The Meathead Manifesto. Brody McVittie

on the beach, no one cares what the scale says.

       The Final Word

      Circuit training is better suited for toning than losing a ton of weight; for improving endurance and stamina rather than building raw power and strength. When implemented in rotation with weeks of a more sets-and-reps based training style, one will notice a substantial increase in energy reserves and, (--as a result of the activation of perhaps-previously-unengaged stabilizer muscles—) a translation to more power when reverting back to strength training.

       Debunking the Myths Surrounding Personal Training (+Training a Meathead!)

      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.

      Form. Is. Everything.

      You cheat.

      Whether you admit it or not, there’s that exercise, for that body part—the one you just can’t get down pat. Right?

      I don’t care if you call it a Romanian Deadlift or a Turkish Get-Up or the dreaded squat; there’s that one that lags behind, the one whose motion never feels quite natural.

      (Lat Pulldowns, I’m looking at you.)

      That exercise you can never push (or pull) quite enough of whatever-your-weight is on; the one that threatens to defeat you each and every time you see it on the docket for the day.

      So you belly up to the bar, content on telling yourself today is the day it’s going to be different, and you load whatever weight you think you can move on. (*Hint—it’s too much.)

      And for the next six or ten or however-many-you-think-you-can reps, you suffer your dignity and your form (--but not your pride!) and you move that damn weight.

      And you cheat the whole time.

      It’s an ego thing—maybe two weeks ago, you moved said weight, your form only kinda pathetic.

      Then again, maybe kinda pathetic was two years ago, and you can’t admit that you’re not as functionally strong anymore.

      There’s hope for you yet (provided you haven’t thrown your back out swaying violently with each pull on the Seated Row machine.)

      Tighten that TVA.