I go into great detail of one particular front desk girl I used to “work” with back in the day in chapter 8 of “I like your form”.  Consider this is a short warm up of what you can expect to read in the book.  To gain entry into any gym, you are forced to pass by the heavily guarded front desk.  There are a wide variety of characters you will come across that man this battle-station.  You would be hard pressed to find a heffer checking you into the gym, usually it’s a cute girl or perhaps a butterface with a body that you see in a fitness magazine.  Once I swore I ran into Chyna’s twin sister behind the desk at a gym, and she (or it) had the voice that makes you say “sir” by accident.  Sometimes you get that guy that always makes you wonder if he prefers guys over girls.  Either way, they are alway chatty folks that can be as annoying as those people who work in Moe’s Burritos and yell out in sync “Welcome to Moe’s!” the second you walk through the door.  Occasionally you get that one front desk employee who gives a shit and actually remembers your name instead of recognizing you as member #2946 and that god awful picture they have on file.  You know, that horrible photo they took of you for your membership card.  One fine day, I was heading into the gym near the “peak” time which always sucks.  I was walking in with several people, and was annoyed that I had to hold the door open for a soccer mom who was too busy talking to her sister Gina on the phone and fumbling through her purse looking for her gym card.  Don’t judge me, I’m not alone when I say nothing irritates me more than that stay at home mom who expects the world to cater to her needs since she has such a difficult job.    Anyways, there was a portly fella in this line of random folks entering the gym when the front desk girl announced loudly, “Rob, I haven’t seen you FOREVER! Where have you been!”  This poor guy apparently named Rob looked mortified.  I wanted to answer for him, and let her know that he obviously has not been working out.  And there’s a good chance Rob probably did not eat a healthy breakfast this morning.  With a small crowd lined up at the desk, I was curious to see what Rob’s response would be.  All Rob could muster was a half-hearted laugh while his face turned beet red.  Nothing worse than having the high-pitched slim girl at the front desk call you out when you look like you won a few pie-eating contests in your day, I thought.  It’s one thing if you are jacked up like the Rock, but when you haven’t seen your wiener in some time in both a standing and seated position, it’s a much different story.  Putting myself in Rob’s shoes for a quick minute and imagining I was fat, I thought of how embarrassing it would be to politely be called fat and lazy in a crowd.  I always knew the front desk staff was good at checking people in and warning them that their credit card has been declined, but I was unaware that they were also proficient in motivating large individuals to get their shit together and go to the gym more frequently.  Well played, skinny front desk girl.

Trying to be somewhat “healthy”, I occasionally stop by the local supplement shoppe to get some type of snack.  I am never surprised when it looks as if the protein bars have come a long way and now have their own dedicated aisle.  Recalling the good old days when there wasn’t much besides Promax bars and Power bars, one tasted like a candy bar while the other tasted like dog shit baked into taffy.  Now when you go anywhere you are inundated with hundreds of these supposedly “healthy” snacks.  To make a wise choice is more difficult than Indiana Jones faced in the last crusade.  With enticing flavors such as blueberry cheesecake, strawberry shortcake, and peanut butter cookie dough, how the hell can one go wrong?  I’m here to tell you, very easily.  Think back to your glory days when you did that first shot of Black Haus or Goldschlager and said afterwards, “This tastes fantastic!  I’m going to drink this all night!”  Only to find yourself several hours later hurling up whatever is in your stomach with a hint of peppermint and gold flakes on top of it.  Who hasn’t ripped open a mocha chocolate protein bar and after just one bite declared “I will eat these every day!” Then just a few moments later forcing yourself to choke down the rest of this shit bar that tricked you into thinking it was anything but a coated piece of cardboard.  Even today with more variety than cable TV, protein bars are still hit or miss.  I liken the process to tasting the contents of that heart-shaped box of chocolates you used to love on Valentine’s day.  I know they probably label everything but I’m sure you can still get the mystery box where you can either hit a home run with a chocolate covered carmel or strike out with the unidentified one that tastes like week old table scraps from the Chinese buffet encased in a rich milk chocolate.  So if you have no problems buying something that mostly likely going to cost a pretty penny, taste like garbage, and most likely give you a nice case of protein farts, then grab yourself that protein bar.  But, if you want to save a few bucks and enjoy what you eat, try something different.  Get yourself a snickers bar because after all athletes endorse it and it’s the official candy bar of the Olympics so it must be good for you.

These are great.  If you ever just take a minute to hear the back and forth banter between client and trainer you may be pleasantly surprised.  Kind of like when Anchorman is on, it’s never a let down.  The other day while attempting to blast my quads, I was next to a trainer who had her client on the pec deck machine.  “I work 4 days a week, but those are 4 very hard days”, I heard.  I couldn’t help but laugh, who the fuck works 4 days a week and complains about it?  “I’m so tired everyday and feel bad because my son wants me to play with him when I get home from work.”  Really, am I hearing this correctly?  Maybe you haven’t watched that great form of birth control which is called Teen Mom.  Did you think that shit was going to be easy?  I enjoy boning just as much as the next guy but at least I learned early on in life how to pull out.  “I’m so hungry and all I ate was cottage cheese and broccoli today”.  What?  This is crazy talk, who’s fault is that dummy?  Did you think you would not be hungry if you ate only 350 calories throughout the whole day?  This exchange went on for at least 10 minutes.  I stuck around purposely to see if this conversation was going to get any deeper, It did not as I should have known since it was similar to conversations I’ve heard when I used to go to that godforsaken place called Walmart.  But the kicker was that this wasn’t the client pouring out her soul to her trainer, this was the fucking trainer unloading her bullshit on her portly paying client!  This woman who is attempting to pay someone to get her ass into shape is sitting on a pec deck machine, which isn’t the calorie burning exercise she really needs, while her whiny trainer bitches about how hard her job is.  Even if this client was a librarian, does she really have to hear how hard working at a gym can be?  There is a take home message here.  If you are a trainer and you complain to your paying clients about things, do what I used to do best, make sure no one is around to hear you.  And if you are a client who doesn’t mind paying top dollar (unless of course you are using a groupon) to have someone complain to you while you are supposed to be getting into shape, then I don’t know what to say to you.   Stay tuned for more great trainer/client conversations right here.

Just as the morning has it’s share of freaks that congregate in the gym at the ungodly hour of 5am, the late night crowd also attracts a unique clientele who isn’t about to settle for second place in the whack pack meter.  In fact this evening gave me more ammo to write about as yet again I witnessed the odd behavior that you are bound to see roaming the gym floor after 8:30pm.  Sure, you have your die-hard lifters that are looking to avoid the daytime crowds, but what about that guy that looks like Napoleon Dynamite’s brother Kip?  He kind of looks like the guy you will see posted on the walls of your local library where they list your neighborhood sex offenders.  He may be a smaller, skinnier fella but something about those glasses and odd mustache keeps you from making eye contact with him.  Your skeptical that this guy can throw a chloroform rag in your face anytime and when you come to your tied up in his deceased mom’s basement with the gimp mask so for good measure you are sure to leave a safe distance at all times.  What about that guy that appears to have escaped from the home that housed Randle McMurphy and Chief from One flew over the cuckoo’s nest as he seems to wander from station to station all the while having a conversation with himself?  He may have a shaved head and a shitload of tattoos or could be dressed in blue jeans, work boots, and a wife beater.  He occasionally looks right at you and continues talking and for a second you feel like you should respond in some way.  When you get close enough you sigh a sense of relief when you notice he has a bluetooth the size of a tic-tac in his ear, but sometimes you aren’t always this lucky and you really have some crazy fuck talking to himself.  Something tells me if the shit were to go down, that overweight gym floor attendant isn’t going to be much help when this guy is biting your face off.  Lastly, there is jolly fella who seems more interested in making friends than working out.  Because the crowd is a little sparse this late in the evening, this guy feels like someone will have to pay attention to him if he puts forth some effort.  Like your gym “Mayors”, this asshole is usually loud and boisterous as he holds conversations with people on the far end of the gym while walking at a 1% incline at 1.2 mph.  Way to not burn that #2 you ate on the way to the gym and be annoying at the same time.  So much like the DMV, if you go to the gym just an hour or so before closing time, you have a pretty good chance of feeling much better about yourself no matter what shape you are in.  I look forward to being able to provide pictures of this scene for you one day to convince you that the freaks really do come out at night.                  

This will be an ongoing topic-just because of the sheer volume of “motivational” phrases you hear being tossed around the gym floor on a daily basis. I go into great detail of this comical lingo in “I like your form” Confessions of a Personal Trainer if you care to learn more about this phenomenon. When you stop to think about it, there are actually hundreds, if not thousands of good excuses as to why you shouldn’t do that last rep of cleans with double your body weight. Forget about the increased risk of injury and your questionable health insurance, but what about the fact that you just pulled a 10 hour work day and are trying to fight the 5 o’clock gym crowd? Let’s not mention that it took you close to a half an hour to find a parking spot since everyone else figured it would be a good idea to go the gym on their way home from work. Throw in the fact that you hate your job, and you have nothing to look forward to but your 2 weeks off a year and hopefully a few paid holidays. Without going into details such as annoying co-workers, horrible bosses, and money troubles you got yourself close to 50 excuses before putting much thought into it. How come just doing the right thing and trying to keep yourself from becoming a Fatty McFatterson isn’t good enough? Who are these overexcited gym chodes who demand more? If you have a trainer you can expect to get quilted in to doing shit you really don’t want to do, but when Joey jerk-off is barking at you that you have “no excuses” to get one or two more on the bench press who really is going to benefit? That makes about as much sense as saying “No excuses, get yourself a shamrock shake since April is right around the corner and you won’t be able to get that shit until next year!” Actually, that makes perfect since, because they are delicious and even if your pooh is green for a day or so it’s well worth it. So the next time someone gives you an unsolicited “No excuses!” in the midst of your set, politely rack the weight, collect your water bottle and say “That dumbass remark just gave me the best excuse I could think of to call it a day”. Don’t forget to stop by the drive-thru and collect your well deserved shamrock shake my friend, because you earned it.

I can’t for the life of me begin to understand those who decide to spiff themselves up prior to working out.  I’m not saying to skip the daily shower, but covering up with your favorite cologne or perfume moments before stepping in the gym?  I get that it’s the lesser of two evils, and I would take the pungent scent of that shitty Britney Spears perfume any day of the week over the distinct aroma of BO from the overweight guy who sweats a lot.  But I am not alone when sometimes there really is too much of a good thing.  Sure when I was a youth on the prowl I would douse myself in Aqua Di Gio and put on my best gold chain on order to impress some young lass outside the arcade but not once did I think to spritz myself a couple of dozen times before going into a gym.  Luckily I was called out early on that I should reduce the amount I was applying to every part of my body, including those parts that normal people don’t usually worry about (Yes, I’m talking about the area below the waist). These days gyms should have warning signs up for those with severe allergies as whatever row of cardio equipment you happen to be on, there is more than likely that one guy or gal that went a little overboard on the smell good stuff.  It’s even worse if you happen to work out in a small place where the ventilation is minimal and there is nothing but a huge industrial sized fan ensuring your lungs are getting the maximum amount of toxic shit circulated throughout your body.  As a guy, I get it, we don’t like stinky girls and we will take the one that smells like a hooker any day of the week over the gal who unfortunately smells eerily similar to low tide.  But for godsakes tone it down with the perfume if you don’t want to be treated like a hooker, unless of course you are at the gym looking for something other than a workout.  And guys, well, there is a reason why we occasionally sniff our own armpits in the middle of the day and if you are doing a halfway decent job applying deodorant you should be in the clear.  But if you are the guy who trims his facial hair, puts gel in your hair, and give yourself a healthy dose of cool water or that French shit with the bottle that looks like a guy in weird striped tank top, then I don’t know what to say to you. 

If you’ve ever set foot in a gym or dared to enter your average gym locker room, then you are already all too familiar with this stench. As if the usual gas that passes through the cracks of your ass isn’t bad enough, you have the hidden dangers of the widely recognized but seldom talked about “Protein Farts” to worry about. Without cutting corners, this type of gas quite simply smells like shit mixed with old garbage. Open a surprise container of take-out food that has been sitting for months or perhaps a carton of sour, curdled milk then you are only half way there. Now pile on the smell of a log that has been sitting unflushed for several hours and no, of course it can never be your own because no matter how bad yours is there always is something in your head that says “That one wasn’t so bad”. So as a trainer, with a constant supply of protein powder & drinks at my disposal in the gym, I was known to cropdust the gym floor during everyone’s “Happy Hour” on more than one occasion. With many clients I resisted the urge the best I could but I’d be lying to say that one didn’t slip by every now and then. And boy were those little squeakers the biggest stinkers. Ironically after cutting out the countless number of protein supplements I was taking, my gas returned to its normal gross yet bearable state. So in gyms across this great land of ours keep your eye on that trainer who seems to be taking a few extra minutes staring at his clipboard, unwilling to move an inch. You may notice some sweat forming on his brow, giving it his all to hold it in. Consider this your warning, keep your distance.

I should start by saying I hate cell phones. As if it wasn’t enough that anyone could call you anytime (especially when it’s the most inconvenient time for you), now those same people “text” you some of the dumbest shit and if you don’t respond in three to five minutes you are inundated with several more that read “Are u ok???” or better yet “?????”. Recently I witnessed something that annoyed me more than the seemingly increasing amount of events that do so. While attempting to work out, some smaller fella sporting a wife-beater with flabby arms sets up camp on the bench next to me. I couldn’t help but chuckle when he was finishing up a conversation on his phone by saying “I’ll skype you later.” As I proceeded to wail on my pecs I noticed buddy next to me furiously texting with his nubby fingers. Since I was in the midst of an elaborate chest workout, I would be utilizing this bench for the next fifteen to twenty minutes. Expecting this guy to pick up a weight or something, he surprisingly bypassed the weights and proceeded to text. It was as if whoever he was texting was challenging him to “text faster!” After about twenty minutes in which he put his phone down once to pump out a set of chest presses, I moved on to my next station to complete my workout. All the while, this fella never picked up another weight unless you consider a cell phone adequate weight to lift. I guess I give him credit for not being that douche that decides to have a conversation on his phone for the whole gym to hear, but he is a douche nonetheless.

As winter gives way to spring, the parking lots of gyms across the nation seem a little less crowded with all the “New Year’s resolutioners” officially throwing in the towel. With warmer weather on the horizon, there are many reasons why working out loses its novelty. But have no fear: JD Holmes is here to keep you motivated. Just because your days will not include fighting for the final parking spot or arguing with that odd fella wearing the headband over the lone unoccupied treadmill does not mean your spring has to be nothing short of unbelievable. Follow me for all things about life in the gym, both the good and the bad, the fat and the skinny, and of course the oftentimes outrageous details concerning the trainer-client relationship.  From those “mayors” of the gym who everyone hates to the girl who should have gotten that dragon tattoo anywhere but right above her ass, which seems to be built for two, we’ll explore the many characters and strange occurrences that can only be found in a gym. As one of my friends who happens to be a well-known personality in the fitness world and could not write the foreword to my book for several reasons said, “It’s not the boring sets and reps bullshit.” So prepare to be JD-ed. Update that Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram, and follow this blog, send  in your own stories, and of course buy a copy of “I Like Your Form”: Confessions of a Personal Trainer by JD Holmes now.