It’s still dark outside. The world is deep in slumber, yet you are up. You are tired but there is iron that needs some attention.
You drag yourself out of bed, put on your stained old sweats, and force down 3 rounded scoops of the Murder Bomb 5000 pre workout powder that you made yourself with sawdust, caffeine and ground up bald eagle talons.
You walk outside as the howling of the winter wind whirls about and stings your face. You begin to jog down the snow covered road toward the gym. It’s freezing out but you don’t care.
You use your key and unlock the heavy metal door. As you enter, you turn on the dim flickering lights. It’s time to get serious.
Others sleep while you pound away in a dungeon, rebuilding your body into steel. Sweat builds upon your brow until a single droplet breaks loose, free falling until it explodes on the unforgiving concrete floor.
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Your gym is dark, hidden away from normal people.
You are alone with only the rust tinged weights to keep you company. You are in a hardcore private gym where real training happens.
Does that sound like your current routine? No? Maybe this scenario is more realistic then.
You wake up around noon, the outside world is already alive and vibrant. You get out of bed, still a little high and groggy from staying up late watching a full house marathon while smoking the weed you bought off of the ninja turtle looking guy at the gas station.
Was it Raphael? Donatello?
It’s hard to say.
You put on your expensive gym clothes, take a load of your Bukake Jackhammer pre workout straight to the face, and bolt right out the door. Which happens to lead straight to your heated garage.
After getting in your Prius and driving for some time, you find yourself circling the fitness center parking lot over and over. After finding a spot in way of cutting off an elderly driver (which probably made them very late for the 1 o’clock dinner special at Country Kitchen Buffet.)
you enter the lobby of the gym.
It takes a minute for your eyes to adjust to the bright florescent lights that give the whole place the same glow as a proctologist office. You scan your brightly colored card while exchanging pleasantries with the Hillary Clinton looking woman behind the desk.
After bitching about the cold and avoiding an overly drawn-out conversation on why spin class is more extreme than crossfit, you walk past the tv area, go through the day care and zumba studio, navigate the jungle of cardio equipment, and enter the free weight area.
It’s supposed to be leg day but the fitness center only has one squat rack, which just so happens to be in use by a group of women taking selfies and occasionally doing empty bar squats.
You decide it’s easier to just work chest but it seems all the benches are in use by middle-aged men repping 135 lbs for 3, then continuing their conversations with the other guys doing the exact same thing.
The thought of dumbbell presses come to mind but the weights go no higher than 65 lbs.
You get a mild curl session in and a single droplet of sweat falls from your chin and lands, soaking right into the thick plush, purple colored carpet. After barely accomplishing anything you take a quick selfie, update your Facebook status for the 5th time since entering the center, and walk into the locker room to hit the steam room.
Does this situation sound more familiar? It doesn’t have to be like this you know. Sometimes a change of venue is all you need to kickstart your fitness journey.
How do you know your gym sucks though?
I’ll give you some signs that you are a member of a
“fitness/wellness/planet anything, softcore porn type of gym. Softcore porn can be called porn, but is it really? You never see the parts you want, and it just leaves you with sore balls and disappointment.
The same goes for a fitness center. It’s advertised as a place to workout, but more often than not it’s just a place for people to go socialize, look active, and go through the motions without actually doing anything.