Back

Many a dudebro relishes the opportunity to train chest or arms. These are the type of men who, with ironic t-shirts and unironic tribal tattoos, turn gyms across the country into adult daycares for the clinically narcissistic. In these douche havens arms are alternatively referred to as guns, pythons,  Season 3 & 4 of The Wire. Peacocking made mundane. As with most forms of showmanship, what lies beneath the panache is far more interesting. Or in this case, behind.

I'm talking about backs, bro.

From Atlas to Arnold, adversity has necessitated a powerful back. Backs are where we place our burden, carry our tribulations. To have a weak back is to have a weak constitution. There is little trust deserved to the man who cannot deadlift hella sick weight, bro. You wouldn't trust a barber with a fucked up haircut, would you? Or a fast food employee not suffering from depression? Then why, pray tell, are people with small backs given the time of day? 

Backs go unseen only to the uninitiated. A proper V-taper, the physical foundation upon which the prototypical man is built, is less an attribute seen and more a presence felt. It is why those lacking legendary lats inflate themselves like pufferfish. Pufferfish are not predators. Studies that have yet to be conducted confirm that men and women with sick lat spreads earn more money and live longer than their puny counterparts. Success should be measured in number of doorways you've had both shoulders brush against. 

Strong backs and calloused hands go together like gorillas and misplaced children. If one's lumbar region is well developed, then it stands to reason that one's work ethic and resolve is equally well developed. To have a powerful back is to be able to withstand all the world can throw at you. To be unbowed, unbent, unbroken (I've been watching a lot of Game of Thrones recently, sorry). There is a reason we hunch over when walking through storms.