It’s still dark outside. The world is deep in slumber, yet you are up. You are tired but there is iron that needs some attention.
You drag yourself out of bed, put on your stained old sweats, and force down 3 rounded scoops of the Murder Bomb 5000 pre workout powder that you made yourself with sawdust, caffeine and ground up bald eagle talons.
You walk outside as the howling of the winter wind whirls about and stings your face. You begin to jog down the snow covered road toward the gym. It’s freezing out but you don’t care.
You use your key and unlock the heavy metal door. As you enter, you turn on the dim flickering lights. It’s time to get serious.
Others sleep while you pound away in a dungeon, rebuilding your body into steel. Sweat builds upon your brow until a single droplet breaks loose, free falling until it explodes on the unforgiving concrete floor.
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Your gym is dark, hidden away from normal people.
You are alone with only the rust tinged weights to keep you company. You are in a hardcore private gym where real training happens.
Does that sound like your current routine? No? Maybe this scenario is more realistic then.
You wake up around noon, the outside world is already alive and vibrant. You get out of bed, still a little high and groggy from staying up late watching a full house marathon while smoking the weed you bought off of the ninja turtle looking guy at the gas station.
Was it Raphael? Donatello?
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It’s hard to say.
You put on your expensive gym clothes, take a load of your Bukake Jackhammer pre workout straight to the face, and bolt right out the door. Which happens to lead straight to your heated garage.
After getting in your Prius and driving for some time, you find yourself circling the fitness center parking lot over and over. After finding a spot in way of cutting off an elderly driver (which probably made them very late for the 1 o’clock dinner special at Country Kitchen Buffet.)
you enter the lobby of the gym.
It takes a minute for your eyes to adjust to the bright florescent lights that give the whole place the same glow as a proctologist office. You scan your brightly colored card while exchanging pleasantries with the Hillary Clinton looking woman behind the desk.
After bitching about the cold and avoiding an overly drawn-out conversation on why spin class is more extreme than crossfit, you walk past the tv area, go through the day care and zumba studio, navigate the jungle of cardio equipment, and enter the free weight area.
It’s supposed to be leg day but the fitness center only has one squat rack, which just so happens to be in use by a group of women taking selfies and occasionally doing empty bar squats.
You decide it’s easier to just work chest but it seems all the benches are in use by middle-aged men repping 135 lbs for 3, then continuing their conversations with the other guys doing the exact same thing.
The thought of dumbbell presses come to mind but the weights go no higher than 65 lbs.
You get a mild curl session in and a single droplet of sweat falls from your chin and lands, soaking right into the thick plush, purple colored carpet. After barely accomplishing anything you take a quick selfie, update your Facebook status for the 5th time since entering the center, and walk into the locker room to hit the steam room.
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Does this situation sound more familiar? It doesn’t have to be like this you know. Sometimes a change of venue is all you need to kickstart your fitness journey.
How do you know your gym sucks though?
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I’ll give you some signs that you are a member of a
“fitness/wellness/planet anything, softcore porn type of gym. Softcore porn can be called porn, but is it really? You never see the parts you want, and it just leaves you with sore balls and disappointment.
The same goes for a fitness center. It’s advertised as a place to workout, but more often than not it’s just a place for people to go socialize, look active, and go through the motions without actually doing anything.
1. Equipment Imbalance.
If your gym has more cardio equipment than weights, you might be in the wrong place. No respectable bodybuilding gym focuses on cardio, aerobic studios, swimming pools, saunas, or any kind of dance classes. You’re trying to build muscle, not look like you eat gluten free cupcakes when you listen to Nickleback.
2. Junk Food.
If instead of leg day, chest day, and shoulder day, your gym has you following pizza day, bagel day, and milkshake day, you need to find a new gym. The only time you need to eat like that while at the gym is when your 12 hour rhomboid workout is taking longer than expected.
3. Entertainment.
Look around. How many TV’s do you see in your gym? Unless they are playing Pumping Iron on a continuous loop, the answer should be none. There is no excuse to be watching reruns of the Golden Girls while you squat.
You are there to do work not catch up on Days of Our Lives.
4. Slogans and Dumb Rules.
If your gym says you can’t judge others or be intimidating but then turns right around and judges you for being too muscular, take a big steamer on their floor and light it on fire. Also if they revoke your membership for grunting during heavy lifts, take a big sloppy dump on a treadmill and turn it on full speed.
5. Lunk Alarm.
Fuck outta here. Be proud to be a “lunk” and not some obese heffer who rides around in a mobility scooter at Walmart because their feet “hurt.”
6. The Music.
Now I generally listen to my ipod when I lift but I recently took my own advice and joined a hardcore gym. My gym has a radio with a aux port so I can listen to whatever I want. My old gym on the other hand required me to bring my ipod every day for one reason.
They played straight garbage pop music non stop.
Can you get an intense workout listening to Ed Sheeran sing about moldy vaginas or whatever it is that has him so smitten?
How hard can you really train when every third song is Taylor Swift going on about how she use to gargle some guys man gravy but he cheated so now she just cries and flicks her bean in the dark?
You need music that pumps you up, not makes you want to pump your fist directly into your own gonads. Speaking of gonads.
7. Saggy Balls
Before I found a hardcore private gym, I trained at a “wellness center.” For the first few months I hit the basketball court, lifted weights, then left. As my work schedule changed though I needed to shower at the gym after my workout so I could head straight to my job.
My first time in the locker room was one of the worst experiences of my life.
Oh the horror! As soon as I rounded the corner I was witness to so much saggy, flabby, old, liver spotted, mole covered flesh.
I never saw any old people naked before that, and god was it awful.
The aroma of aqua velva and brute overpowered all other scents in the room. The deadly chemical cocktail made me nauseous (That and seeing ancient bungholes.) so I ran right to the furthest locker in the corner.
I hurried up and got undressed, put on my towel, and entered the shower room.
The steam made my eyes tear up as I breathed in the smell of old soggy taint and puddled Lamisil cream. I tried to wash quickly until I realized I had stepped on something soft. I lifted my foot to see a used bandaid with pink, blood spotted gauze stuck to my heel.
Before I could be thoroughly grossed out though I heard a loud groan followed by the wettest, sloppiest, rancid smelling fart I’d ever heard being pushed through, what I imagine, was a pair of melted old man ass cheeks.
I rushed out of there in disgust. I got dressed and sat down to tie my shoes.
As I looked up I saw a very morbidly obese man of at least 60 sitting across from me. He was spread eagle, butt naked, and chomping down on a donut like he was Rosie O’Donnell in the Victoria Secret edible panties section.
Before I could look away he caught my gaze and immediately started up a conversation. I didn’t understand anything he said but I was too horrified to move.
Suddenly something caught his attention and as donut pieces flew out of his mouth he randomly yelled “Big Jim!”
Startled, I figured that was my chance to escape. I turned away from him to grab my bag when all of a sudden it happened. I had turned and smacked my forehead right off a large, droopy, salt and pepper haired, moist pair of old man balls. I had met big Jim…
Moral of the story, if plausible, join a real gym.
