By my calculations, I must have eaten close to a half mile’s worth of Subway sandwiches in my day.  That is a shit load of subs, you might be saying.  But when I was a youth, I had the opportunity to use possibly the best coupon ever created in the fast food industry.  If I had to guess, I would say I saved close to a thousand dollars by using the “Buy one, get one free” coupons.  Yep, I ate both in one sitting.  And of course they were both footlongs because you cannot call yourself a man if you order the six-inch.  In my never-ending quest to get huge, this was the perfect way to mow down more excessive calories than I could count.  Mind you, when I first discovered Subway sandwiches in the 1980’s, they used real meat.  It’s been many years since I made my way into one of these restaurants, which is very difficult these days seeing how they seem to be on every corner. My last footlong sub came in the form of a grilled chicken breast on whole wheat.  I had cut down my consumption of this supposed healthy fast food after reading many unflattering stories of the mystery meat they were using as the company was growing like wildfire.  Don’t get me started on the meatballs (there is a reason why it’s the cheapest sub on the menu).  One day I found myself in a pinch. Instead of doing what I should have done, which is not eat, I end up giving in to the “Way”.  As I watched my sandwich artist make my sub, I couldn’t help but notice the grilled chicken’s perfectly placed grill marks across each slab of meat as if they were drawn on with a marker.  It appeared that each piece of chicken seemed to be exactly the same size as the next, almost as if they were cut from an oval-shaped log of this “chicken breast” in the back room.  I  politely declined the double meat option, and went for all the vegetables.  I then watched as this artist turned into a robot placing 4 pieces of every vegetable on my sandwich (except of course for the iceberg lettuce that they piled on).  Once they wrapped it up and placed it into a bag, even though I said I didn’t want one, I was ready to finally enjoy my late lunch.  I took just a couple bites and then realized that this was the most bland sandwich I ever had.  There was no taste, and I had no fuckin’ clue if I was eating chicken, steak, or fish.  If it wasn’t for the salt and vinegar potato chips, I would have been pissed.  How that fatty named Jared still eats this shit I’ll never know, but something tells me his whole story is a scam and he was never fat to begin with.  He probably just had a very large brother named Jeremy.  I choked down the rest of my tasteless sub because, like any guy, I eat whatever the hell is put in front of me until it’s gone.  I learned that Subway may be healthy compared to the other shitty fast food choices, but it tastes like ass.  Next time I’m going to opt for pizza.

When I do dumb shit, I own up to it.  Like the time I dumped my motorcycle because I was distracted by checking out my well-developed triceps in a plate glass window on a store.  In true douche-bag nature, I wasn’t paying attention to the car stopped in front of me as I was mesmerized by how big my arms looked, thus causing me to run into the back of a mini-van and toppling over.  As sorry as that story may sound, what about the countless number of guys and girls staring at themselves in the mirror during each and every exercise?  Don’t you even think about entering that space between the determined exerciser and their precious mirror, or you may get the look of death cast your way.  Most gyms are surrounded by 4 walls completely covered in mirrors.  No matter where you turn, you are forced to take a look at yourself whether you want to or not.  I enjoy the sight of myself, but am very content with the couple times a day I catch my reflection when I’m in a bathroom.  If your gym is anything like mine, then you have more than a few people who absolutely love the sight of themselves blasting their biceps with a set of dumbbell curls.  Before you go off and yell, “Hey dickweed, I only use mirrors to make sure my form is correct!”, I just have to ask the age old question, what are those mirrors actually doing for you?  The last time I checked, a mirror can’t really help you exercise.  If you’ve exercised at least a half a dozen times over the course of your lifetime and have done any movement at least twice, then you should have the ability to feel if you are fucking up your exercises.  Without getting all scientific, you would most likely get more of a benefit from not staring at yourself in the mirror while exercising.  This will not only sharpen your other senses, but it will prevent you from looking like a self-centered, egotistical narcissistic asshole that you hopefully aren’t if you are reading this.  Aside from checking out the hot girl working out, the usage of mirrors in the gym is way out of control.  

Whatever happened to the great bumperstickers of yesteryear that read “Honk if you like blowjobs” or “My kid can beat the shit out of your honor roll student”?  These days we see some head scratchers that just scream out to the world, “There is an asshole piloting this vessel.”  Let’s take a look at this one that belongs to a series of other numerical stickers.  Why does it read 13.1 you ask?  Living in the bible belt, I mistakenly assumed this was a quote from the good book.  I was quickly schooled by a runner, and not just any runner, one that subscribes to a running magazine and whose life apparently revolves around this recreational activity.  Being from the old school, I am a firm believer running for a sport makes perfect sense.  Running aimlessly just for the sake of running makes no sense.  Even if you disagree, you must agree that it’s not a good idea to put a sticker on the back of your car informing the general public of exactly how far you once ran.  No one gives a shit.  In fact, most people will look at the back of your car and immediately categorize you as an asshole, even if you are a fun-loving, easy going person.  And if the 13.1 sticker doesn’t irritate you, don’t forget about the 26.2 one that is sure to piss off even the assholes with the 13.1 stickers that just can’t seem to double their distance no matter how hard they try.  So the list just goes on and on as if it becomes a dick measuring contest.  Think you are cool with your 26.2?  Try 70.3 you pussy!  Oh yeah, try and beat my 140.6 muthafucka!  The next time there is any kind of road race in town, just take a look at every car in the parking lot and their respective stickers.  What have you learned?  More is better (I guess).  One more thing you can take home from all this: if running is supposed to be so healthy, then why, with exception of the Ethiopians and tall, lanky people in front, are most of the people running these various distance events so lumpy?

This feature will be about something that has happened at least once to every guy whether they want to admit it or not.

Ladies, hopefully this has never happened to you, because I can only imagine what would happen to those funbags if it did.  One day I was on a mission to sculpt my pecs.  Like most guys, I was warming up with a pair of 45’s on each side of the barbell.  On this day for whatever reason, I was feeling the flow.  By that I mean I wanted to lift heavier than my present state of fitness, but I didn’t give a shit (I must have just watched 300 for the first time).  Even though I was at the age where testosterone levels begin to decline, I was going to bench my usual 225 – even with my balky shoulder.  After a warm up set or two, I was ready to go.  Spotter?  Who the fuck needs that?  It’s not like I was benching the world.  Besides, I’ve done 225 many times for reps before so why ask someone to spot me?  I forgot the common practices of heavy breathing or bouncing around on the bench before starting my set.  I just lay down and start lifting, because that’s how I roll.  Unfortunately there was no Metallica blaring in the background. In fact, I think it may have been a catchy beat by, none other than, the Backstreet Boys playing during my set.  To this day I will blame those fuckers for the following embarrassing event that followed.  After the seventh rep of my intended eight, something happened.  At the 2 second pause at the top I felt a slight twinge in my shoulder, but decided to brave on like the fearless Leonidas did in the face of the Persian army.  As soon as I started my descent, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get the bar back up.  There I was, alone in the gym in the middle of the day, nothing but 225 pounds on my chest with “Backstreets back, Alright!”  blaring overhead.  I then began the weightlifters equivolent of the walk of shame.  With all that weight compressing my chest, I began the slow painful process of rolling the bar down my chest.  Anyone who’s been there knows how much this sucks.  When the weight gets down to the midsection, men get to feel like a pregnant woman just for a split second.  With more than a couple hundred pounds, you feel like your internal organs are going to shoot right out your back side.  Then, the moment of truth: the bar steamrolls your hangdown.  I try to make this happen as quick as possible but before i know it the damage is done.  My package is pancaked, and I’m left with 225 teetering on the bench.  It’s a sad day, but a rite of passage for any guy who works out.

Next time, use a spotter.

Oh fuck these people.  Every gym has at least a half dozen.  You know exactly who I’m talking about.  I often wonder what home life is for these lingerers.  Why they would spend more than a couple minutes trying to converse with someone who obviously has no interest is beyond me.  I’m not a headphone guy but I sometimes think about wearing a pair not just to listen to music but to pretend I’m not listening to some guy spewing bullshit I really don’t want to hear.  They tend to gravitate towards the machines in the gym, thus, I rarely use them these days.  These lingerers know you are in a vulnerable position when seated, so next time your sitting down keep an eye out.  “Hey man, this machine is fantastic, isn’t it?”  Fuck!  Perhaps if I pretend to come from another country and give him a strange look he will go away.  Or maybe if I look at him square in the eye and roll over onto one cheek and let out a pungent steamer from my backside he’ll get the point?  Nope, being the somewhat nice guy I am I give a one word answer, and that’s all it really takes to get them on an 8-12 minute roll.  “Yep”.  That’s all I needed to say and I am now privy to shit I have no business hearing about from this guy – everything from bunions to stocks to politics, anything this guy feels like getting off his chest is all mine to hear.  You will notice the lingerer fits a common description.  They are  usually lonely looking, maybe a little frumpy, and seem to desperately want a friend.  But as you all know by now, they are annoying as all hell.  Within 60 seconds of talk, I mean listening to these assholes, it is very apparent they don’t give a shit about what you have to say.  They just want to have someone listen to their bullshit, and trust this advice my friends: don’t be a sucker.  Just say no. Avoid eye contact. And as a last resort, pull the phone out and take a very important fake phone call.

It’s September and for some reason all that enthusiasm that you had built up for several months leading up to the summer has disappeared.  Not everyone is affected by this change of season, but there seem to be quite a few people that just drive right by the gym instead of stopping in to workout as we head into fall. These are the same people that post pics of their healthy meals, “check-in” at the gym, and quote other people’s positive messages while they are in the midst of a steady workout routine over the summer.  Now all of the sudden it’s as if they found a new hobby or just seem to forget that it takes a lifetime of consistency to keep their sorry asses in shape.  If anyone knows one of these occasional exercisers, they are all too familiar with hearing about how they need to get back into a routine or about how inconsistent they have been for the past few weeks due to their hectic schedule.  Ironically, they will always prolong getting back into a routine by saying, “next month I’m going to have less going on and will be more motivated to exercise.”  Whatever, I interpret that to read, “I’m a sloth and just don’t feel like exercising.”  Let’s face it, working out is like a job.  You don’t like it all the time, maybe not even most of the time, but you know you have to do it or else your fucked.  Unless of course you are on government assistance in which case you don’t know what it’s like to get up everyday and do something you really don’t feel like doing just for a paycheck.  Anyways, these part-timers will be the first to talk about the latest fitness craze and how the P90X-version 2.0 is so much better than the original and is exactly what they need to get back into shape.  Fact, if you stop working out for whatever reason, the longer you take to drag your ass back in the gym, the more likely you will become a fat piece of shit.  So don’t be an occasional exerciser, and if you need motivation I’ll be more than happy to take your money and make sure you feel bad about missing a workout.  

As I look around the gym, one of the more interesting contraptions is the olympic bench press.  This is not only the most coveted piece of equipment in the gym, but it doubles as the gathering place for the gym bros who live and die by the bench.  It doesn’t matter if you see these same guys in the gym each night of the week, chances are they will be hangin’ by the bench.  Unfortunately it doesn’t have a big No Loitering sign attached to it.  I bet right now there is a congregation of dudes gathered around a bench with a cool 225 lbs on the bar, but no one really seems to be pushing any weight.  One guy will have the Captain Morgan pose going on with one leg on the bench, another will lean on the bar with his towel draped over his shoulder, and another one will be sitting on the bench reading a newspaper.  You will hear some chuckling and some words about political issues which will vary greatly depending on what state you reside.  If you really pay attention though, the one thing you will notice is that very little exercising will be going on.  Sure, some guy will bang out a set every 5 to10 minutes, but considering they make it a point to do at least 6 sets (not including warm up sets), good luck trying to utilize the bench press in the hour you have to do your workout.  These bench bros aren’t the type to give up their real estate, especially once that bar is locked and loaded.  It seems women get it and spend their time elsewhere, far from the bench press.  Here’s a tip for you fellas with arms much bigger than your legs, take it easy on the bench for a few months and try some squats.

I should warn you – I am angry.  I just witnessed an oversized person park in a handicapped spot for no apparent reason, other than being abnormally large.  With summer winding down and cooler autumn breezes just weeks away, why the fuck do people insist on bulking up for the winter?  Ironically, these same people who will double in size in these next few months are the same ones who spent a ton of dough on training or classes to get in shape for the summer.  They must let everyone know each and every time they work out and how oh so difficult it was.  Tip for you supposed friends of these people, stop commenting on how proud you are or how good they look.  These people need to get their motivation from inside and you are sabotaging their efforts by cheering them on.  It’s as if everyone thinks they are professional baseball players and just played a grueling six-month, 162 game season.  Sure, for these guys several months of coronas and shitty food is well deserved.  But for the average Joe who sits on their ass longer than they do anything else for the entire year, this type of attitude will surely lead you to do your clothes shopping at the Big & Tall stores before long.  I haven’t forgotten about you ladies.  It’s not as if that muffin top just appears each October, you literally have two hands in the matter.  And those two hands are the ones feeding yourself like there is no tomorrow.  Sure, you claim to enjoy wearing your sweatshirts for all occasions but I see right through that large sweatshirt.  As trainers, we enjoy the upcoming feeding frenzy since this ensures our success come New Years.  You don’t need trainer Bob to tell you to watch your diet or some fancy exercise that involves pole dancing to burn more calories.  Here’s the fucking secret……eat less.  Skip lunch,  stop eating after 7pm, skip dessert, don’t have seconds of everything, and try moving your fat ass a little more.  If you notice that little jiggle growing, don’t ignore it – do something about it.  If you say you don’t know what to do, you’re probably a moron if you can’t figure it out by now.  There it is, and if you don’t like it just go ahead and save up while you blow up so you can just line another trainer’s pocket come January 1st.

I should clear the air and let everyone know I’m not the best dressed personal trainer you will run into.  In fact, I am a believer in wearing gym shorts several times a week without washing them no matter how much I sweat.  I also never owned multiple pair of shoes that matched the rest of whatever I was wearing to the gym that day.  Like most of you, I don’t give a shit what I look like when I work out.  But that said, I have been sent several photos by readers that must be discussed.  Thus, below is just one of many people in the gym who truly don’t give a fuck.  It’s one thing not to match, but these folks bring gym fashion to another level.  Take this gentleman who, in the year 2013, is still sporting tights.  Yes, you can call them whatever fancy name you want but in the end they are tights.  Unless you are a hot chick, you have no business wearing these.  Now it’s been over a decade since I last donned a pair of these nut-huggers, but I quickly learned this is something you do not wear to the gym.  Are those socks pulled up over those tights you ask?  Yes they are.  And if yellow and blue make green, then does blue and green make yellow?  I applaud his lack of color coding, because I  can’t stand a supposed straight male that matches his gym outfit from head to toe.  If only he chose shorts instead of tights, I would have nothing to say to this fitness buff.  But as determined as he is to get to the next set of tricep extensions, it should be noted he really is on another level with his lifting belt securely fastened.  You know you make the cut when you combo the tights and the lifting belt.  Thank you sir, and thank you Amy Foster for this fine pic from somewhere in Dallas Texas.  (I really like how you hid behind the dude on the pull up bar, sneaky indeed)