Gyms Are Made For Pussies

It’s Monday. And recently, I joined a different gym, which gives its new members a complimentary session with a personal trainer. I’m currently taking advantage of that generosity. My trainer’s name is Vicki, and she sits with me in a small room. Which could be called an office, had it possessed more than a desk and two chairs.

“It says here,” she says, looking at my record, “that you’d like to bulk up.”

“That’s right,” I say.

“So what exactly are your goals?” she asks.

“To bulk up,” I say.

“Great,” she says. “Well, we need to plot goals.”

CherryPoint – Flickr

She continues to tell me about goal setting and vision boards, but I know this. Why is she telling me this? Is this her job? Does she just sit and tell people about goals? Who doesn’t know about goals? People without goals are like pizzas without tomato sauce.

After the conversation, we move into the main gym to start the work out.

“Here’s the workout plan,” she says, giving me a small bit of card.

“Erm… It’s just two days?” I say.

“Yeah, it’s basic,” she says.

I’m starting to resent this gym. It’s far too relaxed. Two days a week? Are you kidding me?

On the walls, there are fancy graphics, and interesting fonts. Obviously for branding and marketing reasons, but it makes the gym look like a child’s play pen.

“Before you get on the bench,” she says, “you must do ten push-ups.”

Only ten? Oh. I really feel like I’m in the army…

“That’s great!” she says. “Well done.”

Thanks for my undeserved praise, Vicki.

“Now, we’re going to chest press,” she says.

Great! We’re on to the good stuff.

“And we’re going to use the eights,” she says.

The eights?! Are you serious!? I’ve seen heavier tea bags.

Suddenly, I’m bothered. Why are the walls painted blue and green?!

These are calming colours; colours representing the sea and the sky, the water and the trees. Where is red!? – The colour of danger. And black? – The colour of death. I want my gym to be the colour of danger and death. That’s encouragement. You gotta work hard if you’re facing danger and death.

[Tweet “I want my gym to be the colour of danger and death”]

If I wanted blue and green, I’d sip champagne on the side of a lake.

After the chest press, Vicki wants to show me the thigh ‘abductor’; a machine which works your legs but promises to steal your thighs.

“I won’t push your legs too far apart,” she says. “otherwise your trousers will split.”

My trousers should split! I’m in a gym! I’m meant to be in pain!

“You probably don’t feel the stretch,” she says.

“No,” I say, “because my trousers are still intact.”

Before we finish the session, I do some hanging leg raises, with a stupidly low pull-up bar, so my feet touch the ground. And some back extensions, with an exercise ball instead of a machine, so my dick gets squished.

“Well, you did fantastic!” she says, as we finish.

“Thank you,” I say.

As I walk towards the changing room however, I do consider some of her more useful tidbits:

Vicki’s gym tips:

  • Don’t workout core, work out abs.
  • Lift slowly, and with focus.
  • Remember to set goals.

In the changing room, I start a conversation with a fellow gym-goer.

“What are your goals?” I say.

“Oh,” he says, “I just come here to run.”

“Can’t you do that by the river?” I say.

“Nah,” he replies, “it gets cold.”

What ever happened to no pain, no gain, eh?

Are people just craving to feel comfortable wherever they go?

If that’s the case then you should all stay at home on your sofa, and watch that box you call the television.

Go ahead, be another bean in the bean can.


I call that a waste of time.

Later on, I’m talking to my friend.

“How was the gym?” he says.

“You know, it was great,” I say. “I’ll be going again on Wednesday.”

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