Nutrition Deficit Disorder

Your body is a temple, right? So if you have a temple do you cram it full of a bunch of funky stuff? Do you let it get run down, and trashy? I am fairly certain that King Tut did not fill his crib with Fritos and hollandaise sauce. Your body is something that deserves respect because in the end - it's just you and that bag of bones you've been carting around for years.

It always shocked me that people take better care of the interior of their car than the interior of their body. Then again, it shocks me even more that the neatest, most well put-together woman I know drives around in a new vehicle littered with countless Burger King cups, McDonald's bags, Wendy's burger wrappers, and empty cans of Coke. However, the point is - if we aren't looking at the problem it seems easier to ignore. Most of us don't have the medical equipment to poke around in our own bodies (notice I said medical equipment, not the toys you have hidden in your top drawer, perv). So to get a picture of what's going on, I like to try a fun little experiment with some of my clients is to have them keep a food diary. Essentially it is a log of what goes in the body on any given day.

I met this kid online and he has the general fitness goal of toning up his body. I can't assess much without having the person in front of me squatting, lunging, pushing, pulling, and bending over (hey - I have to have some fun). However, I can talk about nutrition relative to his goals. I am a firm believe that beginners (or people returning to "being fit") must start with the food intake aspect of the process first. Master the food part for at least two weeks before you hit the gym. You'll need those good habits to avoid falling off the horse and into a vat of Ben & Jerry's after a good workout.

You can do a lot for your body simply by eating better. I've written about this in other posts, but I thought I'd share the food report I received and parts of the resultant chat conversation that followed. As a disclaimer, he asked for the feedback - I would never, ever, judge somebody's food intake unsolicited. He is a cute guy, a nice guy - and we can learn a lot from this.

Here is the exact email that I received:
Here's a rundown for today:
Breakfast - nothing. ( I never eat breakfast)
Lunch - Tuna sandwich on wheat. Diet Coke.
Snack - small bag of fritos. Dinner - Chicken and Tortelini. Diet coke.
Snack - Ice cream sandwich.

Ok, first observations, anyone? Other than the fact that we need a lot more details, my reaction was this:
Oh man . . .
seriously, we have a problem.

I can't believe that he has read this blog and thought it was ok to skip breakfast, eat chips, have an ice cream sandwich, alfredo sauce, and mayo soaked tuna with the goal of toning up his body. I think people should eat whatever the hell they want - but if you have goals, you have boundaries, and that's just the sad fact, or what I like to call reality.

Problem 1: Never, ever, under any circumstances skip breakfast.

From our conversation:
Me: you need good food first thing when you wake up; such as egg whites, and whole wheat toast (one piece) or oatmeal (NOT INSTANT)
Him: I hate eggs and oatmeal
Me: ok ok a smoothie? a protein bar? whole grain cereal and skim milk?
Him: okay...

Now I wasn't suggesting that he go for a hardcore smoothie with flax seed oil and whey protein boosters, I just want him to get his metabolism moving and his blood sugar on cruise control.

Problem 2: Chips.

Sigh. I actually have a weakness for chips and salsa. It is the only things I cannot resist. If Tyra Banks was having a show on tortilla chip addicts I'd be on it. Knowing my weakness, I only do it once in a while - and for special circumstances, like when I go to dinner with my closest gal pal for the first time in a long while.

Problem 3: White sauces.

My reaction upon finding out that this "chicken and tortellini" wasn't grilled chicken tossed in a light olive oil sauce over whole wheat tortellini:
OH NO white sauce is bad bad bad (for real) it's butter and creamy . . it's fat city it's houston, texas alfredo is the absolute fattest sauce other than pure cheeese mixed with lard

An overreaction? I don't think so. It's bad news.

Problem 4: Pre-packaged foods that you can't customize.

You almost always have to customize your food in order to make it weight-loss friendly. Let's look at the tuna sandwich, that he got pre-made from a cafe where he works.

Me: tell me about the sandwich
Him: wheat bread... nothing on it.
Me: it wasn't tuna salad? no mayo?
Him: yes... It had mayo.
Me: that's something that's fat fat fat one more thing . . the bread wheat or whole wheat or you're not sure?
Him: hmm... I'm not sure.. but probably just wheat
Me: you have to demand whole wheat

See he picked up this sandwich already made so he was a victim of the conspiracy to make all Americans need healthcare due to poor diets and lack of nutritional awareness. He actually captured the main reason why so many people eat the "wrong" things:
Here's what I think I know its not good... But its easy.. I'm SOO busy... and all those foods are easy and quick.

So we know that we don't hook up with a guy who is easy and quick, (or maybe you prefer that, who knows) but we don't have the same standards for the food that goes in our body. Hmm. Interesting.

There are so many great options out there for quick/easy food on the go in every major city. The rural areas are a lot harder to navigate. Here in New York we have Healthy Living NYC which has a lot of restaurants that allow you to make good choices.

Worst case scenario, make due with what you have. For example, if I had to eat the options he did yesterday this is how it would go.
From our conversation:
Him: you wouldn't have [eaten] anything on that list, huh?
Me: um, i'd pick the grilled chicken out of the pasta and wipe the sauce off with a napkin . . . then eat it.

See, it's easy!

Training the Tipsy

I have had a client for the past two months that really never wanted training. He was, as he stated in several text messages, more interested in watching me in what he calls my "sexy shorts" than he is in working out. Throughout this whole ordeal I kept it all about business and I kept pushing him and ignoring him when he said, "ow", "enough", "zat's et" (he has an accent). I was convinced I could show him that he needed me if he ever wanted to work out in really meaningful and productive ways.

The sessions were tortuous for me. It wasn't the fact that I knew he was just going through the motions, it was the fact that I would be certain to get a text from him after the session something like this one that I got after a recent session: "Why u r so fcking cute?? Ajjj.." Granted, the boy says NOTHING of the sort during the workout, he simply complains about pretty much every single thing we do. Essentially he seems annoyed that we spend the hour working out.

All this sets the context for what happened during his last session. The original appointment was scheduled for Saturday afternoon, but he canceled and rescheduled it for Sunday instead. Fine, I had no pressing plans. I get to the gym and wait for him, and wait, and wait. I check my phone - he's running 10 minutes late - but he it has already been 15 minutes. By 4:30 (a half an hour after we were supposed to start) he strolls in wearing his popped collar, pink, perky, polo shirt. He apologized and told me that it was because - he just left brunch.

Brunch in the afternoon almost always means some booze-ination went down. "Brunch, eh? You're sure you're ready to work out already?" I asked. He smiled and said he was. Noticing that he was in a semi-daze, I asked him if he had anything to drink at brunch. "Yeah, mimosa, mimosa, mimosas!" he said, each word getting a little bit louder and more animated. "MimosaS?" I asked.

His brunch came with three free mimosas but since he was friends with the bartender he had two more. That's five in case you lost count. So not only did he take in about 140 calories for each mimosa (700 calories!), he was nearing, if not well beyond categorical drunkedness.

I already had to wait a half an hour for this guy, and he's usually a pain to work with so I had prepared the studio with a nice round of torture. I had begun planning this nonstop circuit of exercises as I waited impatiently for him. Now that he was finally at the gym, I was eager to get his tipsy ass in gear.

For a brief second I thought, maybe I should just send him home - it's probably not safe for him to work out. I guess my professional side kicked in - but then I kicked it right back away - he had already made me wait around for nearly 40 minutes before we got started and that is time for which I do not get paid. If people like Lindsay Lohan can sometimes operate motor vehicles under the influence of coke and sustain only minor injuries, this boy would be fine for a good ass-kicking using dumbells.

The session was a set of circuits that I had arranged in a semi-private studio. The lights were dim and the music was loud, I was having him work out in the best version of a bar I could create. I wanted his last session to be memorable and his being very tipsy inspired me to create an environment that suited the drunk theme - the club atmosphere made it that much more fun.

I was a little nervous when I had him going up and down on the step, he was very wobbly, and had a real tough time keeping up with my tempo. I kept telling him to move faster and he kept getting slower. He got dizzy during crunches and opted instead to just lay down and breathe for a minute. By the time he was doing push-ups on the Bosu ball he was pretty much a mess, but I have to say - he did survive it better than I expected. He only complained one time the entire hour - during a set of lateral shoulder raises with bodybars during which he uttered, "uhhh, uhhh" with every rep.

For the most part he was pretty silent and extremely sweaty. He was still in a daze but I think we successfully got all of the mimosa out of him. I was glad he managed to be quite active without throwing up, which, by the way, was my greatest concern. Once when he paused, put his hand to his mouth and looked down, I thought to myself, crap - who would have to clean that up? Me? No, no way, no how. Him? That'd be wierd. The housekeeping staff? No, they don't clean up things they can't potentially swipe. I decided that if his regurgitated force of nature were to come upon us, I'd send him home and I would close the door and sneak away quietly.

Luckily for everyone he never threw up - we headed up to the front of the gym to sign for the session and shared our last awkward moment of small talk - about how we avoided the stability ball (he was already unstable enough on his own today). I said, "yeah I crossed the balls off," referring to his chart. He laughed and said, "my balls off"? I laughed, closed the book and told him I had to get going. I was walking to the train when I got this text, "But at the end i cant suck ur balls off. . . and I am so sad for that . . ."

I don't get paid enough to do this job.

Seamen Everywhere

More than Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, and my birthday combined there is a special time of year that gets me excited. It's a time when the streets are filled with hot, freshly buzzed, cocky, drunk boys fresh from the sea - and here in New York we call this special holiday Fleet Week. It is a Navy event, but since I am not much into guys who wear all white - I love the week for the Marines who come out in full force as well.

Sigh.

I had been counting down the days to Fleet Week - each time I get off the train to go to work at the gym I see the MTA poster announcing it and it would give me a little pep in my step. Memories of seeing all the uniforms and wide-eyed, eager-to-please, tipsy boys on 14th street last year in Chelsea come rushing back. Marines in Chelsea - now that porn sort of writes itself and I am first in line to guest star in the opening scene.

Tonight I had a session at the gym with one of my regulars. He had some scheduling issues over the past few weeks and a vacation before that so we needed to re-vamp our momentum to get cookin' on his goal of a Memorial Day swimsuit debut. With only 5 days to work with I had to act fast. It was a great session -- he was a somewhat shaky, severely sweaty, and still smiling - just how I like my clients to be at the end of the session.

I ended up walking with my client because he lives on the way to the train I was taking to go workout. I bid him farewell with a cheerful, "Happy Fleet Week" and then hoped on the train. I hit up Better Burger for a bunless chicken burger. Sitting in the window looking at all of the relative cuteness, I almost decided to work out in gay mecca but my better judgment kicked in (who can concentrate on a good work out with hot boys in the room?) and I headed back up to the UWS.

A great workout - not too crowded, caught the Idol finale while warming up - and by the end my body was sufficiently beaten into a self-tortured pulp. I went to the locker room, saw the skeevy crowd (this location is notoriously un-cute at night), and opted out of the shower in order to escape an attack by a towel snatching senior citizen (I have seen this happen).

So, all of these decisions were out of the norm for me - switching two trains just to go work out, not showering after the workout, stopping by Chelsea just for some random protein. This, my friends, is how fate works. This night turned out to be timed perfectly.

I run down into the 79th street station and cannot believe my eyes.

Yes. Marines, a gaggle of them standing on the opposite platform. Ok, maybe not a gaggle but there were 8 of them and still - 8 is enough for me. Heck, I would have taken the one incredibly cute dark-haired one who was swaying back and forth in his drunken stupor. I devised a plan - separate him from the pack, attack while he's weak, nurse him back to health and keep him in my bed for a few hours.

I was a little disappointed in the guys however - as I often am when I see a random Marine walking around. I guess I'm into the idea, or the uniform - well definitely the haircut, but this group had just 1 cute one, and 2 so-so ones. That means there were 5 not so cute ones. They were soft around the middle - Marines are not supposed to be soft - they are supposed to be hard.

The sight of the guys really got my Fleet Week spirit pumping. I can't wait for more . . . here's to a great week with seamen all over the place.

Rubbin' One Out

To commemorate the end of a really long and laborious, yet mostly meaningless semester, I got my first massage. Yes, my first massage in 30 years. I was partially interested in the idea after reading about Cooper's massage at the end of his semester. However, mine wasn't nearly as exciting, but it sure did the trick.

It was at this place in Noho, a tiny little hole-in-the-wall, that still managed to not seem creepy. It is run by a group of Thai women who waste no time getting you onto the table from the second you walk in the door. There are no separate rooms, just a series of five low partitions and some bamboo blinds. The lights were low, faint music was playing, and there was a faint smell of incense burning.

Since I had never done this before, I had gotten some advice and or "warnings" about what to expect. There I was standing next to the table. Nobody said, take off your clothes. I had this quick fear that I would get naked and then she'd come back with some paperwork for me to fill out or something. I am more used to people taking off my clothes for me in a fit of passion - but for this occasion I decided that I didn't need somebody to pull my pants down and I proceeded.

I got to the underwear, leave them on, take them off? I didn't know what to do. Given the fact that there was a wide open view and the potential for people to see how amazing these underwear look, I decided to keep them on. These are the absolute best pair of underwear I own. They were a brand new pair of Diesel briefs and on the back they say "Only the brave." Haha, perfect!

I am laying on my stomach, ass in the air. A woman comes in and starts right away with some long sweeping motions. I don't know why, but I was really nervous about this. I had no idea of what she intended to do. In no time, I relented and just laid limp letting her move me around as needed.

The woman pushed and dug into me real hard. Since I have been working out pretty intensely lately my body was screaming. Massage really is something people who lift weights are supposed to do - it's a part of the whole package. When we work out and put tiny tears into our muscle tissue, it doesn't repair smoothly. In order to get the best results you have to rub it out. My new woman friend had found two wicked knots in my back and she was not leaving until they were gone. At one point I thought I was going to pass out.

But I liked it.

Once she moved on from my upper back I sighed with relief. She moved some towels around and the yanked my underwear down. Ooooh. She tucked a towel into the top of my underwear and the whole time I was hoping, "did she leave it so the cute waistband was still showing?" She climbed up on to the table and straddled me more than once. But the last time she did it she was squeezing her thighs into me and pushing down into my ass. Sheesh. I hate to say it but that was really, really exciting. It's not fair that she was pressing me into the table like that. My mind started to wander. I mean, I am only human. I don't even like girls - but when somebody is straddling you - and you're face down - it's easy to pretend that it's anybody you want it to be - even Ryan Phillipe.

So I kept trying to focus on other things. I developed an emergency plan in case she asked me to roll over at that moment. I decided that I would pretend to fall to the floor - and the commotion that would ensue would certainly relieve any excitement. Thankfully, she had more work to do with my hamstrings, and calves.

Once I relaxed into the idea of a woman rubbing me with oil all over my body I started thinking that I wanted to suggest parts on which to focus. However, not a single word was spoken between the two of us the entire hour. But, based on what she did to my back side I was really revved up for a nice rub down of my chest, biceps, quads, and feet. Sigh. She flipped me over, rubbed my head (which was real nice) and then moved down to my feet. What? She skipped my chest? My aching, sore, needing-a-rub chest!? I wanted it badly but the magic she did with my feet made it all ok.

I have been known to say that I would rather have a foot rub than anything else. That includes any sort of sordid lovemaking or variation therein. The key to my hotspot is in a good footrub. I was in pure heaven. She was squeezing and rubbing and bending each one with sheer perfection. I was really in a state of euphoria. Then, she tapped the top of my feet, murmurred something and walked away.

We're done?! Just like that? It's over? I opened my eyes and saw the clock. It had been just over an hour since I arrived. Crap. That was fast. Now I know how straight women feel when a guy is making them feel really good and then they just up and leave and/or roll over and fall asleep. I remained on the table for a good minute just being still before I got dressed and paid the woman 50 bucks. Yes, people, 42 bucks for an hour massage - in New York.

I kept thinking that she should be making more money for all this work. People pay double for training, and what she is doing feels a whole hell of a lot better.

Like I said before, everybody needs to be aware of what the muscle tissue in their body is doing. Granted, you don't have to get a massage to do this. There are so many ways to self-massage, and g-rated uses of the sauna, steamroom to help in the effort. What I use, and what I encourage my clients to use is something called Self-Myofascial Release (SMR). The word "release" in the context of massage is usually something more thrilling - in this case I'm talking about using a foam roller.

You've probably seen these at the gym and wondered what they are for. It's worth asking a trainer to show you how to use them. If they don't know how to use them, or don't think they are an important and valuable part of fitness - they shouldn't be working and you should run away screaming. In a nutshell, these foam rollers provide a deep-tissue massage - for free! They help work on muscle tension relationships (when your posture is messed up - even in ways you don't at first realize), and on general tightness in muscles. It is a great way to warm up for a workout.

On days you run, you want to SMR your calves and hamstrings. When you're doing squats you want to SMR your legs and your lower back. When you want to feel really great and do better crunches so you can have hotter abs - you SMR your upper and lower back - it is pure pleasure. It is best to show you how to do this in real life - so New Yorkers let me know and I'll hook you up - but essentially you apply your own body weight into the roll and you, well, you roll.

You can read more about it here or you can go ahead and buy one here. This document is a hugely comprehensive guide to how to use it once you get it. It's the kind of toy that will make you feel good - just like that one hiding under your bed you sicko perv.

Supplementing Your Supple Body's Needs

It was entirely coincidental that David commented on my last post that he was curious about my take on supplements. Earlier in the day I was thinking about posting my recipe for the tasty smoothie I was about to enjoy, and it contains supplemental protein powder. That's about as far as I get these days in terms of supplementation. Essentially, I'm a purist who dabbles in a bit of extra protein now and then.

I am very likely in the minority on this topic as most gym-bound guys are as much into lifting pills, powders, and protein drinks as they are into weights. It's true that there are a lot of good supplements out there but it's also true that "real food" can provide a lot of, if not all, that you need to build muscle and increase energy. The thing a lot of people forget is that supplements are meant to be "supplemental" and not the main part of a diet.

I stopped using energy inducing supplements because I got on the Ripped Fuel band wagon before they went ephedra-free. This was when I first started the Body for Life plan (which, by the way - totally changed my life forever). I was enamored with the packaging, who doesn't want to be ripped?! Leaner, meaner, stronger, faster, better. Who could say no to that!? I loved the rush they gave me - it was like a really hardcore venti quad Americano from Starbucks times ten for me. However, if I took them at any time other than before an intense workout I was a crazy, irritable maniac on speed.

Recently I tried the nitric oxide inducers (like NO-Xplode, NO-S Extreme Lean, etc.) but I found it led to little to no improvements in my performance. If you have a strong cardio plan - your L-arganine recruitment is probably at optimum levels so these things really just provide excess that is wasted. I like just having a good bout of caffeine or sugar-free Red Bull before a long workout, and LOTS of water.

I never got into Creatine because if you're not working seriously to BUILD larger muscles it can easily become a huge cess pool of fatty mass of yuck. I just never had that as a goal for myself or for the guys with whom I want to make out. For me, and the boys I like - it's lean, mean, figthin' machines with good chests, nice arms, hot calves, and a taut, hot ass. Veins that show just a little bit, and tattoos, well then you got me wickedly excited.

That all being said, I am a huge fan of protein powders - they are a convenient source for supplementing your daily diet with some extra needed protein, and other essential nutrients and BCAA (amino acid packs of fun). The powders are quick, easy, and there is enough competition out there that the taste keeps on improving. I was a Myoplex boy for a long time, getting hooked on it through Body for Life, but then I got turned on to Isopure because it's carb-free, more pure (literally), and packs in a little more protein. Yum. However for all you New Yorkers, Juice Generation offers up a Shazaam! for a hefty $7.55 that includes a Myoplex packet, rasperries, and water. You can switch it up to use blueberries too but I don't like how that one tastes.

Yeah, Myoplex has some carbs and a few grams of fat - but the nutrients it provides allow it to serve as a healthy meal replacement. I'm into that because I like efficiency. Then again, when I first felt like I was getting into great shape - I was eating six chicken breast a day. If you're that desperate for optimum proteins, egg whites are the very top of the list.

All in all - supplementation is something worth investigating (that link is a comprehensive site that provides information and reviews on nearly all supplements). Furthermore, I strongly urge people to educate themselves about what goes into their body. Google is your friend, so use it like you bastards use all of your friends. Haha, ok that was a bad joke - but for some of you it's probably true. If you're a serious hardcore bodybuilder you're probably going to have to look into supplements but there are better options out there and always, always, start gradually. When in doubt, don't put it in your mouth guys. And that, my friends, is an important safety message that you should carry with you to the bars, and your bedrooms.

My Smoothie of the Moment: The Razz-PiZazz-a-Berry Banger

• Get a sturdy blender.
• Add 8 oz. of lite orange juice (with added calcium too)
• Add a handfull of frozen or fresh raspberries (I like frozen because it makes the drink frosty)
• Add 4-5 frozen or fresh strawberries
• Mix in 1.5 scoops of whey protein powder (I use EAS Vanilla Whey - with BCAA enhancement)
• Add 3-4 icecubes.
• Hit the liquefy button and watch the magic happen.

Once it is swirling down like a flushed toilet, it's ready to drink. In all liklihood it is going to grow into a creamy delight. It has around 300 calories so be prepared to work some of that off right away. This is a pre-workout smoothie. It has about 35 grams of protein and it seriously tastes amazing. Raspberries are a superfood so eat them with delight. You can use regular whey protein, but the Vanilla flavor gives this drink a "creamsicle" effect. Enjoy!

You Picked Him, I Sure Didn't

Based on the last poll, if the readers of this blog were to amble into a locker room, they'd most want to see Ryan Seacrest in a towel. He got the most votes (42%) to Chris Richardson (35%) who was my top choice, and our portly but cute Blake Lewis was third (23%). Thankfully, absolutely nobody wanted to see Simon Cowell, Sanjaya Malakar, or Randy Jackson in a towel.

Hmm, the only problem with your choice is that Ryan would be that guy in the locker room who never shuts up. Sure, he'd be in a towel, but he'd ask annoying and meaningless questions. But, perhaps we're on to something here - shower idol! Hmm . . . that gives me an idea - look for Shower Idol coming soon to a Blog near you.

In the meantime, take the new poll - it's on the right.

Hot Mama

I am a mama's boy.

That's easy to be when your mom is as amazing as my mom. There isn't a person I have ever met, or even one that I've seen on TV for that matter, who compares to her level of creativity, resourcefulness, and pure genius. On top of all of that - she is a really, really, really pretty woman. In elementary school I used to always love it when my mom would come to the school because she was so much prettier than everybody else's mom. I guess it helps that she was probably a good 10 years younger than most of the other moms, but still - she has an amazingly beautiful quality about her.

Given that, I was a little concerned with a phone conversation she and I had today. It was supposed to be one of those "Happy Mother's Day!" kind of calls where I tell her how much I love her and how she is the best mom in the universe, etc. Instead, we ended up talking about dieting and exercise for over an hour.

She starts out by saying that she is giving up her diet. I didn't know she was even on a diet. I did know that she was trying some new 7 minute workout where you isolate and contract certain muscles for 25 seconds at a time but I passed that off as another one of her new age voodoo fads. So, the trainer in me kicked in and I started probing a little.

"How long have you been on this diet?" I asked.

"Over a week, and I still haven't lost anything, not even a pound."

So for most readers the sheer absurdity is easily to spot. Almost nothing happens in a week, and on top of all of that since when do we measure progress by a single pound - a pound that we can maintain or release simply by choosing or not choosing to pee.

Regardless, this was her reality. In her mind, she is changing how she eats. That isn't easy for anyone to do. For some people, and I'm including my own mom in this, the changes they are making seem a lot bigger than they actually are. She was angry and upset because she felt she had "done something" but "lost nothing" in a week.

I knew she never had good eating habits in terms of scheduling regular meals. Even when I was little sometimes dinner would be as late as 10 p.m. As our conversation continued I realize that she's still eating only twice a day, once early in the morning and again late at night. So while she thinks she's doing something positive by eating less (and better food with the "diet"), she's really doing more harm than good.

Your body needs food to operate properly. Food is energy. When your body senses that you're either very irregular about providing it with needed energy or likely to leave large gaps of time between meals -- it reacts by holding on to every bit of what it has. Your body will store fat because it provide the "emergency" energy it may need in the event of a severe loss of food supply. Some of our ancestors needed this for when say, the White men came along and killed off the entire Bison population. Anyway, your body is likely only to release it when it knows that you'll be providing it with a nice regular supply of good energy.

The same basic philosophy applies to working out - your body needs to be convinced that resistance is futile and that you're going to keep on burning off the calories until it releases a pound of fat. For those of you don't know, it takes a net loss of 3,500 calories to slop off a pound of fat. That's 500 a day for a week that you need to burn off in addition to what you regularly burn. So . . . the equation is: eat less, move more. However if you aren't eating throughout the day something consisting of a "good" carb and some protein you are messing up the equation because without proper nutrition you'll have a lot less energy and retain a lot more water which means in all likelihood you'll be moving a lot less and getting fatter by the second. Yikes!

So, my advice to my mom was to stick with her plan but not to evaluate her success on a pound, instead on how well she sticks to the plan (which consists of eating 3 small meals and 3 snacks throughout the day). She is going to do this for 4 weeks and I am going to try to call her as often as possible to remind her. We came up with some solutions like George Foreman-ing a bunch of marinated chicken and putting them with some brown rice in individual dishes. We are also focusing on getting her moving for 30 minutes a day.

It really made me sad to hear her so upset about her weight. I can remember her feeling this way at many points in the past, she's tried so many diets and even hypnosis. The problem is that results don't come fast enough - but they never do, for anyone. I love my mom and I want her to love herself as much as I love her. I asked her when the last time was that she felt good in her body. She said 1976. That's 30 years ago - you're not going to reverse 30 years in just over a week, but that can be the first step in that direction. It's all about consistency people - no matter what you decide you're going to do at the gym, or involving your food intake - make the decision and commit to it for at least a month. Don't step on a scale, wear your baggiest clothes and just focus on whatever it is you decided to do (work out 5 times a week, eat only whole grains, no more soda, etc.).

A lot of people can make the decision, but can't stick with it. It's like they know what they should be doing but "life" gets in the way - especially exercise. At some point you have to put your own health at the top of the priority list. Like I told my mom, her customers are still going to get the photos she's working on - they won't have a panic attack if it's 30 minutes later, the shop won't close down if she puts a sign on the door saying "back in a half an hour." It's one step and one day at a time but the first step needs to be moving your physical and mental health to the top of your list priorities.

Really now, what good is anything (the perfect job, boyfriend, car, cute underwear) if you don't feel good in your own skin?

So happy Mother's Day to moms everywhere and those who love them.

Liftin' without the 'Pod

When I'm at the gym, Ivan II is my workout buddy. He's a sleek 30 gigabyte piece of Apple perfection. His predecessor, Ivan I, got ripped off out of my locker at the gym last year. It was an inside job. The "housekeeper" who chills in the locker room was one of two other guys at the gym (it was 3 a.m. after all), and he was the only person in the locker room when I took Ivan off and rolled him up into my jeans. I stupidly forgot a lock. I thought the fact that I take 2 minute showers and that the gym was empty made it safe. I was wrong. When I came back to my locker, Ivan was gone.

Having worked with housekeepers at my own gym. I have no doubt they are a shady bunch. So I urge you all to buy good locks. Also, heed the warnings on the signs that say "Locks will be removed daily," because when they feel like it - they'll clip the crap out of all the locks and loot the booty inside the lockers.

On the night of the iPod heist, I got out of the shower, headed to my locker and realized Ivan was missing. I checked and rechecked every square inch of the locker. His case was gone, earbuds and all - stolen away. I was enraged. The front desk guy said to me "nobody turned anything in." No kidding, dickwad. He also told me that a lot of people had been coming in and out. "In the past 5 minutes?" I asked. "Yeah. People are always coming through." How amazing that they knew exactly which of the 100 or so lockers had an iPod rolled up into jeans.

Ivan was gone for good.

I hate that housekeeper. To retaliate I started taking a few towels every single time I went, and I dumped out the bodywash in the shower on more than one occasion just to make the lazy housekeeper do more work. I stopped putting towels in the bins because I wanted him to have to do it.

Soon after the Podsnatching, a rich guy that I met and dated for 2 seconds bought me Ivan II. It's always handy to meet a rich guy who likes to show off his ability to fly you places and buy you gadgets.

Anyway, last night I was in such a rush to get from school to the gym to meet up with my clients that I forgot Ivan II at home. This was going to be a podless workout and I couldn't recall a time in recent history that I had to workout without music. I have my Podrunner podcasts for my cardio, I and I have my special "Gym-N-E-Mix-It" playlist that keeps me so wound up it isn't even funny. Working out in the evenings, I need the music to keep me pushing hard the entire time so I was dreading what it would be like to workout without the "don't talk to me because I have earbuds in" veil of privacy.

Turns out, I really do hate working out without my music to keep me bouncing around and to keep from overhearing annoying gym conversations. To top it all off, I saw a hetero kiss on the gym floor!! If you're keeping track, that's 2 gay kisses (one of which bordered on "making out") and 1 straight kiss in the past few weeks. The couple made me nauseous, with him touching her ass and grunting through his sets the whole time. I heard a woman tell her friend that her dentist rests his arms on her boobs (and that she doesn't mind at all because he's cute), and I heard a guy talking on his cell phone while he worked out -- phone in one hand, dumbell in the other doing lazy bicep curls.

So in honor of good gym music I am listing some of my favorite gym pieces for you to download from a free source, or from iTunes. They are all somewhat older songs because I dont' think you should have to concentrate on new music while you're working out.

1. Adema: The Way You Like It. This song pumps me up more than any other song - it's sexy, it's hardcore. A rougher Linkin Park knock-off with a catchy chorus that will hook you hard.
2. Cake: Going the Distance. It was made for the gym, you can totally get into the message, "driving and striving as fast as he can . . . he's going the distance," Plus, the Howard Dean-esque "Yahh!" at 1:08 makes it all worth it.
3. Dangerous Muse: The Rejection. Of course a modern gay anthem has to be on the list. This is a catchy, chill, fast-talking song that will keep you bopping around. "How could you not want me, I'm hot."
4. Pat Benetar: Love is Battlefield. This song needs a remake, or at least a rebirth - it is way, way, way too good to be forgotten and it's gym friendly, "We are strong . . ." Get out your neon colors and hairspray people.
5. Kelly Clarkson/Chris Cox Remix: Walk Away. This could be in the #1 spot as it's one of my absolute favorite remixes. It makes an already decent song extra decent.
6. Kate Bush: Jig of Life. Pure adredenaline. Clearly the most "out there" of any other on the list, but this song with move you - the music is genius, the lyrics are . . . well, just ignore them . . . they're neat but they make Tori Amos seem rational.
7. Breaking Laces: God in Training. This is a group that has yet to "hit big" but I love this song. It's fun to listen to at the gym, when you're training your body.
8. Beyonce: Work It Out. Also made for working out, or at least working "it" out. You'll be shakin' your bootyliciousness all around the gym. It's also a perfectly chill tempo for curls or crunches.
9. Justin Timberlake: SexyBack(Dirty). Sigh. This shouldn't be on the list simply because we've had enough of it but in terms of getting you pumped out about pumping it up - it works. Plus, he's cute so it's ok.
10. Maroon 5: Shiver. I love Adam Levine so he has to be on the list - it's my personal gym favorite from the cute maroon boys. This one, or the Kanye West remix of This love will make you a tougher, leaner, meaner, gym god.

Special Requests

When I first meet a client we spend a lot of time talking about their history, lifestyle, and most certainly, their goals. Aside from the usual "lose weight, build muscle" mantra, I sometimes get some special requests. One woman prefers only to work out in a studio at the gym, in private. That's reasonable, and in fact -- it's desirable. Another guy hired me so that he could meet girls. He literally wanted me to strategically place him in the gym near girls during our workout. In my notes from our initial meeting it wrote, "wants to date women at the gym," and underlined it several times.

Some others come wanting a very specific type of workout. Since it is truly their hour, if it's within a safe context and will help them toward their goal, I am pretty much open to special requests. Boxing, yoga, pilates, sure -- I'm game.

However, I have never gotten this type of request that I found on Craigslist today:

Personal trainer (military) wanted - m4m - 40 (SoHo)
I am looking for a personal trainer who has an Army or USMC background. GWM only. I want to be put through a butt naked boot camp drill.

I work at a gym in that neighborhood. Now I am trying to go through my mental list I see working out. Who could be craving this? You never can tell the kinky ones. It's always the quiet, shy ones that want to get orders barked at them. Does this guy want to be naked, or does he want the trainer to be naked too?

Either way, for the right price, and for the right guy - I'd probably do it.

Your Buddy, He's Changing

I don't have a lot of time to devote to an insightful post or some new fitness tips until the end of the semester so I thought I'd pop in a little story from the locker room that had me laughing for quite a while. If you're a new reader this would be a good day to go through some of the older posts because it makes me sad to think they might feel neglected. Oh, while you're at it - take the poll.

Last night I was getting changed and I overheard the most notorious locker room stalker of 94th street make a remark to a younger guy while he was getting dressed.

"Your buddy, he's changing," he said.

The younger guy looked very confused. "Who?"

"You, your buddy," he said again with what seems to be a French accent.

"Me, my buddy?" the younger guy said with his eyebrows furrowed into his eye sockets.

"No, your bah-dee, eees changing" the gross, towel-clad stalker replied as he rubbed his belly with one hand and pointed at the younger guy with the other.

The younger guy was really getting nervous, he had a nearly naked man telling him his body was changing.

"I've noticed how much is changed lately," the stalker says, pauses and adds into the already awkward silence, "but don't worry I'm not hitting on you."

At this point, I was laughing to myself. I have seen the stalker standing between the showers just waiting for his victims. He has no shame when going in for the attack. This younger guy had no idea.

"Thanks," the guy with the changing body said, "but no thanks."

He grabbed his bag and walked out, looking around to see who noticed this big gay pick up. The stalker rolled his eyes, hands on his hips and swished back into the shower area looking for his next victim.

It was fun to watch this pick up get lost in translation. The guy was so confused wondering who his buddy was, and where he was changing that he ended up having a quasi-conversation -- one that was longer enough to allow the stalker to rub his own belly with glee. The younger guy was in sheer panic that this dude in a towel was making conversation but all in all, he handled it like a champ and maybe his body is changing. Leave it to the horny guy to point it out.

Boys Behaving Badly

School has been kicking my ass pretty royally lately. Therefore, I haven't been working at the gym meeting new members (and showing them how much they need me) as much as I need to be. I am in the final stretches of the semester however and I seriously cannot wait for the end.

No matter how busy I get with school - nothing comes between me and going to the gym to work out. The only thing that sucks is that I end up having to go to one of the clubs in my hetero-centric (by New York standards that's still pretty freakin gay) area. The gyms are fine but the people who go there are not as fun to look at.

So thankfully for you, my curious reader, I am able to keep track of the sordid happenings, and tonight was no exception. In fact, I was shocked at how the story seemed to be writing itself. I had just popped in to the gym for a nice cardio session, never even considering something as wild as what ended up happening would happen.

I get to the gym, headed to the locker room and to the same locker I always use. There is a latin guy, we're going to call him Jose to make things easy. He was the first of a train of guys that filtered out of the shower/steam area. His locker was near mine and his eyes were on my . . . The thing was, he wasn't shy about it. As per usual, I pretended not to notice. I put my bag away, pull off my jeans and stand there in my underwear digging for my shorts.

Meanwhile, the four other guys who followed Jose out of the shower area are dispersed in the locker room but nobody is getting dressed. I feel like I walked onto a movie set - a cheap 1980s porn set replete with the required overly tan bodies and the one guy with a strange mustache. I recognize 2 of the guys from when I used to frequent this gym. I have never seen either of them work out, EVER, but I have seen them in the locker room at least hundreds of times. They are both overweight middle-aged guys. That's no problem for me, it just helps set the context.

The guys are all standing around looking at each other, I'm putting on my sneakers and Jose is now putting on some light purple boxer shorts. I am dismayed by his poor choice in underwear. Alas, 2 of the other guys are now tucked away in small nook in the lockerroom. They seem like a couple, or like two really friendly guys.

As I am walking out - I see the guy from the other gym who was kissing the other guy. Whoa. I pretty much slowed down to the point where I was emulating the special effects from the Matrix. Why was he way up here at this gym? Does he live up here too? Is he joining in on the locker room fun?

I went upstairs and had a good hour of getting entirely sweaty. On several occasions I saw the Kisser, but he was busy looking in the mirror and lifting up his shirt. The tension between the two of us was obvious and since there was literally nobody else worth paying attention to in the gym we both took turns trying to out-sexy each other while remaining oh so disinterested in the other person.

So . . . I go back to the locker room - it's been an entire hour and the same people are still in the locker room, still in towels, still with grins and semi hard-ons pokin behind the terry cloth. Just for the sake of illustrating how crazy this was, Jose was there and he was still pretending to put on the same pair of boxers.

There was sex in the air - and everybody was breathing it in. I was definitely a cooling effect on the quasi-orgy because my face made it clear that I was somewhat disgusted. If you're going to take a locker room fantasy and make it real - you had damn well better be hot. Geez. The guys went from the water fountain to the shower to the steamroom like they were on a lazy susan. Nobody said a word. Then again, nobody ever does when this is going down.

I peel of my soaking wet shirt, shorts, socks and wrap a towel around my waist. I had no choice but to take a shower. Sad to say that it was an uneventful shower that lasted for no longer than 2 minutes. Back at my locker, Jose was sitting on the bench in such a way that I had to reach over him wearing just my towel. Only after I yanked my bag out of the locker and onto the floor did he move to the side.

By this time, Kisser had come back into the locker room. He was the only person worth paying attention to - but the whole scene was beyond my limit of sketchiness allowance. The gym was closing in less than 10 minutes and there were three guys presumably having an orgy in the steamroom. Part of me wanted to stick around to see the housekeeper break it up - but then I just figured he'd become part of the action - that's how it always happens in gay porn: the housekeeper becomes the sex slave, the gardener is actually a ho, you get the idea.

I wore cute underwear tonight - which is something I purposely do when I go to the gym. I wondered if this was misleading. It was obvious that I took time to select a good pair. Did these guys think I chose them as a signal for "hey, I want some action"? I think Jose answered that affirmatively, because, as I put on my jeans he said,
"That's some buckle you have there," pointing to my belt.
"Yeah, it can be used as a weapon if necessary," I replied.
He laughed as though I was kidding.
"Or a shield too," I added.
Clearly the imagery I was sending his way was one that indicated something along the lines of get the hell away from me you freak, but he wasn't phased. I am standing there in jeans and sneakers, digging for my shirt and he bends down to get a closer look.
"Is that 69 on there?" he asked.
I rolled my eyes and pointed out it was actually the number 63, 1963 because it's a Ben Sherman belt. That invited more questions about who Ben Sherman was and if I knew that the gap often had shirts with 69 on them.

Wow. This was a really pathetic attempt for him to figure me out. He wanted me to say,
"69? Sure, I'll 69, let's go hit the steam room and you can take off your light purple boxers again!"

What bothered me even more was that the Kisser was there. Did he think I wanted to be talking to Jose? I didn't have time to worry about it - I wanted to get away as fast as possible. I took a moment to get a last glimpse at the kisser's really nice arms and headed on up to the street.

This whole scene would have definitely freaked a lot of people out - especially the wives and/or girlfriends of these guys. I can't believe that these are out gay men doing this - there is just no way. There were no standards in mate selection, and there was bad wardrobe choices, both violations of the gay code. So, here we have boys behaving badly - living out their pre-pubescent fantasies from the high school locker room 30 years after the fact.

Motivation

Some people hire trainers because they genuinely need help developing a well-suited, results-based, interesting, and effective program. More commonly, however, I find people hire me because they lack serious motivation. They know the basics, they're generally happy with their fitness level - but they can't seem to find the time/energy/reasons to get to the gym unless they make that appointment and financial commitment to have somebody breathing down their neck either literally or figuratively. Same goes for the people who can't seem to generate enough chutzpah to get up the last rep on a tough set. The mere presence of somebody you're accountable to helps you find that last bit of an ounce of oomph to get it up one more time.

People are motivated both by fear (I don't want to get fat, I don't want to be the last kid picked in dodgeball, I don't want a jiggly ass, etc.) or they are motivated by desire (I want abs like that guy, I want to feel stronger, I want to look good naked - even in flourescent lighting).

So I am sitting here in the middle of (one of) New York's gay meccas sipping on an iced venti unsweetened green tea. I'm avoiding doing work for school and instead I'm staring out the window. So many hot guys are out on the street today. The warmer weather really brings out the boys -- and in this hood, with at least three major gyms within a 3 block radius you get to see a lot of nice shoulders, arms, and legs. Ok ok, so you see a lot of people that you wish would go home and put on a snowsuit and/or walk around the back of the building - but still the good ones are worth waiting for the not-so-good ones to walk on by for sure.

Right now, walking by we have a dark-haired, medium-muscular guy in light blue mesh gym shorts, a sleeveless navy shirt, and blue nike shox. Now this, this is what I call motivation.

I never feel ugly until I sit at a Starbucks in a good old-fashioned, homespun gayborhood. How many cute guys can there really be wearing gym shorts and cute sneakers? You'd be surprised. How many well-filled tank tops or t-shirt sleeves pulled tight by awesome biceps can you see on any given afternoon? A lot. This is the kind of thing that gets me all riled up. When I'm working out I just keep my mind on the material, superficial, shallow pressure of life in gay New York. That's always good for getting me to do at least one more heavy set and another half hour of cardio.

Does this mean I'm just part of the aforementioned soul-less, shallow, superficial, body-obsessed gay clan? I don't think so, and I surely hope not. However I do remember being confused one birthday when my friend Michael gave me a copy of The Adonis Complex. Yet still, I refuse to believe I've sunk to that point.

For me it's all in good fun. I like working out, a lot. And yes, I do like eating celery more than I like eating chocolate. But the gym, and sweating -- that's what I do when I want to relax and that's the single best way for me to get out of a funk, in the mood for "love", and able to think clearly. Do I like the cosmetic results - I sure do, but only because I like to see progress. That's why it's fun to work with other people who have a goal in mind. The before and after pictures are an amazing artifact. The rest of the superficial crap is just a game - and who likes to lose at games? I don't. I lived my whole childhood with an overly competitive brother who kept Monopoly money hidden in his wallet so he could later use it to win the game.

Also, it's fun to have control over something. So much of my life feels dictated by other people: professors, bosses, parents, clients - but my body - that's something I get to play with and change. I like that.

That's why I was really brought back to reality recently by a comment made by "anonymous" to an earlier post. He said:

Gym? What's a gym?
I'm neither your first shower stall exhibitionist nor a locker room predator. I haven't been in a gym since I was forced into going back in high school (more years ago than I'd like to remember). Back then, I could easily have become hooked except that I was the brunt of serious torment. I was the non-athletic, bright, scrawny geek in my small town HS class. Worse, my peers figured out I was gay long before I even knew what gay was.

And so, today, I'm a shy couch potato, admiring serious brawn from afar, wishing that just once, one of the muscled gods I so worship would take me by the hand and teach me the ropes.

I think what bothered me most was how much I could relate to what he said. I hated gym class in high school and I avoided it at all costs. There was a moment in adulthood when things changed for me but I am still sometimes plagued with the same self--doubt that I felt when I was in the lockerroom looking at the most athletic kid in the school. I wasn't like him and I never conceived that I could be. Today he's an overweight, lazy, has-been. Everybody starts somewhere, and once the motivation kicks into a high gear - the sky is the limit. I just want Anonymous and the many guys like him to know that we're all a lot more alike than we are different. I say to Anonymous -- hire a trainer, a nice, understanding, qualified one. Oh, look at that - I have an opening next week.