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A few weeks ago, I was invited to a chic dinner at The Carlyle to celebrate the release of my friend Raven Smith’s book Men in the United States. My end of the long table at Downling’s was filled with successful, fit, and mostly gay men. The conversation turned to fitness, as it usually does when it does when I’m present, but this time, I kept hearing one word over and over: Creatine. That’s right—the affordable pump-up powder they peddle at your local GNC.
More recently, I went to a shoot I was involved with and ran into an old friend who was photo assisting. It had been awhile since I’d seen him, and since then, he had gotten massive. He was busting out of his vintage Glassjaw t-shirt. Minutes into the conversation, I had to ask him whether he uses creatine, and he confirmed that he does, mixing it into water and choking it down. (The real freaks mix it with milk, but that is too much to unpack here.)
Creatine has been a cheap and reliable muscle-building supplement for decades. I won’t get into the weeds because I am not a nerd or a scientist, but it is an amino acid naturally produced in the human body and stored chiefly in muscle tissue to provide energy. Ideally, taking it allows you to work out harder, longer. It’s a simple equation.
Still, I thoughtlessly assumed creatine died in the musty locker rooms of high school football teams in 2001. After doing a little digging, I found out that in 2022, there was a post-Covid, return-to-the-gym-boom creatine shortage. People were paying double on the secondary market!
This discovery hit close to home because I recently began seeing a Los Angeles-based doctor specializing in age management. I have spent a fortune over the years on trainers, classes, and massages, all in the name of feeling and looking my best. I am 40 years old and feel pretty good, but I thought that I was leaving something on the table in the gym.
The doctor started the program by sending a nurse to my house to draw blood. Once he studied my charts, we discussed his findings over Zoom. They were straightforward: I had some deficiencies, and he said he could fix them with a laundry list of pills, vitamins, and a peptide that, unfortunately, had to be self-administered—shot into my ass with a small syringe—every night before bed. Peptides are basically smaller versions of proteins. They are thought to help reduce fat mass and increase muscle mass, but also help with exercise performance, joint pain, recovery time, and even memory. (The one I was prescribed is a synthetic growth hormone.) Creatine is simply for getting jacked. Peptides are supposed to make you fire on all cylinders.
The American Express got charged, and within 24 hours, everything I needed for three months arrived at my doorstep. I had gotten wrapped up in the excitement of self-improvement, but when I unpacked everything from the doctor and laid it on the table, I felt insane. I make fun of biohacking podcasts (don’t attack me, Huberman bros) and carnivore diets. I don’t even have any real issue with aging. I just want to feel my best and recover quickly after workouts. Still, I had made my bed, and it was time to lay in it.
The first night prepping my shot was nerve-racking. I was skittish and sweaty, genuinely terrified of this tiny needle. But it all went down without issue, and over the next few weeks, I settled into my new routine of handfuls of pills and a nightcap that requires an alcohol swab before enjoying. And so far, so good. My usual afternoon sluggishness has disappeared. I feel more alert, and have been able to go a little harder at the gym. I am less sore post-workout and generally feel stronger. I don’t look 25, but that’s okay.
A year ago, I would’ve thought creatine was a step too far (despite my trainer Hunter Seagroves assuring me it was downside-free). And the reaction some people have had to me telling them that I’m now doing these injections has not, uh, always been positive. Mercifully, the vibe is a little more “get a life” than “you are an idiot.”
This has taught me not to look down on what anyone does to feel good about themselves. And not looking down on people has, frankly, been something of a struggle for me, a person who often feels like their methods and ideologies are the correct ones. I was quick to judge my creatine-guzzling friends. And let’s not even get started on how society has reacted to the rise of Ozempic. If you want to eat only animal liver, run 100 miles through the desert, only drink juice, or do $150 private pilates classes every day, be my guest. Everything ain’t for everybody, but we all just want to feel our best.
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