I used to think of trainers as an athletic type of samurai; Rogue souls, thoroughly trained and well-educated in their trade, who wandered the fitness landscape, helping those less fortunate than themselves for modest profit, but ultimately serving no master with authority greater than their own.

But over the years, as I’ve become better acquainted with the craft and achieved my own level of mastery, this illusion has all but vanished. Too often, my command of the Fitness Arts exceeds much of the litany of those masquerading as trainers.

I fear the art of Fitness & Strength Training is suffering. The true Masters are fewer and further between. As the onus on personal health and the role exercise plays in aiding it continues to grow, the numbers of people flocking to tender their services will also continue to swell. Just like any other profession, some will operate with honor and genuinely assist those who seek their guidance, while others harbor shady or nescient intentions, simply hoping to turn a quick buck.

Something needs to change. If the profession is allowed to progress at its present course, we’ll have more Sith Lords than we will Jedi Knights. Not only do potential trainers need to better educate themselves, but they also need to learn to act the part. It’s a package deal and one that could go miles in restoring a bit of luster to a dulling vocation.

This is why I’m setting forth a simple code for budding trainers, one that could help a new generation uphold the traditions of the profession and build a stronger clientele.

I call this code The Way of the Barbell.

Precept #1: Be an Ambassador, not an AmbASSador.

This is paramount above all else and encompasses all other subsequent edicts. Remember when your elementary school class would go on field trip and your teacher would warn you to be on your best behavior because “you’re representing the whole school” with your actions? Training at a gym is just like that but without the accidental wetting of your pants.

To many gym patrons, albeit mostly the lesser experienced, a trainer is a figure of authority (regardless of whether you actually have any) and a diplomat for Fitnessland (or Fitlandia, I haven’t quite decided). It’s imperative that you treat other gym patrons and the gym itself with the proper respect. One poor decision or horrible faux pas and a client could chose to permanently end diplomatic relations with Buffmerica (no, I don’t like that one at all).

Precept #2: Lead by example.

People (usually those paying you, although there will always be cheapskates looking for free advice) will look to you to guide them through the jungle that is the gym. Many of them will be bereft of any experience, so they will mimic your actions as acceptable gym decorum. Therefore, any bad habits you regularly display will be passed along, like a genetic disorder, only to show up later (think cystic fibrosis, sickle cell anemia or left-handedness).

So, it’s up to you to snuff out boorish behavior before it begins. This means:

• No Horseplay. (Save it for the pool) Don’t run in the gym. Don’t play ‘tag’ or other homoerotic games with your lifting buddies. Don’t jump over equipment. I can’t tell you badly I want to drop a 90-lbs. dumbbell on the foot of this trainer who regularly hurdles himself over the weight rack at my gym, as if he’s saving precious seconds by avoiding the seven-foot walk around them.
• The rules apply to everyone, including you. If the posted gym rules declare you can’t bring that smoothie from next door into the free weight area, then don’t. You’re not exempt (unlike real ambassadors who enjoy diplomatic immunity). While there may be other perks that come with the job (like sleeping with your clients), you’re not Steven Segal and you’re not ‘Above The Law’ (or currently blaming the FBI for the end of your career).
• Rise above the pettiness. Many of your clients may be older ladies. Older ladies like to gossip. And while interacting amicably with your client is advised and certainly good for business, participating in said gossip is not. It looks unprofessional when you’re on the floor of the gym, talking shit about somebody else. Plus, your client shouldn’t have that much oxygen to devote to running their mouth anyhow. Do what everybody else does and wait until you’re in private (and maybe have had a few drinks) to badmouth your friends, family and co-workers. It’s probably not a bad idea to avoid making sweeping generalizations about old ladies, either.
• Do as you say and say as you do. You know the saying that dictates that you need to love yourself before you can love anybody else? Same theory applies here; get yourself fit before you try to whip somebody else into shape. It’s really hard to take fitness advice from a trainer who looks like the Pillsbury Doughboy.

Precept #3: Use the Big Muscle.

It’s not just about pushing heavy weight anymore. Fitness training has expanded over the years, with many areas of concentration, like plyometrics, having developed their own specific followings. In order to get the best results for their clients, trainers now incorporate the aspects of exercises from various disciplines into their sessions.

You would do well to learn as much as you can about everything. Become a know-it-all (without acting like one). Just look what it did for Ken Jennings (intelligence-wise, obviously the guy is a toothpick). I know that after you passed your certification test, you thought the days of ‘reading’ and ‘books’ were behind you, but they’re not. You need to keep learning, growing and strengthening your greatest muscle — your brain (no, not the Kegel muscles).

That said, you should have an area of expertise. General knowledge is important, but you really make your bones by being the best in a certain field. That’s why utility infielders sit the bench while the top earners are the All-Stars positional players. Unless you’re a pitcher, because then it’s advantageous to be well-versed and be able to throw different pitches. Or maybe not, if your velocity isn’t there. And what about ‘five-tool field players’? This is where the analogy kind of falls apart. But, you see, if I was an expert at analogies, it wouldn’t and I’d be getting paid big-time and my readers would reap the benefits.

So, try and find an area in which you can specialize, like a doctor (A more fitting example. If I only knew how to use the ‘backspace’ button…). Maybe you could become the trainer who exclusively uses those oversized exercise balls that were all the rage for two minutes a few years ago. Most of your exercises, while all utilizing different muscle groups and having wide-ranging effects, could all be based around the oversized exercise balls.

You’d become known as ‘The Trainer with the Balls’. (or maybe ‘The Ball Trainer’ or ‘The Ball Whisperer’?) Your reputation would grow and eventually you’ll have a full roster of clients and potential clients, all clamoring to break a sweat on your balls. You might even write a how-to fitness book and name it ‘My Ball Workout’. Obviously, the real money is in TV and DVD sales, so you’d come out with your own series — ‘Busting Balls’.

See how beneficial specialization can be?

–

Success is there for the taking. Just like working out, you have to want it and be willing to put in the effort. But, if you’re willing to follow the Code and apply yourself, you too could become a true Master of the Fitness Arts.

(Master of the Balls?)

I’m speaking, of course, about the gym.

By its very nature, real estate (i.e. space) within in a gym is highly valuable. The bigger a gym, the more machines an owner can install and the more members they can service. With hundreds of thousands of pounds in bulky machines, equipment and weights needing a home, you rarely see a gym with unutilized space. No matter what the square footage, open areas, like those often used for stretching, core work or free weights, are like the rain forest — rare and rapidly shrinking in size. Why leave a space needlessly unoccupied when you can fit another treadmill or a roman chair there?

Every gym has those ‘neighborhoods’ (like the Hip Abductor machine) that aren’t as popular as other hot spots (like the Olympic Flat Bench). Luckily for gym patrons, we pay a set monthly fee and are not charged by the areas we choose to inhabit. Otherwise, gentrification could make the Leg Curl or the Hack Squat machines much more fashionable and affordable choices for those priced out of the ever-popular Adjustable Benches or Smith Machines.

While we make not pay in dollars, for many of us, time is indeed money and not a resource with which we can afford to be reckless. In your youth, you may have been able to afford waiting around for an open bench for ten minutes, but nowadays, time is tight and you need to get your “money’s worth”.

If the gym were your city, the fitness real estate market might look something like this…

The Ghetto: Nobody wants to be here, but it exists because not everybody can be on the always-in-demand Flat Bench all the time. Sometimes your workout dictates that you have to stop by because you no other machine offers the same exercise. Otherwise, this equipment would have been gone a long time ago and replaced with something sexier.

Nobody lingers here. If they have business in this neighborhood, they get in, get out and move on to more comfortable surroundings.

Examples: The Assisted Chin-Up/Dip machine, any of the Hip Machines.

Just Over the Wrong Side of the Tracks: These are usually under-utilized and that’s a shame. A few people swear by these machines and use them regularly, but the masses haven’t quite caught on. But, all it takes is one high-profile news story on the wonderful benefits of these exercises and their popularity will explode. You used to never have to wait to get on this machine, but soon thereafter, everybody and their mother will be waiting to get on.

This is a lot like those artistic/New Bohemian neighborhoods in the shadow of your downtown that used to be strictly mills and industry, but now boasts converted lofts and a growing young demographic. There are some bargains to be had here, but it’s about five years away from being the newest expensive and hip place to live in your city.

Examples: The Decline Bench, the Rower machine, any piece of calf-specific equipment.

Midtown: Neither new or in-demand like other pieces, these middle-of-the-roaders are a staple in everybody’s routines. They get used a great deal, but you usually don’t have to wait long. Just as often, when you need them, they’re vacant.

Decades ago, this was considered the suburbs. Now, they’re not as sexy or in vogue, but offer quality neighborhoods at affordable prices. It’s home to many middle-class families and young single professionals.

Examples: The Pull-Down Lat, the Back Extension, the Preacher Curl.

The Suburbs: A favorite of everybody. Because of demand, there usually are more than one of these in any given gym. It can be challenging to find an opening when you want it, as one of their biggest positives, versatility, can also serve as a negative. Their popularity seems to be growing and growing, therefore making an empty one increasingly more valuable.

Developers know that if they build it, they can sell it. Most everybody wants this kind of quality & reliability and most everybody is willing to pay for it. Business is good and shows no signs of abating. It doesn’t seem as if you could go wrong in providing more of these. But, eventually, somewhere down the road, the market will reach saturation and some of these will sit unused.

Examples: the Smith Machine, the Cable Crossover, the Power Rack.

Uptown: People fight tooth and nail for these because they will always be in the highest of demand. Instead of finding a comparable exercise, these are the machines that people will actually wait on for considerable amounts of time, especially during the most crowded of hours. You have to use this machine or your whole work-out will be incomplete or otherwise feel useless.

People do not easily relinquish ownership of these machines. Many gyms put a 30-minute time limit on their cardio equipment because patrons would otherwise occupy them for much longer. But, motivated by greed, not even this is enough to make some people share. The free weight area can be just as cut-throat. Open space is at such a premium, that should you move fifteen feet to rerack your dumbells, you may return to find that space already stolen by another patron.

This is beach front property. This is the penthouse in the newest high-rise. This is a villa in Tuscany. If you can afford it, you snatch it up, no matter what the cost. Then, you hold onto it for dear life and lord it over everybody else who isn’t as fortunate as you. Like other forms of wealth, it’s popular to pass it along to those dearest to you one you’re done.

Examples: The Free Weight area, Olympic Flat Bench, the Treadmills/Ellipticals.

Sound like your gym? Remember, this is summer – a traditionally quiet time of the year. Best enjoy your cheap real estate while you can. Imagine what the ‘market’ will be like come January with all the New Year’s Resolutions traffic.

Oh, those are your jerseys. My bad.

Anyhow, that was a solid first half. Great effort out there. Well, maybe not great, but definitely good. We were unlucky not to score, but we’ve kept them in check and we’re by far the stronger team.

Jacob, you’re getting sucked up the field a bit too far, so watch it. I want you to sit deeper in the midfield. Just like Claude Makelele. Did you watch those tapes I lent you or not?

Joshua, they have no answer for your speed, so fucking use it already. That pudgy little girl they have playing center back practically had a coronary trying to keep up with you. Go ahead, finish the job and put Fatty in a body bag.

And, Cody, I swear to God, if you stab at that ball one more time and let the winger get past you, I’m going strangle you with that ridiculous-looking headband. And don’t sit on my ball, you’ll make it lopsided.

Otherwise, we’re looking dangerous. Let’s just stick to the script, keep up the chatter and maintain possession. And don’t be afraid to shoot. The goals will come.

But before we get back out there, there’s something else I need to address.

As you may or may not know, I’ve been sorting through some heavy issues lately and as part of my court-ordered recovery, I’ve been enrolled in this 12-step program. Now, while some of the steps are kind of bullshit, I’m doing my best to stick with them and they’ve actually begun to yield results.

Austin, stop dicking around and listen. Maybe you’ll learn something and won’t look like such a fucking retard out there.

Where was I? Oh yeah, the steps. Anyhow, I’ve reached Steps 8 and 9, which basically say I’ve got to figure out who I may have hurt in the past and apologize for whatever it was that I did. So, even though most of you probably lack the cognitive ability to grasp this concept, as highlighted by your struggles to run a simple offsides trap, I’m going to give it a go.

Brandon, I want to start by apologizing for calling you ‘Brandi’ all year. I probably shouldn’t expect you to slide-tackle like a professional in your first season, but watching you stick out that little pale leg like you’re dipping a toe in the pool just irritates the living shit out of me. But, had I known the whole team would latch onto the girly moniker, and then all the kids at your school would too, I’d never had said anything.

But, seriously, try tackling like a man.

Zach and Matthew, let me kill two birds here with one stone. Actually, this sort of goes for all of you, but you two specifically. I really got into this coaching gig for the wrong reasons. Instead of wanting to cultivate your interest in this game, pass on all my years of knowledge and generally help y’all have fun and enjoy yourselves, I’ve instead used my position to nail available women. Namely, your mothers.

And older sisters.

And aunts.

And in Joshua’s case, a grandmother.

Tyler, the same goes for you, but take this $20 bill. When your Mom isn’t watching, slip it into her purse. Trust me, she has it coming. And that game you missed at the beginning of the season, when you were inexplicably grounded, was sort of my fault. I don’t want to get into all the sordid details, but I tried to talk your Mom out of it, but as you know, there’s no reasoning with that woman.

Chris, I’m quite remorseful for some of the rather rude and hateful things I’ve said about you behind your back. Technically, I’m not supposed make amends if it would further injure the person, so I won’t repeat the words that were used. Just remember that it’s okay to be who you are, no matter what anybody says. All I’m saying is that you should feel free to like who you like. This day and age, we should all be more open minded. I’m certainly going to try and do my part.

Oh, by the way, how’s your father’s nose? Can’t be all that bad, considering I saved him a few bucks on the deviated septum surgery. Give him my best, though. 

Cody, I was wrong to shave your head last month. If you wanted to grow a fucking rat tail, and your absentee parents were alright with it, it’s not my place to say you can’t. I really had no right to force the shears on you. Granted, you no longer look like an extra from ‘My Name is Earl’, but you should feel free to grow one for next season. I will say, however, that a Mohawk would be a much better choice. A Mohawk equals ’awesome’. A rat tail equals ‘dirty scumbag’.

But, the open hair policy goes for everybody. Wear it however you want. Show up with a fucking Jheri curl. See if I care.

Mike, I should not have announced that you were adopted in front of everybody that night at Pizza Hut. I was unaware that you didn’t even know, and breaking the news was probably something better handled by your parents. Not your real parents, you’ll probably never meet them – they’re either dead or want nothing to do with you. I’m talking about the ones you live with now.

James, I’ve spoken with the police and your parents and cleared up that shoplifting ‘misunderstanding’. Just to be clear, from now on, you’re only supposed to follow my directions on the soccer field and nowhere else. Once you leave the game or practice, you don’t have to, nor should you, do me any ‘favors’ regardless of what I promises of playing time I make. It’s called ‘duress’, by the way. You may want to remember that, it’s not a bad SAT word.

Austin, I sincerely regret having… wait, is that my wallet? Are those my car keys? Give me those back, dumbass. What the fuck are you doing? You know what? I’m not apologizing to you for anything, you little douchebag. You’re just lucky you’re still on the team.

Oh, there’s the whistle. Okay, we’ll start how we came off. You guys can do this! Let’s twat these fuckers!

Now, huddle up and give me a “kill, kill, kill” on three!

DUTIES AND RESPONSIBILITIES: Creates cohesive unit, jovial atmosphere, sense of protection. Will have to thoroughly learn Sven’s likes and dislikes and cater to them. Produces high quality coffee, meals or snacks when needed. Coordinates with friends, family and girlfriend in developing intricate plans for the days, nights and weekends. Performs house cleaning/maintenance functions as required. Walks, feeds, grooms the dog. Responsible for the general welfare (physical and mental) of Sven. Maintains a positive work atmosphere by behaving and communicating in a manner that works well with Sven, other posse members, family, friends and the occasional stranger(s). This job description is not intended to be all-inclusive, and employee may also perform other reasonable related duties as assigned by Sven.All resumes and cover letters should be directed to beingsven@gmail.com

PLEASE BE AWARE THAT THERE IS NO RELOCATION ASSISTANCE OFFERED WITH THIS POSITION. Sven is proud to be an equal opportunity employer. M/F/D/V
]]> http://mymanifesto.wordpress.com/2007/06/01/now-hiring-posse-members/feed/ 1 sven http://mymanifesto.wordpress.com/2007/05/30/an-open-letter-to-the-family-dog/ http://mymanifesto.wordpress.com/2007/05/30/an-open-letter-to-the-family-dog/#comments Wed, 30 May 2007 15:21:40 +0000 beingsven http://mymanifesto.wordpress.com/2007/05/30/an-open-letter-to-the-family-dog/ ]]> Dear Fluffy the ‘Family’ Dog:

I’m writing you this letter in hopes that we might work through the stalemate which has arisen from our recent problems. 

For the better part of the week, you have completely ignored me. While you’ve always been stand-off-ish towards me, it’s as if you’ve now cut me off completely. I know that you know that I’m here, because you tipped your hand when you ran over to the food bowl seconds after I put it on the ground. Otherwise, I’ve become persona non grata.That means ‘unwelcome person’ in Latin. Chances are, you don’t speak/read any foreign languages. But, I wouldn’t know whether that’s true or not since you refuse to let me get closer to you.

When I sit down on the couch, you move away. When I call you to come, you ignore me. When I try to snuggle or pet you, you bare your teeth. And when I tell you that you can’t have any of my food, you sink your teeth into my ankle instead. Do you realize just how sensitive an Achilles heel is?

I understand you may be more independent that other dogs. I was willing to grant you your space and enjoy whatever little scraps of love you ever chose to throw my way. (Unlike the rather sizable scraps I gently offer to you each and every day) But, alas, I can no longer let this pass after you so kindly left your giant (and impressively pungent) ‘calling card’ on my pillow earlier this week.

Oh, I’m sorry, make that TWICE this week.

I find this behavior very odd, because I know for a fact that you’ve been house-trained for five years (I trained you myself!). I might expect this sort of petty behavior from that useless cat, but not from you. Why have you chosen to single me out? I have certainly shown you no ill will.

In fact, out of everybody in the household, who does the most for you? Hint: It’s me! I’m the one who feeds you every meal. I’m the one who shreds up and mixes in chicken (which I cooked) to augment your boring dry food. I’m the one who constantly refreshes and tops of your water bowl. I’m the one who walks and cleans up after you multiple times a day. I’m the one who shields you from over-active children in hopes of avoiding another ‘incident’. I’m the one who plays the apologist after you sucker somebody in with your wagging tail, only to unleash Hell’s fury once they’ve bought into the “Oh, I’m so cute” routine.

What have I done to deserve your scorn? It is because I wanted to rename you ‘Schlaargen’? Okay, I understand you’re not pysched about answering to some random Swedish nonsense word I made up. I’m more than willing to put that one on the shelf for the time being and see if we can’t come up with something more appropriate. I’m open to any input you have on the topic. But, no, keeping the same name you’ve have for six years isn’t an option. We need to shake things up. Change is good.

You’re not pissed because of all the Michael Vick/dog fighting jokes, are you? Seriously, those were just jokes. I was kidding around. I don’t even know Michael Vick, and I’m certainly not going to drive to Atlanta or the backwoods of Virginia to drop you off. Plus, he probably wouldn’t even take you anyhow. Relax.

The same goes with the whole eBay thing. I’m not going to auction you off. You can’t even sell living things on there. Trust me, I’ve researched it. Not to say there aren’t plenty of other internet-related options. But, your value isn’t what it should be because of those devil horns that are still stuck to your head. You’d think that after 8 months, the glue would have weakened. My bad. Had I known you wouldn’t win the costume contest, I probably wouldn’t have made such a poor decision. Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll come off soon enough. But, in the meantime, I think keeping the purple Mohawk offsets the horns nicely.

Now, I’m willing to make some concessions to get the ball rolling towards building a better relationship.

1. When we’re in the car and you’re happily hanging your head out the window, I pledge not to slam on the brakes and laugh hysterically after you’ve been thrown under the glove compartment. I can understand that you may not find that as funny as I do.
2. Staying with the premise that you don’t appreciate my humor, no more ‘oil checks’.
3. I’ll put an end to the sleep deprivation experiments.
4. You should be allowed to roam free in the house, not trapped under a laundry basket turned upside-down.

In return, all I ask is that you stop biting me while I sleep. It’s quite one thing to be woken up in the middle of the night with extreme pain, but to have to spend another 15 minutes treating the bloody wound just aggravates the situation.

The ball is in your court.

Oh, and speaking of balls, I’m sorry about that too. We probably should have had a licensed vet do the operation.

“Men make history, and not the other way around. In periods where there is no leadership, society stands still. Progress occurs when courageous, skillful leaders seize the opportunity to change things for the better.” — Harry Truman

Harry would know, wouldn’t he? After all, he dropped the big one.

Twice.

(Yes, ‘Fletch’ was on TV today)

In a bid to do my part for this world, to try and emulate the deeds of exceptional heroes from days long past, in order to build society back up after years of tearing it down (i.e. talking shit about it), I’ve embarked on a quest to redeem myself by undertaking a task of herculean proportions.

I’m going to solve the world’s problems.

After all, I’ve got some spare time on my hands and daytime television leaves a great deal to be desired.

Since there is no time like the present, let’s roll up, er, my sleeves and get my hands dirty. Hands, which I’ll later wash thoroughly with anti-bacterial soap, rendering them clean once again. Problem #1 solved! You see how easy this is? Let’s keep it going…

Problem: Homelessness. Although the exact numbers are impossible to tally, it is estimated that on any given night there are nearly 700,000 homeless Americans. Amongst those who desperately need shelter are tens of thousands of families struggling to survive life on the streets.

Problem: My aging parents. The Baby Boomer generation is aging rapidly (well, not any faster than anybody else, but…) and along with their Elderlyness comes a colossal strain on America’s healthcare system and economy, raising questions about the nation’s capability to properly provide the required care to such a gargantuan segment of the populace.

Solution: We’ll start with two birds and one stone; Each and every qualified Elderly homeowner gets themselves a homeless border. In exchange for a roof over their head, provided by Granny, the former street-dwellers will care for and aid their new roommates. Elderly who require greater assistance will be assigned a whole homeless family.

Sadly, some of the Elderly and homeless will have mental illnesses. To match a saner one with a crazier one would either result in a lack of adequate healthcare or proper shelter and would generally be unfair to both parties. So, in order to avoid such cases, peoples with roughly the same level of lucidness/insanity will be paired together. Either that, or if there end up being too many homeless and not enough Elderly, we’ll double up on the number of borders and the sane(r) ones can help keep the mentally ill in check.

This should work out splendidly for everybody; The homeless receive shelter and learn new job skills, Granny has somebody to administer her insulin shots and pick her up when she falls down the steps. Obviously, there will be tax breaks for everybody involved.

It may also be possible to include the local pounds and SPCA’s in on this (make it a threesome) as studies suggest that pet owners live longer.

 Problem: Gasoline prices. They continue to escalate as America’s dependence on foreign oil runs as deep as ever. Truly viable alternative energies have yet to be implemented as American wallets and checkbooks feel the pinch on already tight budgets. Plus, let’s not forget the punishing impact of all the car exhaust on our environment. The numbers of automobiles on the road each day is staggering, creating both an incredible amount of traffic, pollution and an obvious demand for gas.

Solution: Like your parents (or government) may have previously told you, driver’s licenses are a privilege, not a right. It’s time to start revoking/denying this privilege to those that don’t deserve it.

Firstly, there will be a basic IQ test and some simple logic puzzles to go along with your initial driver’s tests. It will be the same with renewals; In addition to the sign recognition tests, you’ll have to demonstrate a median level of common sense. People who fail these tests will not be allowed to drive. This will also serve as a penalty to people who repeatedly fail to display sound judgement.

Since the numbers of singularly occupied vehicles will be significantly slashed, this should also cut down on the number of accidents occurring and will save even more money for both the state and the public. Obviously, there will be a large group of (dumber than average) citizens who need to find themselves a new way to get to and from their places of employment. Ladies and Gentlemen, look no further than you local bus stop. This should solve the lack of ridership problem a lot of cities have with their mass transit systems.

Don’t want to take the bus, shuttle or train to work? Tough shit. Ride a bike or walk your fat ass there. Just think of all the health benefits from this new daily exercise! Yet another added bonus solution!

 Problem: Steroids. They are rampant in professional sports, completely ruining the enjoyment for millions of fans and tainting the records we all hold ever so sacred. Confused enthusiasts don’t know who’s bending the rules honorably and who’s just flat out cheating. Our children idolize and strive to emulate genetic freaks/fakes.

Solution: Steroids are legalized in all professional sports. In fact, they are made mandatory. Each and every pro athlete is required to take them, therefore leveling (that segment of) the playing field. No asterisks will have to be affixed to the record books, thus saving thousands of dollars in printing costs. Honesty and dignity will return to all sporting endeavors and athletes will once again be able to hold their heads high.

Sure, the ramifications of their health will be greatly negative over the long term, but this is a risk each professional athlete must assume should they choose to embark upon this career path. Just like coal miners.

As an added bonus, more children will stay in school and elect to receive an education because they will realize that should they pursue the glorious life of a football or baseball player, they could be dead from steroid-induced testicular cancer at age 36, years before they have a chance to blow their millions of dollars on oversized homes, women of questionable morals and ridiculous investment choices.

 Problem: War. Throughout the history of mankind, senseless bloodshed around the globe has been centered around simple cultural differences (often religious in nature) between two sects of people. Take for instance(s), the Israeli-Palestinian conflict or the Iraqi civil war currently raging between the Sunnis and the Shiites. How many lives have been lost to meaningless war which could have been prevented had the proper lines of communication been open?

Solution: Multi-lateral talks are often tough, if not impossible, to manage. Progress is impeded by emotion and negotiations break down quickly. Instead of bringing two parties together, the United States will facilitate peace by secretly ushering good will between the two peoples involved. Simply put, we’ll say good things about Party #1 and accredit it to Party #2 and vice versa.

Say we’re talking with the our friend, Israel. We might nonchalantly remark on just how efficient their military is by saying, “Wow, the Palestinians were really right about your military. It truly is remarkable!”

And they’ll reply by saying, “Oh, what did they say?”

And we’ll say, “I seem to remember their exact words were ‘Man, that Israeli Defense Force is probably the best on Earth. That’s a well-trained army. And attractive too! I don’t think they get enough credit for what they do.”

And they’ll say, “Really?” and thoughtfully stare out the window as their collective heart thaws just a bit.

Repeat that tactic a few more times on both sides, then arrange a ‘chance’ meeting where all three of us end up getting drunk and having a grand ole time singing karaoke, and it’ll be world peace in no time.

 Problem: Poverty. All over the planet, it increases every day, creating two worlds – one of ‘haves’ and one of ‘have nots’. Nowhere is this more evident than the continent of Africa. Developing countries with precious little natural resources are rife with warfare, strife, disease and hunger. It’s citizens are hard pressed to survive, let alone build a better life.

Solution: While it may not buy happiness, money can buy plenty of other things essential for living, like food, water and healthcare. The majority of Africans do not have a great deal of money. The fix here is simple. We’re going to give them money.

But, isn’t this the sort of thing the World Bank is supposed to do. Surely, but they’ve been going about it the wrong way. We’re not going to give them American dollars or British pounds. We’re going to revamp their economies, so that even the poorest, most barren land in all of Africa will get a fair shake. We’re going to redevelop their currency.

Instead of using paper money or precious metals as currency, the new official currency of (picking a country at random for example) Burundi is no longer the Franc, but the ‘Dirt’. I’m talking actual dirt. The earth these people walk and sleep on every day is now the official currency. Nations which previously possessed very little in the ways of valuable commodities now have new-found wealth. Though, in cases where warranted, sand could be substituted for dirt. Or it could be the coinage to dirt’s paper.

Regardless, the dirt poor are now dirt rich!

Need a gallon of milk? Or maybe batteries for that new Walkman you bought with that anthill? Better remember to scoop up two handfuls of that dusty red terra firma somewhere along the way of your 11-mile walk to the corner store!

Problem: Illegal immigration. Thousands of Mexicans and various Latin American citizens continue to pour over the American border in search of work. An uproar has gone up all over the United States as these undocumented, unskilled workers are reported to be stealing dishwashing and landscaping jobs from hard-working but unemployed Americans. The argument continues that they are a strain on our economy, taking advantage of public schools and our healthcare system while taxpayers foot the bill and American dollars are sent back to their homes over the border.

Solution: The reason illegal aliens continue to flood into the U.S. in droves is because they are in search of work. They seek a job with which they can support their families, just like every American. So, in an effort to stop the bleeding borders, we’ll ship U.S. jobs back over the border to the places where these people are coming from. Not only will those foreign workers stay at home because they’ve got a sexy American job at the new automobile factory, but U.S. companies will be able to save money by paying slightly lesser wages than they would in the U.S.

What? We’ve already tried that? It did what?

Well… How about a giant fence?

Oh? Really?

*rubbing my beard thoughtfully*

Well, that’s enough for today anyhow. Get to work implementing the other solutions and let me know how they work.

And about that Nobel Peace Prize, there’s a cash prize with that, right?

Re: Nigerian Bank Help

Good doctor, let me open this correspondence by expressing my deepest regret and concern for what is happening in your country. No doubt, you are currently experiencing hardships of the which the like I have never had to endure. I can’t say I’m totally familiar with your plight, but I do watch ‘Lost’ and one episode (with the mysterious Mr. Eko) dealt almost entirely with your great homeland. It looks quite dangerous at times, with all the warlords and drugs and what not. It’s quite obvious why you can’t trust your own banks and need the help of an American.

Secondly, I must admit how honored I am that you would extent your plea for help to me. I like to think through my court-ordered community service, I actually did something to better the world we live in; whether it be my time at the soup kitchen, picking up trash on the side of a highway, or helping exchange dirty needles for clean ones at the Free Clinic. I can only assume you’ve heard of my philanthropic efforts through one of those channels, perhaps from extended family of somebody I helped or worked with.

I am a bit shocked, though, that despite my caring for the human race that you would choose to ask me for help. Not because I’m unwilling or unable, but I don’t have much of a background in financial matters. Yes, it’s true I do have both a checking and a savings account, but I didn’t major in finance or business or anything related to either in school. In fact, I was an Art History major! That said, I am rather handy with a calculator and my checkbook is almost always balanced correctly!

I can only wonder if you would be better served by somebody who is bettered educated in the ways of the financial world. You see, here in America, there are a plethora of individuals who work with money each and everday. There have to be literally hundreds, nay, thousands of people who work with cash, the stock market, or international monetary exchange rates on a daily basis.

Take my friend, Clint, for instance. He’s a teller at the State Employee Credit Union. Actually, he’s a teller trainee until he passes the drug test, but I think it’s safe to say he’s a shoe-in. Perhaps you’d like his e-mail address?

What I’m driving at, Dr. Waziri, is that although I’m willing to help you and your great country avoid finanical collapse, I just want to warn you that I am NOT a professional money manager. Just a disclaimer, so you know.

Now, considering the rather substantial amount of money you mentioned in your initial letter, I want to put your mind at ease and assure you that you can trust me explicitly. Some people might be tempted to try and skim a little off the top once the $20 million was safely deposited into their account, but not me! No sir, I am as honest as they come. I can also pledge to you that mum is the word. Or, as we say here in America, we’ll ‘keep it on the down low’.

Obviously, if we were to tell people about your millions of dollars, some shady and undesirable figures might hear about it and come sniffing around. I think handling this matter with the utmost degree of discretion is in everybody’s best interests.

Next, you didn’t mention this in your letter, but I’m wondering what your family will do once you flee Nigeria? Do you have a place to stay? How about transportation? Do you have work lined up?

I am more than happy to put you up in my spare bedroom while you search for gainful employment, maybe at one of our local hospitals. You would have to share a bathroom with my mother, but she tends to keep to herself and is very tidy. I also have a futon and two sleeping bags should you decide to bring your family along.

Do you have any young children? Not that there should be any problem between them and my snake collection, but we’d have to lay out some basic ground rules for them. Then again, you probably have a lot of snakes in Nigeria, so maybe you can teach me a thing of two!

I’m not sure if you need this sort of help (in addition to the money), but I thought I’d offer. Please consider it.

I think we’ve covered all the bases. I’ve included my full bank account information at the bottom of this text. You now have my address, phone number, date of birth, and social security number. Should somebody from the bank give you any trouble with the transfer of the money, you should have all the information you possibly could need. Hopefully the the transaction will be a smooth one.

I look forward to hearing from you, Doctor, and learning more about your wonderful war-torn nation.

Best Regards,

Slappy McJackass

“OH SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO LAST NIGHT?”

A perfectly fine morning is quickly soured as a shot of adrenaline courses through your veins as you struggle to piece together the jigsaw puzzle that was ‘Last Night’.

Oh yes, Last Night. You might have had a litte too much to drink last night.

Whether you were gin-soaked, beer-stained or whiskey-fueled, the train that is your life went off the tracks somewhere around 1am.

It’s a horrifying feeling; your heart detatches itself and plummets straight into the acidic remains of your stomach. The reality of your actions dive-bombs you like a blood-starved buzzard. Your brain, now sporting a few million less brain cells, races to recreate the scene, taking inventory of your actions (at least the ones you can remember), what damage was done and who was witness to the debacle.

“How can I play this off?”

“Is it as bad as I think it is?”

“Just how screwed am I?”

“Do I still have friends?”

“Do I still have a job?”

and finally, that one universal thought…

“FUCK!”

Sounds familiar?

Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the time-honored tradition that is The Drinker’s Remorse. If you tipple, you eventually must pay the piper. Some of us may be more familiar with it than others. Some may fall victim on a regular basis, whilst others have learned their lessons (and limits) over the years. But, everybody has had at least one perfectly good hangover ruined by the simple act of remembering, or as it may, not being able to remember.

Part of the ‘fun’ with disasters like these are that they manifest themselves in a variety of ways, like waves crashing on a beach. Sometimes it all comes back in well-timed sets, other times it’s a tsunami that appears from nowhere. Sometimes what looks like a monster turns out to be a pussycat, whereas what might have been an easy ride ends up closing out on you, burying you into a bed of rocks and leaving permanent scars.

The Drinker’s Remorse is funny like that. And, to paraphrase Sir Charles Barkley, “by funny, I mean stupid.” It comes in many wicked variations and assumes various aberrations. Quite frankly, she’s a sneaky knife-wielding bitch who’ll cut you and not think twice about it before lifting your wallet on her way out the door.

You’re all familiar with the garden variety. You rise from an alcohol-induced hibernation and within a few minutes, last night’s transgressions come flooding back along with a certain emotion known as panic. You take a few minutes to sort it out and eventually zero in on the damage and its repercussions.

Quite often, the gaffe involves talking shit about somebody, but just as often it proves to be an embarrassing admission brought on by nature’s most popular truth serum.

“Dude, you know I’m not gay, but I really wish I had your butt. Seriously, you’ve got a great ass. Do you do a lot of squats? Maybe I’m not doing enough. What’s your butt routine?”

“I wet the bed until I was in the 10th grade.”

“I know she’s my cousin, but I think she’s hot. I mean, look at her!”

Then, it’s time for the unenviable task of putting the genie back in the bottle. (Obviously an empty bottle judging by the way you drank last night) If you’re lucky, the worst injustices you will suffer is a mild sprain to your ego, some serious humiliation and maybe a tongue-lashing or two after your apologies and admissions of guilt.

Hopefully, after it’s all said and done, you’re free to properly tend to your hangover and plot your next night of debauchery. Rinse and repeat.

The proliferation of cell phones and PDAs have only aided in the feeding of this monster. Phone calls, both from the night of and the day after, are a crucial component in The Drinker’s Remorse. Cruelly, they can both the cause of and the cure to your late-night follies.

Unfortunately for you, 96% of the time, it’s the cause.

There are those mornings when you wake up feeling fine. Last night may have gotten a bit crazy, but you had a fantastic time. Or, at least you thought so, until you check your cell.

There, like a snake lying in the tall grss, are a couple of voicemails waiting to inflict pain upon you.

Maybe the first is from your better half, who is conspicuously absent from your bed, and by the tone of his/her voice, is none too pleased.

“What the fuck were you thinking? I can’t believe you! I expect that kind of shit when you’re around your idiot buddies, but in front of my friends, co-workers and my parents?! I’m so fucking embarrassed! *pause* Call me when you get this. We need to talk.”

That spirit-raising gem is immediately followed by another, this from a friend calling to lend his ‘support’.

“Dude, nice going last night! I’ve never seen anything quite like that before. I hope you don’t have any scars. *laugh* You’re an idiot. What the fuck were you thinking? Call me after the missus finishes ripping you a new one. *laugh* Dumbass!”

‘What the fuck were you thinking’, indeed. You’d probably had felt much better if you hadn’t checked those damned messages.

Fucking technology. Maybe Ted Kaczynski was onto something after all. But, alas, you’ve heard the damage and now you’re knee-deep in the Reconstruction of your Life courtesy of the atomic (jager) bomb you detonated eleven hours ago.

If we’re talking about phones, we surely can’t forget its evil cousin — text messaging. God forbid there be actual evidence of your crime(s) in text form. Especially if you’re a ‘public employee’ – all your phone records are open to public scrutiny under the Freedom of Information Act.

Like brown is the new black, DrunkTexting is the 21st Century Drunk Dialing. Not that Drunk Dialing will ever fall out of vogue, but those of you who like to let your fingers do the walking after a few cocktails face yet another potential pitfall. (You poor bastards know who you are)

The redeeming value of this technology is that it offers you a quicker method of retracing last night’s steps. When relying on a memory ravaged by alcohol, the facts aren’t always so quickly forthcoming. But with the aid of your cell phone, you can immediately check the incoming and outgoing traffic during your period of extreme inebriation. Plus, lucky you, texting gives you a coward’s way of contacting people should your embarrassment get the best of you.

Unfortunately, things can get tricky. Mostly, because you made them that way. The parties involved can’t always be immediately contacted. All the relevant information isn’t easily recalled. Apologies aren’t always accepted. And, in the more serious scenarios, there may be warrants issued for your arrest.

Just like there are levels of drunkenness, there exist proportional levels of The Drinker’s Remorse…

Class A: As previously discussed, there are no despicable actions involved. You merely came down with a non-terminal case of verbal diarrhea. You immediately remember everything you with you never said, without any outside help.

Class B: Marginally worse than Class A. The next day, you vaguely recall telling your girlfriend that her dress didn’t make her look fat as much as it made her look like a man. But, the specifics are hazy and you need help figuring out which particular words were used and in what order.

Class C: You’ve not even out of bed and you know you’ve done something mind-bogglingly embarassing. You can remember a good chunk of the night, such as riding home on the roof of your friend’s car, and then the subsequent skinny dipping. Unfortunately, you only remember taking all those compromising pictures after your friends remind you with the actual proof.

Class D: The damage done by the drink is substantial. So much, that while you vaguely remember dropping your pants in the middle of that crowded Irish pub, you have absolutely no recollection of urinating on your “good-for-nothing piece-of-shit phone, but it doesn’t matter because I bought the insurance” in the middle of the street. Even a still-moist Nokia does nothing to stoke the memory.

Class E: While you can feel the severe dent you put in your cranium, you feel no shame because you recollect absolutely nothing. Even after your friends describe how you did a vigorous rendition of the “Dong Dance” in front of your high school friend Mary, you remember nothing. And, you certainly have absolutely no recollection of groping and making out with her in front of her older brother later that night. Sadly, the fact that you don’t remember doesn’t seem to comfort him one bit.

In this case, it may be time to google the phrase “Korsakoff’s syndrome”.

Remember kids, you can only say you’re sorry so many times before it loses all meaning.

Congratulations, you’re joining a gym.

But, before you slide into spandex, there are some things which you ought to know. The gym is a different world from the one in which you live. It possesses a unique subculture and its own set of etiquette that you’d be wise to heed. Just like you’d read a Fodor’s or learn a few phrases in the local language before jetting off to an exotic foreign locale, you need to properly prepare yourself for the environment you’re about to enter. Otherwise, your chances of survival may not be high.

Welcome to the jungle.

It’s important to point out that much like bars and nightclubs, there exist various types of gyms, each catering to a different and specific segment of the populace. College campus fitness centers are much different than your local YMCA, just as a women’s-only gym stands in stark contrast to Gold’s Gym.

In the same way you might pass off one nightspot as being lame or steer clear of another for fear of getting your teeth kicked in, you’d do well to execute the most basic level of research before you start frequenting any fitness spot. Otherwise, you’ll only have yourself to blame when, after a few weeks, you haven’t seen one toned girl clad in sexy boyshorts, but have met more than your fair share of uber-friendly, over-groomed dudes always eager with a spot.

Then again, you may have a penchant for group showers.

Just like any vacation, the natives/locals play a key role in your overall experience. They can be hospitable, helpful and add an extra dimension to your adventure. Or, they can be rude, spiteful and make the whole trip completely unbearable. So often, being aware of whom you might encounter and how to deal with them can be the deciding factor in which way the pendulum will swing. The same holds true at the gym. 

Though each gym may be distinctive unto itself, there do exist certain universal truths. No matter how many places you go, there are certain types of gym patrons which will pop up over and over again. There may be minor details that change with climate or geography, but the major points remain the same.

Some of the characters you can expect to come across in your Brave New World:

The Meathead

How to Identify: Well to over-developed muscles often showcased in tight and/or revealing athletic-specific clothing that has no place in the outside world. Some sub-species have been known to be outfitted in jean shorts and crudely altered t-shirts. Often carries a bag full of gym accessories with it, as well as an extra-large container of liquid (usually water). Prefers the free weight area, but considers the whole gym its domain. Often emits loud grunting sounds when lifting extreme weight. Not very agile, but quite dangerous. Usually of the male gender, but the rarer female variety does exist.

How to Interact: Be warned that The Meathead will view you as having trespassed onto its sacred territory. Caution is key. Eye contact should be kept to a minimum. Adopting a friendly but respectful attitude is highly advisable. Should there arise an issue over who has the right to use a machine, it is in your best interest to defer to The Meathead. Do not be fooled by their Neanderthal-like appearance; Not all are gruff or disagreeable. There are those who can string sentences together, and possess a thorough understanding of the sciences of nutrition and physiology. It is possible to mine their knowledge.

The Want-to-be Meathead

How to Identify: The younger, smaller cousin to The Meathead. Often seen sporting the same traditional Meathead clothing and accessories, but does not possess the same advanced muscular build. More often than not, it also doesn’t possess the same level of knowledge. They can often be found in the company of one or more Meatheads, in a subservient role. Desperately wants to be like its larger cousin, and for this reason, it can be dangerous. When not kept in check, a temper may be present to compensate for lack of muscle size and definition. The Want-to-be is often diagnosed with “Little Man’s Disease”.

How to Interact: Treat with respect and avoid any communication that could be construed as ‘mocking’. Eye contact is not forbidden, but could be problematic. Do not feel threatened, nor should you adopt an obsequious posture. This could falsely encourage the misbehavior of an undersized Want-to-be.

The Trainer

How to Identify: Often seen leading a gym-goer in exercise; encouraging, instructing or scolding its client. Often talks loud or excitedly. Uses phrases like, “Come on, give me 2 more!!”, “You can do it!”, or “Watch your form!”. The Trainer is quite a varied species. Can be found in both genders and all age ranges. Cannot be identified by appearance; some are in-shape and display excellent muscle definition, but just as many are fat and slovenly. Knowledge of physiology and nutrition is also just as diverse. Some are respectful of non-clients, others are completely oblivious to gym etiquette. Research shows that the only true distinguishing mark of an effective trainer is the results shown by its clients.

How to Interact: Unless you become a client, you should treat a Trainer like you would any other gym patron. Just because they may be wise in the ways of the gym (or simply pretend to), you should not be intimidated or kowtow to them. Many of the species will attempt to occupy as much territory as possible by marking different stations with clipboards, water bottles and other accessories. If they are using another station, feel free to use any open equipment, regardless of their paraphernalia. Until you become a client, the trainer should not be feared.

The Want-to-be Trainer

How to Identify: There exist two distinct sub-species: The Apprentice and the Know-It-All. The Apprentice can be found in the immediate company of a Trainer, following Trainer and Client around in hopes of gaining knowledge in its quest to evolve into a full-grown Trainer. This breed is as diverse as its elder cousin, often learning good or poor manners directly from its master. Is generally not dangerous, as it will not develop a full ego until achieving full Trainer certification.

The Know-It-All is different because of its lack of intent of becoming a Trainer. Some were previously Trainers, but have since devolved. This lot is generally a greater burden because it will approach you without warning, criticizing your form and/or offering unsolicited advice. Some of this advice may be poisonous, some may be helpful. To a beginner, though, there is no way to discern between the two.

How to Interact: The Apprentice is probably more scared of you than you are of it. Do not fear it. Infact, it should be treated as a non-entity. Dealing with the Know-It-All can prove tougher. It approached by one, do not panic. Calmly listen to what it has to say but do not verbally respond or curtail your workout to accommodate its speech. Simply nod, say “Thanks”, then turn your attention elsewhere. This should suffice in discouraging it any further. In more serious cases, you may need to quickly put some distance between you and the Know-It-All. The most aggressive of the pedigree has been known to stalk its victims from station to station. Should such an emergency arise, immediately excuse yourself to the safety of a restroom stall. After five minutes, return to the gym floor and avoid both eye contact and close proximity with the Know-It-All.

The Social Butterfly (aka The Talker)

How to Identify: Can be identified by the over-developed vocal chords, characterized by its constant chatter with other gym-goers. Displays a general lack of actual athletic effort. Considered the loudest of all the those in the Gym genus. Often operates within a group, but will move from individual host to host when on its own. The cardio area, with its side-by-side Stairmasters and Elipicals, is a natural breeding ground, but the Social Butterfly can be found all over the gym floor. Moves very slowly from station to station, oblivious to the world around it as it carries on its constant conversation.

How to Interact: It is best to steer clear of the Social Butterfly, lest you get trapped by its siren’s song. Avoiding propinquity will lower the chances of being immersed in time-wasting conversation. Should you be ambushed, limit both eye contact and verbal response. Feign disinterest. Once you’ve demonstrated a repeated aloofness, you will blend into the background environment and become invisible to the Social Butterfly. A good preventative measure against the Social Butterfly is the use of personal headphones, which only the most determined of the species is equipped to deal with.

The Elderly

How to Identify: While many assume the World of the Gym is for the young, this simply isn’t true. Traditionally a rare species, their numbers have been increasing over the past few years. Markings include advanced age, wrinkles, grey hair, crotchetiness and air of confusion. Often found shuffling between Cybex machines or napping on equipment between sets. Has an aversion to lifting measurable weight due to general frailness. Fondness for ‘working out’ in casual clothing. Has a natural friendship with the Social Butterfly.

How to Interact: Avoiding the Elderly is easy due to their general slowness. However, their lack of speed does pose a problem: they tend to make a station or a piece of equipment their own for an extended period of time. Should you see an Elderly intending to use the same station you wish to choose, double-time it and make your best effort to beat them to it. Once an Elderly makes a station their own, time comes to grinding halt. ‘Working in’ may prove difficult due to their lack of understanding of the concept.

…and some of the other species also known to inhabit the gym…

The Morbidly Obese
The Unhealthy Skeleton
The Pick-up Artist
The Fit Mom (aka The MILF)
The Make-Up Wearer (aka The Mary Kay)
The Show-Off (aka The Peacock)

There are some issues that need to be addressed before you embark on that initial workout…

What are you going to wear? Keep in mind, this isn’t a fashion show. You will be witness to plenty of fashion crimes. Some people put too much consideration into their appearances; others, not enough. You should, though, put at least a minimal amount of thought into your choice of wardrobe.

The gym is a shallow, shallow place. As the maxim goes: if you’ve got it, flaunt it. Sculpted biceps, ripped abs, succulent breasts, and tight rear ends are all assets commonly displayed proudly by their owners. Usually, it’s as simple as showing skin, but just as often it’s tight clothing utilized to showcase the body part in question.

Conversely, but just as importantly; if you don’t have it, cover it the fuck up. For those whose anatomy might be described as ‘gross’, the only environmentally-friendly option is to hide it. Think loose fitting. Think comfortable. Think modest. Don’t be tempted to attempt to dress it up and make it look better. Spandex is not your friend.

Apparel choices which you would be wise to avoid…

• Anything see-through, translucent or mesh. As to why, this should be obvious enough. Such a shirt is tacky enough, but shorts or pants? Nobody wants to see your Underoos. That is, unless you’re an incredibly attractive women. Then you can wear whatever you damn well please. Seriously. Even the jealous soccer moms will quietly appreciate it between catty remarks to their friends.
• Casual wear. Everybody can appreciate that you only have an hour lunch break which you’ve chosen to spend pumping iron. It’s commendable, really. We understand you don’t want to waste time changing in and out of your work clothes. But, quite frankly, working out in a polo, khakis, and dock shoes is unacceptable. If time really is that much of an issue, wear some shorts and a tee underneath. At least that will give your co-workers another added layer of protection once you rush back to the salt mine without showering.
• Wifebeaters/A-shirts/tank-tops. Ladies, you look marvelous. This really only applies to the guys. Unless you’re ripped to shreds, you’ll look like you’re trying too hard. You may, however, cut the sleeves off a tee at the seams. It’s a fair compromise. In the same vein, really skinny guys should steer away from any and all tight clothing. A 120-pound dude strutting around in a skin-tight UnderArmour top is the perfect recipe for utter mockery.
• Sandals. You must wear a closed-toe shoe. Your gym will probably have a rule about this, though they may not actually enforce it. I love flip-flops, and while they’re a great idea for the gym shower, they have absolutely no place on the gym floor. Besides proper decorum, why should you cover up those corns, bunions and fungus? Simply put, nobody should have to clean up the mess created after you drop a 45-pound weight on your big toe. Just ask any high-school gym teacher for the horror stories.
• Bluetooth/Wireless Headset. It’s one thing to look like a moron out in the everyday world, it’s quite another when you’re at the gym. Unless you’re on-call medical professional, an attorney awaiting a verdict, or have a wife who might go into labor at any moment, there is no reason you need that bug in your ear. You look like a complete jackass.
• Zubaz pants. Not unless you’re traveling back in time to 1991 to attend a NFL game or WWF match.

   
Should you insist on wearing something you really shouldn’t, or if you choose to wear the same article of clothing day-in and day-out, know that you will be identified by this wardrobe choice by fellow gym goers. The same goes for any distinguishing characteristics you display or actions you constantly repeat. Because of the often limited social interaction, and the lack of name tags, gym-goers will quickly latch onto these defining idiosyncrasies like blood-thirsty wolves on injured prey.

An example:

“Did you see Purple Leggings bust her ass on the treadmill today? She was yakking away to Unibrow, tripped on her shoelace and completely ate shit!”

“Stained Headband used the bench next to me today. He repped 400 pounds, like, four times, easy!”

“You know Notre Dame Sweatshirt Guy? Did you know his daughter is Hot Pigtails?”

Lastly, the Do’s and Don’ts of gym etiquette…

Do ask for a spot should you think you’ll need one. If you’re unsure if you’ll need one, you probably do.
Don’t ask for a spot when you’re using the Smith machine. The Smith Machine is the one whose bar locks in place with a simple turn of your wrists, therefore eliminating the need for a spot. Sadly, some people don’t take the time to understand how a simple device works.

Do feel free to use the weights you need if nobody else is using them.
Don’t take them off a machine while somebody is in the middle of a set. This is rude and a great affront. A Meathead is liable to take the weight from you and use it to give you a deserved beating.

Do make use of empty space for your free weight exercises.
Don’t use the area directly in front of the free weight stands. People should not have to wait for you to finish a set before they retrieve a weight off the rack. This is akin to loading up your plate at a buffet and then just eating it right there at the salad bar. In a related note, you shouldn’t be eating at any buffet.

Do offer to leave weight-plates on a machine if you somebody has indicated to you that they’ll be using it after you’re done.
Don’t otherwise leave weight-plates on any machine. If you’re that lazy, you shouldn’t be at the gym. And, when you do strip the machine, put the plates back where they belong. Most pegs are labeled so you know what goes where. Hence, 10′s don’t go with 5′s, and 25′s don’t go with 45′s. ‘Identifying numbers’, ‘Grouping like things’ and ‘Cleaning up after yourself’ are all skills you should have mastered in Kindergarten.

Do enjoy your surroundings. There are well-sculpted bodies in abundance and it’s human to appreciate this.
Don’t get caught staring. Be discreet. That’s what all the mirrors are for. Learn to use them.

Do interact with your fellow gym-goers in a friendly manner. Although it’s not Social Hour, friendships can be forged in at the gym.
Don’t use the gym as a singles bar/meat market. Not that it can’t be done, but most patrons (especially women, with the exception of the Mary Kay) are not there to facilitate a hook-up. Despite the half-nakedness, it’s a difficult environment in which to chat somebody up. Usually, you’re just infringing upon somebody’s workout and wasting their time. Plus, if your ‘game’ is that good, take it to the supermarket.

Do emulate other fit patrons or adopt a new exercise you’ve seen them use.
Don’t mimic or mock another gym patron. Adrenaline is a dangerous thing. You do not want to be on the business end of a parking lot beat down.

Do maximze your time by cutting down on rest between sets and performing alternating exercises back-to-back.
Don’t try to multi-task between two or more stations if the gym isn’t empty. You have no claim to a machine once you leave it and go to work on another. An old trick is to leave your gym bag by the machine you intend to return to, but if a particularly vindictive person catches on, you’ll have no argument after they ‘accidently’ drop a weight on your belongings.

Do remember to breathe properly when you’re working out, especially when you’re lifting heavy weight.
Don’t be obnoxious about it. Every gym has an ‘Orgasmer’; the person who sounds like they’re achieving climax with each and every rep. Don’t be that guy/girl.

Do feel free to carry along a bag of necessary items with you from station to station.
Don’t carry your phone/PDA from station to station. If you actually have a job or situation that truly warrants it, so be it. When and if you need to talk, step outside or into the locker room. Otherwise, somebody will be perfectly within their rights when a 50-pound dumbbell rolls on top of your precious Blackberry.

Do use the locker room facilities to shower and keep a tidy appearance.
Don’t walk around the locker room naked for more than the time it takes to get out of the shower and retrieve your towel. Nobody wants to see your saggy balls for the next ten minutes as you clip your toenails. And trust me, your new gym name will then become ‘Saggy Balls Guy’.

Armed with this knowledge, you should now be properly prepared to enter a gym, and not only survive, but thrive. As G.I. Joe used to say, “Knowing is half the battle!”

As you spend more time working out, you’ll learn the more advanced rules and etiquette. After you’ve become an established gym patron, you should feel free to help enforce the (previously) unwritten laws of the land. In no time, you’ll be a buff veteran, scowling at the newbies each January as they unknowingly walk between you and the mirror you’re using. Give ‘em hell.