![]() Ziegler teamed up with a pharmaceutical firm to create the synthetic testosterone Methandrostenolone, better known by its trade name, Dianabol. He watched in horror as his athletes were decimated by a legion of hulking Soviet he-men who, he later found out, received testosterone injections as part of their training regime. Suffice to say, the process involved an encrypted email account, a money order wired to Tel Aviv, and weeks of apprehension (had I been ripped off? Would agents from the Drug Enforcement Administration break down my door?) before a package arrived - pill and ampules and six vials wrapped in X-ray-proof paper.Īnabolic steroids hit US gyms in the early Sixties, courtesy of Dr John Ziegler, the American team doctor at the 1954 World Weightlifting Championships in Austria. The whole thing makes me look as stupid as I was. ![]() I won't go into detail about how I came to possess real steroids - or 'gear', as we 'roiders call them. ![]() But what I received was Dianobol, which, for all I know, were rat turds pressed into pill form. I bought a bottle of what I thought was a steroid called Dianabol. So I typed 'steroids' into Google, which promptly introduced me to an internet scam. Where to buy? Who to ask? I'd heard your local gym was a good place, but I didn't have a clue how to go about that. Such was my quandary when it came to steroids. The thing is, I've never done drugs, so I lacked the ability to spot the dealer in a room. For the sake of the book, I thought I'd travel those roads with him. But his deep-seated fears, his inborn weaknesses - those things we share intimately. That's not quite true: he's wealthier, pampered, more intolerant and dismissive. This holds true for me: the main character is. A lot of first-time novelists don't stray far from home: their stories are drawn from their lives. When I pulled it out a pressurised stream of blood spurted halfway across the room.Ī while ago I wrote a novel. I aspirated and injected into the deep tissue. The needle slid in so easily I wasn't aware it'd broken the skin. The newspaper headline: Dumbshit Canadian Found Dead with Needle in Ass. What if I died in this shitty apartment in Iowa City? I pictured the landlord stumbling upon my body, rotten and bloated. That couldn't be a sign of quality medical equipment, could it? The hash marks on the syringe were smudged away by my sweaty hands. I tucked a bag of frozen corn beneath my underwear to numb the injection site. But the sciatic nerve radiates from my hips plus, if I hit a vein I could go into cardiac collapse. It was going into my backside plenty of meat there. 1cc of Equipoise - a veterinary drug normally injected into beef cattle - and 2cc of Testosterone Cypionate: 10 times the testosterone a man my size produces naturally in a week.
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