A few months ago this guy started working out at the gym I work at. He started bringing in pieces of equipment; machines, bars, and so forth. Eventually it came to light that he fancied himself a trainer and was training one of the sales managers for a fitness contest. This segued into his conditional loan of his equipment to the gym if he was hired as a trainer. Our gym is already overrun with trainers of questionable quality and even if this guy is good he’s coming in and taking potential clients from me.
I find his approach to getting the job much like that of a spoiled child. You know the kind. They bring all their toys over to your house and unless things go exactly their way they threaten to take them and go home. Well, I wish this brat would take his toys and go home.
The sales manager approached me one day and asked me how we worked the consultation list. I told her we wrote our names down and put a number behind them so that everybody would get an equal share. Evidently this wasn’t good enough for him. The sales manager is now giving him all the people that come in to sign up for training. So, once again all the potential clients are going to one or two people. The problem is that the manager isn’t overseeing the training department with any vigilance, which leaves the door wide open for unscrupulous behavior. I hate business and the underhanded bullshit that seems to go along with it. I want to be fair but my patience is being tried.
This guy is a moody thug. Sometimes he will say hi to you but most of the time he just seems to be brooding. I would guess that he is on steroids and not that I care but I do notice that some people that are on them act like assholes and this guy fits the profile. He has tattoos everywhere and thinks he is the next best thing since the dishwasher.
One day I was standing at the desk and he said, “You going to do some power lifting training?”
I was like, “Uh, no I’ve kind of moved on from that.”
He cocked his head. “You’re going to do some power lifting training. I’m going to bring in three hundred high school kids from the local school district.”
First off I don’t know who this guy is thinking he can tell me what I’m going to do. I mean I appreciate that he wants to involved me if this thing goes through but no one tells me what the fuck to do. Second, I don’t like working with high school athletes. I’ve worked with high school sports teams, athletes and younger children in the past and found it to be more babysitting than training. Sure, I will bight he bullet if the money is good and I will train high school kids but I seriously doubt this guy is going to make this happen. My intuition tells me that he told the manager he could get all these kids to train at the gym as a way to get himself a job. There were probably instant money signs in the manager’s eyes and the bullshit was bought. We’ll see…
Monday, March 30, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Yesterday I met with a 24 year old for a nutrition consultation. She was 5’ “8 inches tall and weighed around 125 pounds--she was referred to me by a friend who works with her. This young lady was concerned that she was too thin and wanted to put on some weight. I knew I could help her put on some quality weight so we decided to meet yesterday at 4 PM.
When she walked through the door my first impression was that she was thin and might have possibly stepped through a time warp in 1985 and into my life. She was wearing tight jeans tucked into those boots that are sort of puffy on the sides and which went out of style over twenty years ago. She was also wearing a light blue turtleneck. You know the kind the big open turtleneck that hangs down, also circa 1985. If she was going for a retro look she nailed it, although her hair wasn't shellacked with enough hair spray to make the bangs curl up impossibly high. So overall her retro rating was a respectable 7 out of a possible 10.
She sat the desk in front of me and I asked her first what she had eaten for the day. She told me she had a fast food breakfast sandwich for breakfast, with some sort of coffee drink and a parfait. Lunch was a couple slices of pizza and an apple. Dinner was a cheese steak, French fries and liter of Coke. Obviously she had a fast metabolism and wasn’t taking in enough calories. This of course was my preliminary assessment. I needed to know more about her diet, workouts and so forth to be able to come up with a workable diet plan.
I looked at the food she had eaten that day on the sheet in front of me. “You really need to be eating more frequently if you want to put on weight.”
“Well, this guy I like told me that I shouldn’t drink so much water. He said that it makes me not as hungry and that I should cut way back. I did it today and I was more hungry.”
“Wow, that’s really bad advice. I mean I don’t want to sound like a jerk but being well hydrated is a crucial part of being healthy and it won’t curb your appetite.”
She frowned. “Well, I drink two liters a day.”
I sat back in my chair. “Well, I drink around two gallons a day and I am continuously hungry.”
“Well, you’re different.”
“Everyone is but my point is that cutting water from your diet isn’t going to make you gain weight. To simplify things cutting water from your diet will make you unhealthy.”
She looked at me with far away eyes. I snapped my fingers. “I see here that you have very little fiber in your diet.”
She looked at me like I’d just strangled her kitten. “What’s fiber?”
We talked about fiber for ten minutes until she partially grasped what it was and why it was needed in the diet. I then explained why she needed healthy fats, protein and carbohydrates in her diet.
I drank from my water bottle. “You see, as you get older and if you keep eating like this you’re going to end up losing muscle and gaining a lot of fat. It happens with age.”
Her eyes lit up like two drunken fireflies. “I want to gain fat.”
I shook my head. “You want to gain as much lean muscle tissue as possible. If we take your calories up you will probably gain a little fat too.”
She ran a hand through her hair. “Yuck, I don’t want to gain muscle. I don’t want to look like those bodybuilder girls.”
“Those bodybuilders take steroids. You don’t have enough testosterone in your body to produce muscle like they do. And I can take a pretty good guess just by looking at you that you won’t ever put on an appreciable amount of muscle. Your long and slender.”
She balled up her fists. “You see I don’t want to be long and slender. I want to have curves.”
I took out a price guide and handed it to her. “Well, even the best diet isn’t going to change your height or your bone structure.”
She looked at the price guide and snorted. I knew then that our conversation was over.
She took out a piece of paper. “Well, what should I eat for lunch?”
“Well, if you decide to work with me I will give you that information.”
She folded up the price guide and stood. “Well, I’ll think about it.”
I stood and showed her to the door.
It’s so draining talking to people that know everything. Every step of the way she fought me. I expect people to ask questions and even question some things if they don’t make sense to them but if they don’t even know what fiber is then it’s time to shut the old pie hole, sit back, and listen.
When she walked through the door my first impression was that she was thin and might have possibly stepped through a time warp in 1985 and into my life. She was wearing tight jeans tucked into those boots that are sort of puffy on the sides and which went out of style over twenty years ago. She was also wearing a light blue turtleneck. You know the kind the big open turtleneck that hangs down, also circa 1985. If she was going for a retro look she nailed it, although her hair wasn't shellacked with enough hair spray to make the bangs curl up impossibly high. So overall her retro rating was a respectable 7 out of a possible 10.
She sat the desk in front of me and I asked her first what she had eaten for the day. She told me she had a fast food breakfast sandwich for breakfast, with some sort of coffee drink and a parfait. Lunch was a couple slices of pizza and an apple. Dinner was a cheese steak, French fries and liter of Coke. Obviously she had a fast metabolism and wasn’t taking in enough calories. This of course was my preliminary assessment. I needed to know more about her diet, workouts and so forth to be able to come up with a workable diet plan.
I looked at the food she had eaten that day on the sheet in front of me. “You really need to be eating more frequently if you want to put on weight.”
“Well, this guy I like told me that I shouldn’t drink so much water. He said that it makes me not as hungry and that I should cut way back. I did it today and I was more hungry.”
“Wow, that’s really bad advice. I mean I don’t want to sound like a jerk but being well hydrated is a crucial part of being healthy and it won’t curb your appetite.”
She frowned. “Well, I drink two liters a day.”
I sat back in my chair. “Well, I drink around two gallons a day and I am continuously hungry.”
“Well, you’re different.”
“Everyone is but my point is that cutting water from your diet isn’t going to make you gain weight. To simplify things cutting water from your diet will make you unhealthy.”
She looked at me with far away eyes. I snapped my fingers. “I see here that you have very little fiber in your diet.”
She looked at me like I’d just strangled her kitten. “What’s fiber?”
We talked about fiber for ten minutes until she partially grasped what it was and why it was needed in the diet. I then explained why she needed healthy fats, protein and carbohydrates in her diet.
I drank from my water bottle. “You see, as you get older and if you keep eating like this you’re going to end up losing muscle and gaining a lot of fat. It happens with age.”
Her eyes lit up like two drunken fireflies. “I want to gain fat.”
I shook my head. “You want to gain as much lean muscle tissue as possible. If we take your calories up you will probably gain a little fat too.”
She ran a hand through her hair. “Yuck, I don’t want to gain muscle. I don’t want to look like those bodybuilder girls.”
“Those bodybuilders take steroids. You don’t have enough testosterone in your body to produce muscle like they do. And I can take a pretty good guess just by looking at you that you won’t ever put on an appreciable amount of muscle. Your long and slender.”
She balled up her fists. “You see I don’t want to be long and slender. I want to have curves.”
I took out a price guide and handed it to her. “Well, even the best diet isn’t going to change your height or your bone structure.”
She looked at the price guide and snorted. I knew then that our conversation was over.
She took out a piece of paper. “Well, what should I eat for lunch?”
“Well, if you decide to work with me I will give you that information.”
She folded up the price guide and stood. “Well, I’ll think about it.”
I stood and showed her to the door.
It’s so draining talking to people that know everything. Every step of the way she fought me. I expect people to ask questions and even question some things if they don’t make sense to them but if they don’t even know what fiber is then it’s time to shut the old pie hole, sit back, and listen.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
I was on the treadmill at 6 AM this morning talking to a friend/client of mine. We got into a heated discussion about a mutual friend of ours who thinks she is an expert on everything and tries to undermine my advice. I started letting a few fucks and bitches fly. My voice wasn’t particularly loud, just a normal speaking voice which has to be raised slightly to compensate for the din of the treadmill motors. As our conversation continued I noticed a woman working out in front of us with her boyfriend and she was giving me disapproving glances. She was dressed in her cute little black Capri pants, stylish sneakers, windbreaker, and her blond hair was pulled in a ponytail through the back of a baseball hat. I wanted to get off the treadmill and smack her.
Why are people so concerned with what other people are saying? To be absolutely honest with you I have no idea what other people’s conversations are about in the gym because I am concentrating on working out or training clients. I don’t care what people say as long as they’re not interrupting me. I think part of my point here should be that a lot of people in the gym aren’t there with the primary goal of working out. They are there to wear their fashions and sit on machines and try to look cool. It is about image and not about substance.
I had dream two nights ago that I won the lottery and opened a mega gym. All the scammers and weasels associated with the gym business were not allowed anywhere near the place. Oh, and you know the lady that was giving me dirty looks? I would have revoked her membership in two seconds. The gym is a place to work out, not to wear your latest fashion trends. So get the fuck out if you don’t want to hear people grunt and swear. I worked out long before you did and I will work out long after that outfit—which you will give to GoodWill in two months—is being worn by an African villager who bought it second hand.
Why are people so concerned with what other people are saying? To be absolutely honest with you I have no idea what other people’s conversations are about in the gym because I am concentrating on working out or training clients. I don’t care what people say as long as they’re not interrupting me. I think part of my point here should be that a lot of people in the gym aren’t there with the primary goal of working out. They are there to wear their fashions and sit on machines and try to look cool. It is about image and not about substance.
I had dream two nights ago that I won the lottery and opened a mega gym. All the scammers and weasels associated with the gym business were not allowed anywhere near the place. Oh, and you know the lady that was giving me dirty looks? I would have revoked her membership in two seconds. The gym is a place to work out, not to wear your latest fashion trends. So get the fuck out if you don’t want to hear people grunt and swear. I worked out long before you did and I will work out long after that outfit—which you will give to GoodWill in two months—is being worn by an African villager who bought it second hand.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Damn, it is cold this morning. My office is in an addition to a very old building built in the mid 1800's. When this addition was added they evidently knew nothing about insulation because it is absolutely frigid in here. To make matters worse the electricity sucks and it keeps burning out my space heaters--I tossed two of them yesterday. Thankfully one of the secretaries gave me her space heater because she has a gas fireplace in her office. Now that I’m finally warming up I can get some work done...
Thursday, March 19, 2009
The closest I felt to God was not on a mountaintop, after a car crash or even in a church. The closest I felt to God was in my hallway at home. First of all I have to write a disclaimer. I’m not even sure God exists but let’s assume he does. When I felt closest to God was after I’d been dabbling with different substances during a party at my parent’s house. I remember standing at the end of the hallway and suddenly everything went black and I was standing in a cave and at the end of this cave there was a valentine heart. The heart was beating and in-between every beat I saw the word death. I told God I would never do this crap again if I could get out of that cave--for a while I couldn’t get out and my panic level rose to full fledged terror. I was sure I was going to die but then a tear appeared above the heart and blues sky and sunlight poured in and the cave disappeared. Actually, I’m not sure God helped me but I do know I was damn glad to be out of that cave…
-If you find yourself short of money then fake a convulsion, I should know I’m a con artist. First of all put some toothpaste in your mouth and foam it up good, wobble on your legs and then fall to the ground and roll onto your back. When a well-meaning bystander tries to shove his billfold in your mouth to keep you from biting down on your tongue, roll over on your stomach and remove the cash. With your arms and legs flailing it is easy to pull a billfold out of a pants or jacket pocket. I should know I’ve done it many times before. Grab a hold of the bystander and continue to flail, you can remove wristwatches, bracelets and necklaces without them even noticing. It is imperative that you practice these techniques with a friend or perhaps your dog--after all practice makes perfect.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
The Pope recently said that distributing condoms won’t help to solve the AIDS crisis. Really? I guess all the scientists that base their findings on facts--not some book of fairy tales—are wrong. You see I can criticize the Pope because I already know I’m going to hell for masturbating…I mean not that I ever have but I’ve thought about it and well, that’s just as bad. According to the Pope’s values masturbation is worse than denying the existence of the Holocaust. I think I’m starting to understand now…no, not really…
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
The Bad Waitress
It’s got be tough if you can’t make in the world as a waitress in a greasy spoon. I mean the expectations aren’t that high. You take the order, pour the coffee, deliver the food and somewhere in-between maybe force a smile and mumble a few words. That’s good enough for 20% in my book. I don’t expect a dance routine or a symposium on the String Theory . I expect the minimum and sometimes, well, I don’t even get that.
Last Saturday my Grandfather and I went to breakfast at the same diner we go to every Saturday. My sister, her husband, baby, my Dad and half-sister joined us too. Since there were seven of us we had to be seated in the back room at one of the big tables.
After we were seated we waited and waited and waited until finally our waitress appeared from around the corner. She dropped the menus on our table and pulled a chewed pencil out from behind her ear.
“What would you like to drink?”
She had on a dirty pair of magnified glasses that distorted her eyes so no one could tell exactly who it was she was looking. I took a chance. “Coffee and water?”
She scribbled on her pad. While she was taking the rest of the drink orders I noticed that she had a stain of some sort on her collar. It sort of looked like ketchup but it just as well could have been blood. I shuddered inside.
As she walked away from the table I could smell cigarettes and body odor. I pulled my sweatshirt up over my nose.
My grandfather used to be a basketball coach so we talked about the college basketball tournaments and who are favorites were. We then moved on to Obama’s education agenda, my niece’s new teeth and several other topics I can’t remember. Finally the waitress wandered back with our drinks. She almost dropped my cup of coffee, spilling half of it on the table.
I mopped up the coffee. “Uh, could you get me a water too please?”
She peered through her eye distorting glasses, oblivious to the fact that I had asked for water before. “Oh, okay.”
She took her time leaving looking around absent-mindedly—as if she’d forgotten something but couldn’t remember what it was.
Twenty minutes passed and my 9-month-old niece was starting to get antsy. She’d already thrown every spoon on the table down on the ground and was trying to crawl up on the table. I knew how she felt. I’d just been to the gym and was starving. I started to feel lightheaded and nauseous. The sugar packets were the only sustenance on the table and I lurched for them knocking over the salt and peppershakers. I looked around sheepishly. My niece started bawling. The people at surrounding tables scowled. Sure, they could look down on me they had FOOD!
Damn it, grab hold of yourself you damn fool, I said, to myself. Don’t lose it now. Fuck it. I had to eat. I stood to go look for our waitress and almost ran over her as she lumbered around the corner with the tray on her shoulder.
“Excuse me,” I said and sat back down in my seat.
The tray was perched precariously on her boney shoulder and teetered back and forth. I reached out ready to catch anything that might fall in my lap and then I noticed something very disturbing Her greasy hair was sitting in my bowl of grits.
My mouth opened involuntarily but nothing came out. She set the tray down with a loud clank and then tugged at her dirty apron. “Almost didn’t make it.”
“Really?”
She set my grits down in front of me and I studied them, looking for an errant hair but saw none. I pushed the bowl aside.
After she set everything down she put her hands on her hips. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Ketchup,” my dad said, knowing deep down he would never see it.
I pondered whether I should even bother asking but I did. “Can I get a glass of water.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You want a water?”
I nodded, knowing I would never see the water.
We ate our meal—minus the grits—and then waited fifteen minutes or so until the waitress wandered back to us.
She pulled a pile of checks from her apron. “Would you like anything else?”
“No,” we said collectively and way too quickly.
She peeled off a check and my Dad took it. She dreamily wandered off again as if controlled by a stoned puppeteer.
My Dad covered the check and I gave the tip. Even as bad as this waitress had been I was still going to leave her a descent tip. She hadn’t done anything rude but had just been slow and well, bad at waitressing. I felt bad for her.
The waitress wandered back to our table. “Would you like your check?”
I rubbed my goatee. “You already gave us our check.”
She snatched the check from the table. “Let me see that.”
She proceeded to go through the stack of checks from other tables she had. “This isn’t your check.” She rooted a while longer and then with a confused look on her face handed us another check. “I think this is it and it’s only two more dollars.”
She wandered off again led by that same stoned puppeteer.
Actually the bill we got was seven dollars more. I got out a few more dollars out to cover the check but the tip did not go up, in fact part of the original tip went towards the new bill. It takes a lot for me to leave a tip under twenty percent but this waitress was one of the worst I had ever had. I still felt bad for her but she was in the wrong line of work. She would have been much better at something like coal mining—far, far away from people.
Last Saturday my Grandfather and I went to breakfast at the same diner we go to every Saturday. My sister, her husband, baby, my Dad and half-sister joined us too. Since there were seven of us we had to be seated in the back room at one of the big tables.
After we were seated we waited and waited and waited until finally our waitress appeared from around the corner. She dropped the menus on our table and pulled a chewed pencil out from behind her ear.
“What would you like to drink?”
She had on a dirty pair of magnified glasses that distorted her eyes so no one could tell exactly who it was she was looking. I took a chance. “Coffee and water?”
She scribbled on her pad. While she was taking the rest of the drink orders I noticed that she had a stain of some sort on her collar. It sort of looked like ketchup but it just as well could have been blood. I shuddered inside.
As she walked away from the table I could smell cigarettes and body odor. I pulled my sweatshirt up over my nose.
My grandfather used to be a basketball coach so we talked about the college basketball tournaments and who are favorites were. We then moved on to Obama’s education agenda, my niece’s new teeth and several other topics I can’t remember. Finally the waitress wandered back with our drinks. She almost dropped my cup of coffee, spilling half of it on the table.
I mopped up the coffee. “Uh, could you get me a water too please?”
She peered through her eye distorting glasses, oblivious to the fact that I had asked for water before. “Oh, okay.”
She took her time leaving looking around absent-mindedly—as if she’d forgotten something but couldn’t remember what it was.
Twenty minutes passed and my 9-month-old niece was starting to get antsy. She’d already thrown every spoon on the table down on the ground and was trying to crawl up on the table. I knew how she felt. I’d just been to the gym and was starving. I started to feel lightheaded and nauseous. The sugar packets were the only sustenance on the table and I lurched for them knocking over the salt and peppershakers. I looked around sheepishly. My niece started bawling. The people at surrounding tables scowled. Sure, they could look down on me they had FOOD!
Damn it, grab hold of yourself you damn fool, I said, to myself. Don’t lose it now. Fuck it. I had to eat. I stood to go look for our waitress and almost ran over her as she lumbered around the corner with the tray on her shoulder.
“Excuse me,” I said and sat back down in my seat.
The tray was perched precariously on her boney shoulder and teetered back and forth. I reached out ready to catch anything that might fall in my lap and then I noticed something very disturbing Her greasy hair was sitting in my bowl of grits.
My mouth opened involuntarily but nothing came out. She set the tray down with a loud clank and then tugged at her dirty apron. “Almost didn’t make it.”
“Really?”
She set my grits down in front of me and I studied them, looking for an errant hair but saw none. I pushed the bowl aside.
After she set everything down she put her hands on her hips. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Ketchup,” my dad said, knowing deep down he would never see it.
I pondered whether I should even bother asking but I did. “Can I get a glass of water.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You want a water?”
I nodded, knowing I would never see the water.
We ate our meal—minus the grits—and then waited fifteen minutes or so until the waitress wandered back to us.
She pulled a pile of checks from her apron. “Would you like anything else?”
“No,” we said collectively and way too quickly.
She peeled off a check and my Dad took it. She dreamily wandered off again as if controlled by a stoned puppeteer.
My Dad covered the check and I gave the tip. Even as bad as this waitress had been I was still going to leave her a descent tip. She hadn’t done anything rude but had just been slow and well, bad at waitressing. I felt bad for her.
The waitress wandered back to our table. “Would you like your check?”
I rubbed my goatee. “You already gave us our check.”
She snatched the check from the table. “Let me see that.”
She proceeded to go through the stack of checks from other tables she had. “This isn’t your check.” She rooted a while longer and then with a confused look on her face handed us another check. “I think this is it and it’s only two more dollars.”
She wandered off again led by that same stoned puppeteer.
Actually the bill we got was seven dollars more. I got out a few more dollars out to cover the check but the tip did not go up, in fact part of the original tip went towards the new bill. It takes a lot for me to leave a tip under twenty percent but this waitress was one of the worst I had ever had. I still felt bad for her but she was in the wrong line of work. She would have been much better at something like coal mining—far, far away from people.
Monday, March 16, 2009
A friend of mine asked me to help a woman out at the gym with her diet and training. She is recently divorced and evidently went through a hard time. My friend also wanted to know if I would be interested in her. I immediately said no and this was for several reasons. First of all I know this woman and I’m not attracted to her. She is too manly. Don’t get me wrong, strong women are cool but she has the slap you on the ass after you throw a touchdown pass personality. Not attractive. I could also sense right off that there was something off about her and I was right.
Yesterday I talked to her when I was leaving the gym and told her I would bring her in some papers to read over so she could understand the basic concepts of my eating philosophy. She said, “Well, do you want my E-mail address?” I said, ‘Well, okay, I guess I could send you some stuff too.” I hadn’t really planned to E-mailing her until we sat down and talked about her diet and workout and only then if I needed to.
This morning my friend from the gym E-mails me and says that this woman wondered why I hadn’t E-mailed her back yesterday. WTF? Talk about clingy and needy and weird. You would have to see the E-mail—which was forwarded to me—it was bizarre. I never said I would E-mail her yesterday. She basically forced her E-mail address on me. I like helping people but I think I need to keep my distance from this one…
Yesterday I talked to her when I was leaving the gym and told her I would bring her in some papers to read over so she could understand the basic concepts of my eating philosophy. She said, “Well, do you want my E-mail address?” I said, ‘Well, okay, I guess I could send you some stuff too.” I hadn’t really planned to E-mailing her until we sat down and talked about her diet and workout and only then if I needed to.
This morning my friend from the gym E-mails me and says that this woman wondered why I hadn’t E-mailed her back yesterday. WTF? Talk about clingy and needy and weird. You would have to see the E-mail—which was forwarded to me—it was bizarre. I never said I would E-mail her yesterday. She basically forced her E-mail address on me. I like helping people but I think I need to keep my distance from this one…
Damn, the bastard is back and he’s smiling and gliding and extending his hand. I don’t want to shake it but people are looking, expecting—because they’ve all been had. The black oil is dripping from his palm and I can see the worms between his rotting teeth. Am I the only one that can really see who he is? Fuck. I take his hand and squeeze until I feel it cracking. He tries to smile through the pain and its good enough to fool those around us but he knows now that I’m onto him. It will be a battle to the end and the fuck if I’m going to lose to him.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
An old friend
It’s coming back, creeping up on me, soon it will be here. I can feel it and I welcome it. An old friend lost somewhere in my mind. I got us a case of beer and we’re going to reminisce--go over the good times, the bad times. Sit at the keyboard and laugh. Spill beer and words. My long lost voice. How I missed you…
Come close, peek inside my trench coat. That’s it; peel it back ever so slowly. You like what you see? Yeah, that’s right, I got words for you baby. All these words strung together forever and they been here all along. You never knew did you? You never even suspected that I had words. That’s it caress them and everything will come out beautifully, poetically even...
Friday, March 13, 2009
Egad, are those aqua stretch pants you’re wearing? Nothing quite says trailer trash like wearing something so visually repugnant that everyone has to shield his or her eyes when you walk by. But of course that’s what you want isn’t it? You crave the attention. You need the eyes peeling those aqua stretch pants off and flinging them onto the gym floor. You’re hollow like a chocolate Easter rabbit. You may even taste good but there’s nothing inside but air…
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Cheap Skate
Many people at the gym ask me for help with certain exercises and I am more than happy to help. Part of the reason I’m a personal trainer is because I find satisfaction in helping people improve themselves. There are those people though who take advantage of my kindness. For example, there is this little guy that has been asking me questions in the gym for months. I take my personal time and show him how to squat properly and so forth. I have no problem with this.
Recently he asked me to sit down with him to discuss his diet. So I put him in my appointment book and we met. I told him what I thought he was doing wrong with his diet and workout--which both sucked and might be why he weighed 130 lbs and 20% body fat. My suggestion was to use carbohydrate cycling and a body split workout. I told him I would give him a basic diet but that for training he would have to buy a few sessions.
The diet took me about an hour to write up. I E-mailed it to him and several days later I saw him at the gym. He said he had been sick and would E-mail me after he had a better chance to look it over.
I then ran into him this past weekend at the gym as I was getting in my car. He stopped me—again asking for me to give him more of my time—and then he proceeds to show me a body split workout he got off the internet and wants me to critique it. Can you believe the audacity of this guy? I was starting to get a little irritated and basically told him the workout sucked, because, well, it did. Obviously he wasn’t going to by any sessions.
Flash forward a few more days and I still haven’t heard back from this guy and it really pisses me off. Personal training is how I make money on the side. Again, I don’t mind helping people out but my good nature has caused people like this to take advantage of me. So, I am going to change the way I deal with people. I will still help people with an exercise or two but I will not give out diets or workouts unless I am paid. The only way you get free workout or diet information is if you are a close friend or family member.
I don’t have some fly by night personal training certification. You have to have a four year degree to even sit for the certification I hold--which is consider the best in the field. I must take continuing education classes and so forth to maintain my certification. This plus my yearly insurance runs around a grand. I also buy books, DVD’s and other training materials. There is also the hour upon hour I spend reading about the best training techniques. To sharpen my own physique and to broaden my base of knowledge I work with a nutritionist and of course this costs me money too. And lets not forget 27 years of workout experience. All those hours in the gym while other people were sitting on their couches eating chips.
I have a suggestion for people who think I should be giving them workout information for free. Why don’t you become certified and accrue all the expenses I do to stay on top of the training world. If you want information search out the best sources and read for hour upon hour.
And I don’t want to hear that this guy doesn’t have money. It is a matter of priority and I have made being the best I can be in this profession a priority. I pay to be in shape and to know what I know. If this guy were a butcher I wouldn’t come to his butcher shop with a side of beef and ask him to cut it for me for free. Can you imagine how incensed the butcher would be if I asked him to cut my side of beef up for free? Well, then maybe you know how much this guy and people like him have pissed me off. Sorry, no more Mr. Nice Guy…
Recently he asked me to sit down with him to discuss his diet. So I put him in my appointment book and we met. I told him what I thought he was doing wrong with his diet and workout--which both sucked and might be why he weighed 130 lbs and 20% body fat. My suggestion was to use carbohydrate cycling and a body split workout. I told him I would give him a basic diet but that for training he would have to buy a few sessions.
The diet took me about an hour to write up. I E-mailed it to him and several days later I saw him at the gym. He said he had been sick and would E-mail me after he had a better chance to look it over.
I then ran into him this past weekend at the gym as I was getting in my car. He stopped me—again asking for me to give him more of my time—and then he proceeds to show me a body split workout he got off the internet and wants me to critique it. Can you believe the audacity of this guy? I was starting to get a little irritated and basically told him the workout sucked, because, well, it did. Obviously he wasn’t going to by any sessions.
Flash forward a few more days and I still haven’t heard back from this guy and it really pisses me off. Personal training is how I make money on the side. Again, I don’t mind helping people out but my good nature has caused people like this to take advantage of me. So, I am going to change the way I deal with people. I will still help people with an exercise or two but I will not give out diets or workouts unless I am paid. The only way you get free workout or diet information is if you are a close friend or family member.
I don’t have some fly by night personal training certification. You have to have a four year degree to even sit for the certification I hold--which is consider the best in the field. I must take continuing education classes and so forth to maintain my certification. This plus my yearly insurance runs around a grand. I also buy books, DVD’s and other training materials. There is also the hour upon hour I spend reading about the best training techniques. To sharpen my own physique and to broaden my base of knowledge I work with a nutritionist and of course this costs me money too. And lets not forget 27 years of workout experience. All those hours in the gym while other people were sitting on their couches eating chips.
I have a suggestion for people who think I should be giving them workout information for free. Why don’t you become certified and accrue all the expenses I do to stay on top of the training world. If you want information search out the best sources and read for hour upon hour.
And I don’t want to hear that this guy doesn’t have money. It is a matter of priority and I have made being the best I can be in this profession a priority. I pay to be in shape and to know what I know. If this guy were a butcher I wouldn’t come to his butcher shop with a side of beef and ask him to cut it for me for free. Can you imagine how incensed the butcher would be if I asked him to cut my side of beef up for free? Well, then maybe you know how much this guy and people like him have pissed me off. Sorry, no more Mr. Nice Guy…
Saturday, March 07, 2009
A Bus for You
I hope you get run over by a bus. Don’t get me wrong. I hope it is a nice bus. A real cruiser with a mural on the side and wire rim hub caps made from the grills of former rappers. I hope it is polished and gleaming. It would be cool if it were Willie Nelson’s biodiesel fueled touring bus run on used cooking oil. As it ran you down you would get a whiff of weed smoke and French fries…
Dating Questionaire
In light of my recent dating experiences I have devised a comprehensive dating questionaire to be filled out by each prospective date. The test and directions are below:
Each candidate should study the questionaire extensively before answering. Please circle each correct answer using a #2 pencil. Test scores will be sent via USPS overnight express mail within two weeks. You will have thirty minutes to complete the test. Good Luck.
1. Are you crazy?
A. Yes
B. No
Thank-you for taking my prospective dating questionaire.
Each candidate should study the questionaire extensively before answering. Please circle each correct answer using a #2 pencil. Test scores will be sent via USPS overnight express mail within two weeks. You will have thirty minutes to complete the test. Good Luck.
1. Are you crazy?
A. Yes
B. No
Thank-you for taking my prospective dating questionaire.
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