For those of you who are unfortunate enough to be “friends” with me on Facebook, you’re already probably well aware that I pretty much post nothing on it except for sporadic attempts to be funny by exploiting the types of silly people that populate my gym, also known as The Gym Bro Chronicles.
The adventures of GBC has seen a wide variety of actual people that actually do the things I’m describing on a regular basis at my gym. Whether it’s guys that use two elliptical machines at the same time, all the douchebags that drop their weights, use their Beats headphones as auxiliary speakers, grunt, scream, sing, and every conceivable negative stereotype associated with meat-head gym bros, I’ve pretty much seen them all at my gym that I’ve been going to every single work day for the last three years now.
Although, there have been some truly classic cases of GBCs, like the guy that brought his MacBook to the gym with him, so he could watch and pause, watch and pause and watch and pause each and every exercise of a P90X routine, completely missing the point of the whole follow-the-screen idea, and the guy who deliberately tries to emasculate new members by doing over the top upside-down windshield wipers on the pull up bar while working in, there’s always been the need for there to be a leader, a head-honcho of the entire culture, as far as my gym is concerned.
One day, I declared the King of GBC, when I went into the locker room after my workout, and in my peripheral vision, I saw a flash pop. When I turned around, I saw a muscular black guy daintily hustle to a camera he had placed on a shelf with a timer, and daintily hustled back to the point of focus, where he proceeded to tense up and flex; and moments before the 10 seconds were up, he dropped his shorts, standing in his boxer briefs as the flash went off again. I anointed him as Naked Selfies, and the King of GBC.
Now Naked Selfies isn’t the first guy I’ve seen taking selfies in the locker room. But the thing is, everyone prior to Naked Selfies was taking selfies in the well, selfies manner; holding phone in the mirror, stern face/duck face, other arm holding up their shirt, revealing their six-pack abs, flexing everything conceivable, typically done when they think nobody’s watching.
But Naked Selfies changed the game, because he brought a camera separate from his phone, set up the timer, and aimed it at not just himself, but all the other dudes in the locker room at the same time, who were just minding their own business and trying to change and/or freshen up, in varying states of undress. Naked Selfies didn’t give a flying fuck about the modesty of anyone but himself, and attempted to have his own little private photoshoot with absolutely no regard for the comfort of other men. And there are guys that really do get butt-ass naked and wander around with their junk flopping all over the place, and we’re all sure the last thing they want is their privates getting photographed.
Ultimately, Naked Selfies was shut down by the manager of the gym, whom had obviously been made aware of the illicit photoshoot going on in the locker room. And I haven’t seen Naked Selfies since.
However, despite the fact that I anointed Naked Selfies as the King of GBC, I had to give it some thought after a recent workout. Naked Selfies was obviously the most outrageous, flash as bright as a nuclear explosion in the pan act of gym bro douchebaggery that I’d ever seen, but the fact of the matter is that it only happened once. One grandiose event can technically warrant anointment as a king, but truthfully, lots of things can only happen once. A Civic can beat a Ferrari, the U.S. hockey team can beat the Soviets, and a black man can be the president.
No, the more I thought about it, the more I felt that a King of GBC needed to be someone who was consistent, steady, and always a douchebag. Not a spring breaker trying to get swole for beach season, or a New Year’s resolutioner who vanishes after a month. Or Naked Selfies, who wanted one nice batch of him looking ripped for his Facebook profile and future sexts.
The real King was always present, but never crowned.
Until now.
I chronologized this guy long ago in the GBC. I described a day at the gym, where I saw a man who was the typical middle-aged workout nut who was ripped and shredded, and clearly had a firm understanding of physical fitness and sustenance. And I saw a man who was the unofficial coach of the gym, giving training tips to everyone he could, whether they wanted it or not. And then there was the man who wore douchey apparel, like shorts to tight and short, it would make Larry Bird and John Stockton make gay jokes about him, and the backward baseball cap with his political leanings (GTFObama).
The obvious swerve was that all three were the same guy. For all intents and purposes, I will refer to him as simply Coach, since that was the vast majority of what he liked to do at the gym in between his own working out tendencies.
But really, Coach does all of the above, and most all of the obnoxious stereotypes that gym bros are synonymous with:
- Coach will slam his weights and grunt and moan loudly, in spite of actual signage around the gym requesting that you do not exhibit such behavior. I joke in my head that the sounds he made could be recorded and be used in a game where people would have to guess if it was gym noises or gay porn.
- Coach sings along loudly with whatever music is playing on his mp3 player while he is working out.
- Coach most certainly wears clothing that sure, flatters his musculature and deliberately trying to impress others, but is kind of flamboyant and well, gay.
- Coach flexes in the mirror in between lifts. And not just the generic bicep curl in the mirror while mouthing “oh yeah,” but full on bodybuilder poses, and sometimes in rapid succession; he works out every part of his body, including his legs, and apparently feels justified in scoping himself out in the mirror, completely unfazed by the possibility that others might find him narcissistic and arrogant for doing such.
- For those unfortunate to engage or be engaged in conversation with Coach, he’s a very intense individuals who is not the least fucking bit afraid of aggressively hopping on top of a soap box and dominating the conversation with the pushing of his thoughts and opinions. Whether it’s sports, critiquing your workout, politics, but mostly critiquing your workout. And he uses a whole lot of profanity; sure, I curse too, but not to complete strangers, which Coach isn’t shy about, contrarily.
- Coach feels that all the trainers at the gym are full of shit, and don’t know the first thing about working out, and occasionally tries to undermine them, in passive-aggressive ways.
But most importantly, Coach does all of the above on a very regular basis. I’m pretty sure that I am the most consistent member of this gym, showing up every single work day at roughly the same times, but Coach comes on almost as regular of a basis, most often times overlapping with times in which I’m there.
Naked Selfies was seen doing naked selfies only once, but this is the kind of behavior that Coach does on almost a daily basis. Running around in his short-ass shorts, passive-aggressively bullying others off equipment and moaning and groaning throughout his intense workouts, followed by egregious posing in the mirrors.
The thing is, part of the reason why I never really thought to anoint Coach as King of GBC is the fact that I kind of respected the guy. Sure, he’s kind of douchey and really preachy, but the fact of the matter is that Coach is totally legit. Shows up on a regular basis and works his ass off in the gym. He’s in phenomenal shape for a guy that claims to be 56, and obviously has way more dietary discipline than I could ever have. He’s a far cry from the usual douchebags that show up to work nothing but vanity muscles (read: anything but legs), don’t ever sweat and spend more time laughing and playing grab-ass with their fellow vanity douchebags.
Such reasons are why I never really felt like he was the worst guy there, because he worked hard, and in spite of his preachy attitude, his intentions seem good enough.
But then he called me fat. Twice.
Not directly, and I’m not entirely sure if he was cerebral enough to know how he was coming off, but in two different occasions, he essentially called me fat.
The first time, he caught me as I was finishing up my customary jog on the treadmill. Y’see, contrary to what a lot of gym bros believe, I actually like to start off my workouts with cardio; it gets my entire body warmed up, build up a nice sweat, and then I go do my lifting afterward. But we’re not here to discuss my workout habits, we’re here to justify why Coach is the King.
So, I’m getting off the treadmill, and he says to me that my running at around a 9-minute mile pace continuously for 30 minutes isn’t the way to burn fat. I arch my eyebrow and tell him that I’m not necessarily trying to burn fat. I explain to him that I’m into running in general, and I do my share of 5Ks, 10Ks, and various obstacle and mud runs, and that I run to keep my stamina and endurance up. It’s like he assumed I was a fat fuck miserable with my physical condition and was desperately trying to simply run it off or something.
But recently, while I was doing some side extensions, Coach comes up to me, and with an obvious incredulous tone in his voice, asks me “what are you doing?” And then he preaches that I’m not going to burn any fat around my gut by doing side extensions. I explain to him that I’m not trying to burn fat necessarily, again validating my general acceptance of my physical condition, that I’m sure, aware that I could be in better shape, but I love to eat and I enjoy socially drinking too much to lose the spare tire.
Naturally, Coach can’t really seem to grasp why someone would do an exercise that has minimal potential for “gains,” so he becomes all inquisitive of why I’m doing it. Sure, I’m aware of the minimal gains, and I don’t think that my explanation of simply wanting a flexible core and general wellness is going to go over well with him, so I make up a bullshit story about how it’s an exercise I picked up when I played high school baseball that helped improve range of motion in the hips for when I swung the bat, and he bought it instantaneously.
But the fact of the matter is that I was aware of how douchey Coach was at the gym, it didn’t really matter until he decided to encroach upon my personal space and give me unwanted fitness advice and subtly insinuate that I’m fat. I know my workouts aren’t perfect, I could probably improve a lot if I altered some things in minor ways, and actually watched what I ate, but I don’t really want to, at least not yet. But in spite of all these flaws, I’m still actually shedding weight, maintaining functional strength, keeping my endurance pretty good, and having arms and legs I’m not embarrassed with.
So Naked Selfies might have been the most memorable guy that ever graced the Chronicles of the Gym Bro, but by this new definition, it’s consistency that wins championships, and it’s consistency that is King. And it’s been right here, under my nose, the entire time.
Coach, ladies and gentlemen; King of GBC.
