I stopped by the gym here to make a couple of phone calls before work tomorrow, and the usual Sunday afternoon "hardcore" crew shows up and heads down to the "pit"/"muscle beach" area of the gym.
One of these fellas, sort of the ringleader--late fourties, juiced to the hilt, and strong and determined as fuck, all-around great dude, too--leads them all upstairs for their Sunday "leg" workout.
You have to see this shit to believe it. I wouldn't call it a leg workout so much as a public torture and execution. Real medieval shit. More sets on the plate-loaded leg press than you would believe. All four prongs of the sled are maxxed with 45 lb. plates, and they've usually got 45's shoved in weird places all over the sled mechanism, plus they may have a guy sit up there and ride the sled if they're feeling frisky...
This is every, single, sunday. Same thing. Don't even know whether there's any method to the madness. During one of their later sets today, the ringleader goes down. I step out of my office to see him being shouldered by another guy and limping, his face red and purple and racked with pain, all twisted up and trying to stifle gasps of pain.
I say, "You done gone and done it, bud?" His buddy murmurs something about "It's his hamstring." Ringleader looks out of the corner of his eyes at me, and he says "Torn hamstring, bad, all the way up to the butt." This is the same guy who ripped his bicep clean away up near the proximal end last year. He's a bodybuilder (believe it or not, he started out as powerlifter some years ago, according to him). It seems like this is a regular occurrence for him.
Moral of the story, fellas: train hard but train smart. And be thankful everyday that you can get in the gym and train uninjured.