From The Lyrical, To The Profane

What's up Kids? Don't even start with me. I know it's been a while, but I have a great reason. Ok, no I don't. Now that I think about it, I do. I just can't let you in on it. Whaddaya say we just get to it, huh?

I need to ease into this, so I'm inviting you to play along. It may take a while, but as I like to say to my peeps during my TRX and "Power Hour" strength training classes, "slower is better."

For a period of time that began at some point about a year and a half ago, I apparently loss my ability to hear at full capacity. I don't know when it actually began, but I can now say that, WOW, have I been BLASTING my car stereo! I thought that Kayla was just being 15 and ignoring me when we were in the car. Turns out, she just couldn't hear me over the music. Whoops. Sorry Kiddo. My bad.

A few weeks ago, it got really bad. Almost every time someone said something to me, I responded with, "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" I'm surprised that no one got so frustrated as to "box" my ears. A couple of trips to the doctor later (the first misdiagnosed as a sinus infection), came what I call my "Rocky moment." No, not a triumphant run up a flight of stairs, but the moment when Rocky implores Mick to "cut me." Just keep reading.

I get to my doctor, and tell him to "just do anything, I don't care! Cut'em off if you have to." He decides to irrigate my ears. Just like that, the voices are back inside my head. Welcome home. I can hear everything. Are those birds chirping? Is it springtime? I just jumped out of my skin. "WHAT'S THAT?" Oh, some guy walking by dangling his keys. I need to get used to this.

I start my car. Oh great! You know, this hearing thing is way overrated. Sounds like I need a tune-up. And an oil change. And my brakes checked. My stereo sounds great, though.

Time for class. I turn the music on and immediately realize that I've been blowing everyone's heads off with the music since I don't know when. "Has anyone in this room heard a single word I've said during the last 6 months?" "NO!," they respond in unison. "How come nobody said anything," I asked. "We did, you just didn't hear us." Now I hear everything. The good, and the ugly. Yup, skipped right over the "bad."

My first Indo-Row class with my new ears was something to behold. I could actually hear the water flowing in the tanks. What a beautiful sound. Like listening to the lyrics of your favorite song, at 30 strokes per minute. Soothing. Silent. Right, Fish? For a moment, I was so intent on listening, that I didn't give any verbal cues for about 3 minutes. This is amazing on two fronts. I had my mouth shut, AND I was listening at the same time. The pipes in Hades just froze over. Those two events rarely happen simultaneously. I can even hear the music that's played over the speakers in our gym. The bad news is, it's AWFUL!

As I said though, I hear everything. This includes the moans, and grunts, and cries of acute muscle fatigue during my classes. Of course, I just block that out. I can also hear what my clients are saying during their workouts. I'm thinking, "did I hear that correctly?" One of my clients repeatedly mumbles the "F dashdashdash" word. This is the same person who, when apparently asked if anyone's ever died while training with me, I answered, "Yes." Now I know why she looks at me the way she does when the workouts get tougher. Just so you know, "man, you're crazy" sounds a lot like, "I'm not being lazy." Ok, that was a reach.

I now hear all kinds of whispers, and words that can't be published in this forum. My favorites though (the clean stuff), are from a particular client who whispers, "no, no, I'm not" or, "let's see you try it freak, then get back to me" under her breath every time I ask her to do a certain exercise sequence. Don't worry, you can still say these things. I'll pretend to not hear.

I can't believe I've been missing out on all of this. It's great! I thought you all were getting stronger. Turns out, I just couldn't hear the complaining. NICE!

Ahh...the sweet sounds of exercise. Music to my ears.

One Lesson Learned

Hey, what's up, Kids? I told you that I'd blog more. Right about now, you're thinking, "Yeah, talk to me in April." Shall we focus on the "now," please?

The following is an excerpt from my last session. I found it quite interesting, so I thought I would share.

During this session, the first time client had to be constantly reminded to simply relax. "Drop your shoulders, and draw your shoulder blades back." How many times does someone need to be told to exhale? I truly believe I lost count.

We get done with one exercise. "Ok, do it again, this time with a bit more belief." Now I'm thinking, does every instructor get these looks from their clients?

"Hollow out your abdominals, and allow your back to support yo...no, like "this."

"I've never had to hold my hands in this position for this long, and my wrists are starting to fatigue." "There's a lot going on here, you'll get used to it. Let's do it again."

Finally, the client is given a break. "One minute? That's it? This is really hard, and the sun's in my eyes." (Guess you should have left your cap on, now you just have to deal with it). "You're one of the toughest instructors I've ever had in my life. Are you smiling at me or laughing?"

We're nearing the end of the session. Don't you DARE look at the clock. "One more sequence, from the beginning." "Huh? From the beginning? Last one, right?"

The session mercifully ends. It's that sometimes awkward moment between instructors and clients, when you're still sizing each other up, and you're not sure if there will be a next session. "I'll see you next week," I said. "Really? You want to continue?" "Yes. I'm committed to this," I said. "Bye for now?"

I get into my car, and my brain is fried. Deep fried. Like Nana's chicken when I was a child. And, that was after only ONE piano lesson.

One Man's Trash......

Yeah, Yeah, I know. I'm back, and that's the most important thing. Ok, here it is. My New Year's Resolution is to blog more. How ironic. A fitness instructor vowing to spend more time sitting on his butt. Somehow doesn't seem right, does it?

There comes a time in our lives when we need to sit back and take stock of what we've become, in relation to what we want to become(uh oh heeeeere we go). As we get into the first week into the new year, now seems a good time for yours truly.

We all come from all walks of life. We live our lives in different ways, for different reasons. The question at the top of my mind right now is, "Why?" Why do we do what we do? Recently, my best friend challenged me to seek that answer in terms of my own life.

Years ago, the answer would have seemingly been impossible to find. The main reason behind that was, I didn't care enough to seek the answer. Things are a bit different now. I'm a bit older (shut it), and a bit more in tune to what I want to gain from this existence.

As a Personal Trainer, and Group Fitness Instructor, almost all aspects of my job involves interacting with others. The group exercise aspect requires that I sprinkle a bit of entertainment into what I'm trying to accomplish. Being "center stage" is part of the program, there's no denying that. My friend suggested something that caused me to reflect on my purpose. The words "seeking the spotlight", and "craving attention", were offered as part of the reason. These were very harsh words, considering it's been a very long time since I did anything for the sake of attention. I have been guilty of this in the past, and I fear that sharing certain information about my past led to this perception, that has unfortunately evolved into my friend's reality. I do not regret divulging this information, because it is imperative that a certain "openness" exists in any relationship, friend, or otherwise. I could go off on some wild tangent, but I'll stick to the subject.

I'm not quite sure why others that do what I do, do what they do(huh? what?). I can only speak for myself. I won't offer details, because to some of you, it will simply confirm your belief that I'm a bit nuts. I will though, offer the following.

A couple of years ago, I took the opportunity at the beginning of a new year, to regain control of my life. Not that I was spiraling out of control, but I was sauntering aimlessly through my world, crossing bridges as I found them. The time came, when I had to set a specific course, that would lead me to where I ultimately want, and need to be. At present, I live my life with three very simple rules. First, there MUST be meaning, purpose, and belief, attached to everything I do. All three have to exist at the same time, or I just don't do it. My reasons for doing what I do, have to be understood by me, and me only. Everyone else just has to love and trust me enough to accept them. Second, I MUST remain true to myself. There are a lot, and I mean A LOT of false truths in this world. What is seen on the surface, at times needs to be qualified in order to be processed correctly. Imagine doing research in which the margin of error is so great that the outcome is irrelevant. Imagine a case study, in which the data you are given is not complete, or worse, not correct. The one and only proper thing to do, is re-evaluate your data.

Oh yeah, my point. The point is this. At a very early age, we were all taught to not judge a book by its cover. I could offer so many boring cliches, but I'll only offer one more. Take it with you. It's my third rule. Many treasures are found in trash heaps, if you are willing to dig deep enough.

I know I've used this in the past, but it bears repeating. A jeweler can tell a real diamond from a fake, because the fake ones have no flaws.

Seek, and you shall find....the truth. Have a great day.

Somehow I Think He Already Knows

...OH CRAP! There he is. Why is he waiting for me in the parking lot? And WHY is he smiling?

I do my best to muster up my best smile. Nope, didn't work. Best I can do is one of those "I really can't stand the person I'm smiling at" kinda smiles. He just got back from one of those conferences. He's so obsessed with today's session, that he doesn't even sense that I want to just run away. He calls it the "I missed you so much" workout. What's he carrying? "Oh FUDGE." Except I didn't say "fudge".

"I have to go to the bathroom (and crawl out the window)", I tell him.

I turn the corner into the weight room, and he's kneeling on the floor putting something together. Just a quick note. If you get to your session, and your trainer is sitting on the floor "building" a piece of equipment, take a deep breath and induce vomiting. He's screwing in a top. "What's that, a musket?" "Ha. You wish." Just when I was getting used to the idea of the exercise noose, that T-Rex, or whatever the hell it is.

He hands me a 5-pound bar with resistance tubing attached to it, that's connected to another piece of resistance tubing, that's attached to another 5-pound bar that he's holding. HEY! I was there. I've seen the horror, and they call him "Cyborg".

"Ok, stand on that balance trainer facing the wall. Drop your hips, then brace your core." Then what? Breakdance and spin on my head, right? No. Worse. He tells me to extend my arms so that the bar is in front of my chest. He starts to walk away. Just as I start to twist towards him, he shouts, "DON'T LET ME MOVE YOU!" 25...24..23...SECONDS? "Ok good. Other side." Let me catch my breath first Metal Head.

He comes over and turns the balance trainer over. Whew, push-ups. I got this one. "Burpees, 5 sets, 30 seconds each." In the immortal words of Charlie Brown, "ARRRRRGH!" Down, jump back into a plank, jump back in, stand up, lift the balance trainer overhead, then jump. About half way through, I look at him. To his credit, he knows exactly what I'm thinking. The bad news is, he knows exactly what I'm thinking, and shakes his head no. Last one. He slaps his hands together and shouts, "THAT'S IT!" I really should consult a member of his family to find out which one dropped him on his head when he was a baby. Should I ask? He's insane. Should I tell him? Forget it.

I don't ever want to be his first session when he's back from a conference, EVER AGAIN. It's always the same thing. It's like an alien autopsy. He's asks how I'm feeling. I grit my teeth and whisper, "I hate you." "What?" "OH! I'm GREAT. You?"

Before it's all said and done, I've finished 8 "sequences" as he calls them. My quads are sore, my abs hurt, and the amount of sweat pouring from by body could fill an Amherst, Massachusetts pothole. Really, you gotta see these things. They're tremendous. I digress.

He's giving me a look. I ask him if he's eaten today. "Huh?" Nevermind. Just as I'm leaving I notice a commercial on one of the club's televisions. Series finale of "24". Oh I get it, no more Jack Bauer. DAMMIT!

Why is he taking it out on me?

You Don't Need To Read No Books On My History

What's up Kids?

Now that we've rid ourselves of the pleasantries, I'll get right to it.

Those that know me, are aware of two things that make up my persona. Whether it's for better or worse is of no consequence to me. One, I always say what's on my mind, and two, I nevereverEVER back down from a challenge.

Those who really know me (and there are very, very few of you), accept me for the baggage I drag along. If you've been lucky enough to view what's "in my backpack" (yep I went there), and still unconditionally accept me and my faults, thank you. I'm damn lucky to have you as part of my world.

There are some whom I've given the privilege of being one of 3 people who have been granted access to my code---to what really makes the Cyborg tick. To you I say, "really, and you still like me?"

Then there are the rest. Those who don't know anything about me, and will never be given the chance. There is a reason for this. I will never let you in. If you must however, persist in your endless pursuit of my vitals, your search, well, has ended. I'm going to make it easy on you.

I was the son of a Sharecropper. Oh wait, that was George Jefferson. I could "so" get worse, but I'll keep the pot from boiling over.

I'll start again. This time by laying out the ground rules. Rule number one. Don't talk about Fight Club. Ok, ok. I'll get serious. You sure you want me to?

For some reason unknown to me, there are those who see me as a mystery. They may say to themselves, "I wonder if he (fill in the blank)." Why wonder? There is one surefire way to get any answer to any question you may have about me, AND YOU AIN'T GONNA FIND IT ON GOOGLE! If you want to know, get it from the source. There is only one copy of the dictionary that defines who I am, and I'm holding it. By the way, the book is open for your viewing pleasure if I allow you to see it. What I'm saying is, I guess if there were any "Rules of Engagement" regarding me, I would start with:

1) Unless you're looking to hire my services as a Fitness Professional, and have exhausted every other avenue, DON'T GOOGLE ME! You won't find anything that I don't want you to know. Besides, that road leads to the most boring read since the Yellow Pages.

2) There is no need for roundtable discussions regarding my personal life. Really? Have you actually given me that kind of power? Oh yeah, you're "Life" called, and wants to know if you want it back. If you want to know, here's a tip. Ask me. If I want you in my loop, I'll answer. If I tell you to MYOFB, it's not that I'm hiding anything, it's that you are not important enough to me to let you in.

3) You are entitled to your opinion of me. By the way, if you don't like me, I kinda don't care. See, it's like this. We have one personality. People love you and hate you for the same reasons. Have you ever noticed this? Oh yeah. I think I'm great. If you don't think I am, well again, that's you're opinion. That being said, if you don't think that YOU are great, that's a YOU problem. Don't penalized me or anyone else for your lack of self worth.

4) If I do not feel that we can promote one another's growth, we will never be friends. I know that sounds a bit harsh, but if I were lazy, and had no goals, how long would you deal with me before you said, "see ya!" It's ok. Tell the truth. The feeling is mutual.

5) Be warned. Don't ask me a question unless you expect the truth. Keep in my that I may tell you to MYOFB.

6) Please don't confuse my passion with anger. I am not an angry person, but I reserve the right to blow my top when I deem it necessary.

7) Don't EVER sing the song "Hey There Delilah" in my presence. OMG I will hurt you bad.

Ok. Those are "DA RULES". Lets play our silly little game.

I'm going to attempt to hit the bullseye on the first shot. I'm thinking of questions that may come up during a casual conversation. OK GOT IT!

I've had 6 girlfriends my entire life, two of which I married, and subsequently divorced. If I was forced to place blame, I'd say neither party in either marriage cared enough to fight for it.

I haven't dated in 4 years. Haven't tried. Too afraid I'd be wasting my time. If you're thinking "bitter", ***DING DING DING*** Would you like the the sterling silver flatware, or a chance to win what's in the box that Vanna is holding?

I've been arrested more times than I've been married. Don't speculate..remember the rules? Ask me if you really want to know.

I used to drink. A LOT. I quit smoking because personal trainers should not smoke. I quit drinking because one night I was too drunk to take a drive to care for someone that I love. I'll never forget that day and have not had more that four beers in one month in ten years.

Well, I guess that covers (or uncovers) the stupid shit that those who are shallow might consider important in getting to know someone. If this is you, and you know who you are, there's a song by Sting called "Still Know Nothing 'Bout Me". Take a listen. You might learn something about me.

Oh, if you heard something about me, but didn't hear it from me, I'll say it again. If you feel you just have to know...ASK!!

I really hope this clears things up. It certainly answers the "Gee, I wonder why he's 45 and single?" question.

I'm going somewhere to meditate. HAHA!! Meditate. I meant ride my bike down a mountain.

Always Listen To Your Trainer

The following is based on a true story (unfortunately) as told by a client of MVP Fitness:

...as I come barreling into the health club's door 10 minutes late, I can relax because he's not lying in wait at the front desk ready to pounce. Not so fast. "He's waiting for you in the weight room," the guy at the desk tells me. CRAP! He never really minds when I'm late, but when I am, he makes me pay. In lactic acid. He should be thankful. I wasn't even going to show. I was going to tell him that Bobby overthrew Peter and the football hit me in the shoulder, and now my nose is swollen. Never mind. He'd know it was a lie. Somewhere beneath all that crust is a cheesy childhood. Let's move on.

I get to the weight room and he's already pacing like a caged lion. He normally smiles and introduces a session with idle chit-chat...when I'm on time. "Let's get this done." He's not even looking at me. He turns and tosses me a pair of boxing gloves. I love the boxing workouts as long as they don't (AW COME ON!) involve those a ankle cuffs with the resistance band. "Strap these around your ankles." Gee, I never noticed whether or not "OB-GYN" came after his name on his business cards, but now I can think of at least one other place I'd rather be.

Here they come. The dreaded "perp walks". The idea is to walk sideways in a squatting position as I throw punches at the mitts he's wearing. This goes the length of a basketball court. 10 times. I think I hate him. I tell him it hurts. "Is it fatigue, or pain?" Huh? "Because if it's fatigue..." I know, I know, you don't care. Yup, I hate him. He has this "thing" where he says "with a little more purpose, please." That means he needs me to work harder. Apparently I'm still not working hard enough. He tells me to imagine it was Valentine's Day, and my boyfriend bought me carnations...yellow carnations. OH MY GOODNESS. That did it. The punches start flowing like french champagne. I HATE champagne! "Now THAT'S what I'm talkin' about," he shouts. What happened next took our relationship to a whole new level.

See, robot-boy thinks he's a motivational speaker. Most of the time he's blabbering about opportunity, purpose, and life quality. Actually, it is quite motivating. I would talk about it more, but I need to keep this story flowing like you know what. Last week, while boxing, I faked a punch that would have landed square on his chin. He laughed and said, "that was your chance. Should have taken it." We're just about done with this torture. I'm really hating him. A LOT. My mother would not be proud of my profanity-laced tirade. I suddenly remember the advice he gave me last week. I see an opportunity, and I take it. Right cross punch. Right into his eye. "HOLY CRAP are you ok?" I'm SO trying to not laugh. I want to hit him again. Bring it on Cyborg. Or shall I call you "Cy-CLOPS". Are you kidding me? He doesn't even look at me. "6 more." NO NO NO! We're supposed to be done. There's no way that he knows I punched him on purpose. He's just being his usual psycho self. That's why I hit you. Next time, I'm hitting you twice.

We finally finish what I consider the worst experience of my life, and can't BELIEVE I pay to have it happen. Get these stupid things off. I can't move my legs, and I'll have to wring my shirt out before I leave.

He walks me to the door. Just before he turns away he says, "chances like that only come once...ONCE. Next week, we're doing 50." "50! WHY!" I asked if he was mad that I hit him. "No. I was mad because you were late."

Not sure if I'm showing up next week. Something suddenly came up.

He MUST Be A Machine, Because Humans Have Compassion

The following is what you might have heard if one of my trainees were speaking to you after a session(in confidence, of course).

"...and then he walks in with that...that...that STRAP FROM HELL! He calls it a TRX Suspension Training System. Must be cyborg-speak for "exercise noose." I'll tell you who'd I'd like to hang with it. He dangles it from a crossbar, and makes me stare at it while we go off and do cable squats. It swings there, taunting me.

We finally get to it. Greeaat...he's putting it into single-handle mode. That means one thing: this will definitely make me want to let the air out of his tires when I leave.

"Ok down into plank, with one foot in the stirrup, then extend the other hip." What's that even MEAN!? AND NOW YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT! A scorpion hip flip? I stall. "Could you demonstrate that for me (ya jerk)?" Uh-oh...he just gave me that I know you're stalling look.

I know when I'm about to do something outlandish when he tells me things like, "I have a lot of confidence in you," or my personal favorite, "I have BIG plans for you." I have plans too. Should I tell him (or it) that those plans include my being able to walk when we're done here? Thank goodness. He's counting down..three, two, done. "Now other side. Let's balance out the madness." If I thought it would hurt, I'd punch him.

After a series of more traditional exercises, you know, ones that we who are not psychos do, we're back to the insanity.

"Ok, single-leg suspended lunges, progressed to a suspended burpee." (Sorry "BORG", but I left my robot dictionary at home, could you speak English?) Oh wait I got it.."Could you demonstrate that please?" No? Oh, ok. Well I guess you can't spell demonstrate without "demon". He didn't take the bait this time. Can you please send someone to the roof to retrieve my heart rate please? "It's your fault", he says. "For getting stronger." Now I'm really thinking about it as I place my hand behind my back, and make a fist.

I take a quick peek at the clock. I hope he didn't see me. He has one pet peeve, and that's the one. DAMN! ten minutes left, and he's got that look in his eyes.

I walk over to the noose as if I were just sent to the principal's office for swearing at the teacher. I shudder at the thought. Wait for it....wait for it...AHHH! Suspended crunches, pendulum swings, and something called an "offset oblique crunch." He's making this up as he goes along. "Are you making this up as you go along?" I ask. He knows I'm stalling again.

I fight through. "If you going to grunt, at least exhale," he warns. "WHEN I GET UP, YOU'RE DEAD!" Well, that's what I would have said if I didn't think next week would be worse. Done? Are we done? YES!!!!

Finally, a smile from "Psycho-Trainer". Maybe he does have a heart. Nah, who am I kidding. He's nuts. "Great job. I wouldn't have you do this if I didn't believe you could. I just need you to believe it as well." Apparently, the son-of-a-(insert expletive here) is programmed to say exactly what I need to hear to make sure I come back next week. It worked. "See you on Wednesday," I tell him.

In walks the next sucker..I mean victim..uh I mean trainee. "How was it," he asks. He can hear me, I know it. "Great! Great! I feel Great!" I lean in and whisper, "he looks hungry."

Hmmm...I've never actually seen him eat anything.