Читать книгу The Meathead Manifesto - Brody McVittie - Страница 12

Fact: Personal Training is expensive.

Fact: You’ve got misconceptions about just what-the-hell your Personal Trainer does. (Unless, of course, you’ve invested in a Personal Trainer in the past—in which case, you’re probably sitting on a beach somewhere, completely jacked, and fondly remembering the time you weren’t, and you too had misconceptions about just what-the-hell your Personal Trainer does.)

Our industry seems to be the only one whereby one assumes that having a gym membership guarantees us the results we obtained said-gym membership to achieve.

Sadly, paying a forty-dollar-per-month access fee doesn’t mean you can half-ass it three times per week and expect to lose the ten (--okay twenty--) pounds you swore to lose when you signed on the dotted line.

Think of it this way: if I need my engine replaced, would I go to my mechanic and say “Hey bro, I need to fix my engine, but rather than hire you to do it, I’m going to rent that bay over there for an hour, use your tools, and do it my damn self?”

Many trainers spend yeas training themselves, obtaining Kinesiology degrees from world-class Universities, and maintain aggressive yearly certifications—does your fitness know-how really supersede theirs?

No?

Then maybe it’s time to stop dreaming of achieving your goals, and actually start achieving them.

Training a Meathead (Or, Why we bother to become Personal Trainers, at all.)

Fact: If you’re a male, and you’re reading this, and you’ve ever done more than three sets of something in some gym somewhere, then you think you know everything there is to know about fitness.

So, fact, you don’t need a Personal Trainer.

Fact: You’re a fool.

In order to break through plateaus, in order to achieve sport-specific advanced conditioning—hell, in order to be able to play with the grandkids one day—you need dynamic, aggressive, evolving exercise modalities.

Meaning, no, that shoulder routine you’ve been banging out for the past six months (--with nothing to show for it, other than that nagging rotator cuff injury) isn’t as effective as you think it is.

No, just because you can make it another thirty seconds on the elliptical without falling flat on your face doesn’t mean you’re ready for the Boston Marathon.

You need a quantifiable plan—one that incorporates dynamic and static flexibility modalities, as well as specific, individualized aerobic and anaerobic system programming, and, most likely, a radical diet overhaul.

But hey, you’ve got that covered, in between work, and the wife, and the golf, and the kids, and the kid’s soccer practices, and fixing Dad’s back deck next weekend, right?

Think of it this way: That athlete you admire? The one with the sixteen abs, and the sleeve tattoos, and the $85-million-in-endorsement-deals –just-because-he-looks-phenomenal-without-a-shirt-on?

He has a Personal Trainer.

Why not skip the science of it, stay busy, and have that hour to not worry about what the hell to do after your bench-press? Allow someone who really knows what they’re doing to worry about exercise selection, and just take the ass-kicking they’re giving you.

Your favorite movie star does it.

Even for the most meat-headed of us, it boils down to our base, guttural need to compete . . . to be better . . .

If I’m barking at you, pushing you past your potential and telling you to give me ten more??

You’ll get ten, come hell or high water.

If you’re on your own, and you’re moderately sure that the guy on the bench next to you is watching you, and you’re moderately sure that what you’re about to lift is more-than-moderately too heavy?

Maybe six will do.

Note the difference.