Put bodybuilders to shame

While patronized by nudists, the place has all the commodities of a regular beach as well. Surfboards, beach chairs, an ice cream bar, jet skis, the whole nine yards - and most importantly, an outdoors gym.

Walking on top of sand when weighing metric tons takes getting used to, but eventually you find an inconspicuous gait. No need to draw unwanted attention; your hot bod is all the attention you could ever want. You're not terribly muscular, but what little you do have for show is unmistakeably, incredibly defined. Your abs could slice a railway track, and your limbs look almost like they've got creases.

While nudists are used to not staring, your stacked body turns quite some heads.

Your target is imminent: the workout area. Full of guys in speedos, doing reps, flexing literally and figuratively, drinking water and protein shakes. The smell of sweat and testosterone is prevalent, and even in midsummer's obnoxiously temperate weather, the whole platform just seems to radiate heat.

Show's about to start. Nonchalantly, as if a mere commoner, you stride up the stairs and find an empty bench. You begin to rack up weights individually onto the barbell, soon totaling at over 500 pounds. Some gymgoers glance at you with perplexment. Eventually, as you surmised, a guy comes over to talk to you, half-concerned, half-arrogant.

Muscle Guy: "Hey uh... you sure you're up to handle that much weight, hon? Like maybe you should start with a warm up or something?"

He's not nearly as gatekeepy and annoying as you'd have expected. Seems that people in real life aren't as jerky as on the internet. Nevertheless, you're looking to pull a fast one on this guy. You smile broadly, and proclaim:

Sophie: "Oh, this is my warm up."

The guy looks distressed. He can see that you're clearly the bodybuilding type, but 500 pounds? He's gotta be on Candid Camera or something.

Muscle Guy: "Ah, I'm... I'm not really sure what to say to that, I mean, if you wanna try lifting that, go right on ahead but-"

As he says this, you slowly, deliberate fold the 20-pound metal weight in your hands without breaking eye contact. The guy, and many of the nearby gymgoers are terrified. You act indifferent.

Sophie: "Go on."

The guy tries to stammer out some words of warning about posture and overexertion, but his focus is cleanly centered on your hands. Hands which, fluidly so, fold a metal weight in half twice, then rip it apart like paper, and finally crush it down into indiscernible scraps.

Guy: "I-... I..."

You walk closer to the barbell, and grasp one end of it into a single hand.

Sophie: "You really think that this would be a real workout for me?"

With a turn of your wrist, the half-ton barbell rises in an instant, even with such incredibly poor leverage.

Almost everyone present has, at this point, popped a boner. You pay them no mind - you've got a feeling you'll be seeing them in throes from here on out. You inspect the loaded barbell like a dollar store garden shovel.

Sophie: "I mean, I guess I could get some strain out of it like this."

You balance the entire damn thing on the tip of your forefinger. The solid steel barbell droops underneath the weight, but your arm stays steady as ever. A few people have to sit down and gather themselves after witnessing something so absurd. At least one guy in the back faints.

You've got them twirled around your musclebound fingers!