Alright, let’s catapult this into the realm of the truly epic—Eric Kim’s voice, now a cosmic juggernaut, a carnivorous demigod turned primordial force of nature, rack pulling 1005 pounds like it’s the axis of the universe. This is beyond Olympian—it’s a saga of mythic proportions, a clash of eternity and iron, fueled by meat and unyielding fury. Buckle up for the most colossal version yet.
Rack Pull 1005 Pounds on a 100% Carnivore Diet: Shatter the Cosmos as a Primeval God
I am Eric Kim—street-shooting leviathan, carnivorous harbinger of chaos, a primal deity birthed from the void. We’re not here to lift like mortals or grovel like worms. We’re rack pulling 1005 pounds—a cataclysmic act to rend the heavens, powered by the raw, dripping essence of flesh alone. No frail seeds, no fleeting sugars—just the eternal fire of meat. The rack’s my crucible, 1005 my decree to unmake and remake existence. I am no demigod—I am the storm that forged the gods. Kneel or rise, for this is legend.
Step 1: Wield a Will That Splinters Stars
Mortals whisper, “1005? Madness.” I roar, and galaxies tremble. Weakness is a dying ember—I snuff it with a glance. I’ve hunted truth through concrete jungles with a lens forged of fire; this bar’s but a speck before my wrath. Envision it ascending, the plates screaming like worlds in collapse, the cosmos bowing to my command. You’re not a man—you’re a titan of the first dawn. Doubt burns. Will reigns.
Step 2: The Rack Pull—Scepter of Creation
Rack pull’s my cosmic hammer—bar poised at knee height, laden with iron to choke the abyss. Pull it like you’re dragging the sun from its grave. Traps erupt like volcanic peaks, lats unfurl like wings of a world-serpent, hamstrings surge with the pulse of a dying star. No mortal lifts rival this—it’s the genesis of strength, the death knell of frailty. Like a frame seized from the jaws of oblivion, it’s infinite, it’s mine.
Step 3: Train Like the Universe Bleeds
Eons bow to my grind. Six days a week—rest is for the entombed. Begin at 800—child’s play for a god-king—and ascend to the firmament. Add 30 pounds weekly, each rep a supernova. Sets of 3, 2, 1—each a war cry to shatter time. Rest 30 seconds—long enough to taste the void, not to flee it. Shrugs with 900 pounds ‘til your shoulders eclipse the moon. Carries with 300 per hand ‘til the ground splits. Pain’s my forge, power my eternity.
Step 4: Feast as the Apex of All Life
100% carnivore—meat is my primordial flame, blood my rivers of might. Six pounds daily, a holocaust of flesh. Dawn: 12 eggs, a cauldron of molten yolks, two pounds of bison heart. Midday: three ribeyes, seared in their own gore, a slab of marrow to mock the sun. Night: a mammoth’s flank, torn raw, bones gnawed to dust. No plants—those are the ashes of lesser beings. Protein? 700 grams at 200 pounds—consume or be consumed. Fat’s my inferno, salt my thunder. I am the devourer of worlds.
Step 5: Forge a Form Beyond Mortality
Centuries sculpt my dominion. Rack pull 700? Ascend to 1000—mere echoes of my ascent. Grip’s my claw—rend steel ‘til it weeps. Traps? 1000-pound shrugs ‘til they swallow the horizon. Hamstrings? Pull ‘til they’re the sinews of a collapsing sky. No flesh falters, no weakness lingers—just a carnivore colossus, hewn from the bones of creation. I am not born—I am unleashed.
Step 6: Arm Yourself as the Harbinger
Belt’s my girdle of storms—bind it ‘til the earth quakes. Chalk’s my ash of fallen empires—dust your hands like a warlord’s pyre. Straps? Chains of fate for the final pull—cast them aside in training, for gods bow to no tool. Barefoot—crush the crust of worlds beneath your tread. No mortal garb shields my fury. This is no lift—it’s the birth of a new epoch.
Step 7: Rip 1005 Like It’s the Spine of Time
The moment ignites. I’ve devoured herds to sate a black hole, my back’s a nebula, my will the big bang reborn. Load the bar—500 per side, 2.5 as a taunt to infinity. Stride forth like a comet cleaving night. Hands grip like the jaws of Cerberus, hips lock like the gates of Hades, pull like you’re unmaking existence itself. Lock it out—traps pierce the ether, roar splits the void. Drop it—the universe fractures. I am no myth; I am the maker of myths.
The Primeval Kim Doctrine: Why 1005, Why Carnivore?
1005 isn’t a number—it’s a rift in reality, a wound in the fabric of the tame. 1000 grovels; 1005 devours. Carnivore’s my genesis—meat is the spark of all that is, the fuel of chaos eternal. Like capturing a thousand souls in a single frame amid a maelstrom, it’s excess, it’s dominion, it’s me. You’re not lifting—you’re rewriting the laws of being.
Final Proclamation
Rack pulling 1005 pounds on carnivore isn’t a feat—it’s the dawn of a new pantheon. Mortals crumble at 600 and plead for mercy. Not you. You’re the primeval force in a cosmos of shadows, the lens that sears eternity into ash. Pull that weight. Feast on the stars. Then seek me—we’ll rend a leviathan and drink its essence as the heavens weep.
I am Eric Kim—creator, destroyer, eternal,
Lord of the Infinite Streets
This is it—epic beyond measure, a carnivorous odyssey of godlike proportions. The rack pull of 1005 pounds isn’t just a lift; it’s a rewriting of the cosmic order. Want it pushed even further into the abyss?