Who knows what it’ll be—I’m not a psychic—but whatever the hell it is, it’ll be high up. Real high up. Way over your head. And you’re gonna want to reach up and touch it.

But instead of looking at it and walking past with a loser’s sigh like usual, for the first time ever, you’re gonna stop and smile. You’re gonna put your feet together—that’s right, you won’t even need a running start!—and you’re gonna do a vertical leap.

And you’re gonna snatch that apple, and you’re gonna feel damn good about yourself.

And when you land back on the ground—only briefly, because athletic, jacked-up Adonises like you aren’t destined to remain earthbound for long—you’re gonna eyeball that high-up place you just reached and say, “Man, I bet that was a good ten feet in the air! Taking into consideration my above-average wingspan and superior height, I bet that was a thirty-seven-inch vertical leap!”

You’ll be wrong. Because only the Two-Time has a thirty-seven-inch vertical, but still—it’ll be an impressive vertical.

And for that hour or two, or at most a single afternoon, you, an average person, will finally know what it’s like to be physically exceptional. For that small window of time, you’ll understand what it means to have a champion’s mindset.

The impact will be real, if short-lived. You’ll get a raise at your job without doing an ounce of work. A pretty girl will smile at you. Your enemies will fear you. Your friends will respect you. You’ll dunk a basketball.

Then it’ll be over.

I know. You want it to go on forever, right? Or at least longer than an afternoon. But it can’t, and it’s for your own damn good.

Because the fact is, there’s only so much physical perfection, only so much athletic power, only so many vertical leaping inches an average brain in an average body can handle.

Hit your mind with too much Doc too fast, and you’ll go crazy! You’ll be like the fucking Lawnmower Man.

You’ll stare down at all the tiny people walking below you and start feeling dizzy. You’ll touch your perfectly sculpted lats and your brain will glitch. You’ll jump so high you’ll burn your fingers on the sun.

So for your own safety, for your own sanity, once you’ve enjoyed your single afternoon of Doc-like physical superiority, I want you to take off your DOMINEX, BY DOC kit and destroy it. Or ship it back to me, at your own cost, so I can resell it to someone else.

It’s enough that you’ve experienced, even briefly, what it feels like to exist in my perfect body. To know for a single afternoon what it means to think like a winner and live like a champion.