronger than me, could lift more than me, run faster for longer, and did it the whole time with that shit-eating grin. While I counted down the exercises until I could get the hell out of the gym, he’d linger, try new machines and exercises, chat up other lifters, push himself to do more, smiling all the while. I thought it was stupid and decried it as a waste of good weed.