By Douglas Kruger
‘THIS year, I will get in shape!’ you vowed, evaluating yourself in the mirror. ‘For though today I resemble porridge, tomorrow I shall be Schwarzenegger!’
Congrats.
As a 15ish-year veteran, let me help you with some of the rites, rhythms and realities of a regular routine.
Chances are, you’re either trying to expand or contract; to lose weight, or to put it on. I fell into the latter category. When I left school, my legs looked like the beginning of a barcode. I had a Dracula tan and spaghetti arms. I sported the finest set of ribs anyone ever saw right through a T-shirt.
Yet today, I’m passably human. I’m even strong enough to open my own pickle jar. So, take heart, it can be done. And should you stumble, heed the wisdom of this tweet: ‘I will rise again, like a Phoenix that tripped over an extension cord, hurt its shoulder, and then awkwardly stood up.’
Let’s cover some basics:
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If you’re running on the treadmill, and your mate walks over to say hi, don’t turn and shake his hand. Your disappearance will be so rapid, he won’t even see where you went. And you won’t merely fall down. Treadmills spit the unwary out backwards. You’ll find yourself bundled against the rear wall with your ankles around your ears. Hypothetically. This never happened to me.
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No one has priority over equipment. Not even that gorilla with the overbite. You’ve paid your fees: you can use anything. While you must wait patiently for the last person to finish, the first person to claim the equipment thereafter gets to use it.
Take the time you need, provided you are genuinely working out. Catching your breath is fine, but scrolling on Facebook is not, and holding up machinery while posing for selfies may generate angry mobs. Once you’re done, wipe the seat clean of any and all bodily fluids, and move on.
It is acceptable to wear a friendly face and inquire, ‘How many sets do you still have to go?’ It is not acceptable to bark, ‘How much longer you gonna hold that up, dude?’ History shows that conflict may ensue.
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This is not a swinger’s club. If you have to swing the weight, it’s too heavy. Think of basic bicep curls. If your back and shoulder get involved, you are on the right track to meet the lovely folks at A&E. Reduce the weight until you can manage at least ten smooth repetitions with little to no body swing.
This applies to everything. Ever heard the phrase, ‘If the bar ain’t bending, you’re just pretending!’? Ignore it. Unless you enjoy popping and tearing sounds. Get the form right first. Don’t fret about how teensy-weensy your starter weights appear. Nobody cares. Slow progress is not a problem. Injury is.
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Learn how. A little insight can carve years off your transformation. The info is abundantly available, particularly on YouTube, where impossibly well-built men and women freely share their entire workouts, dropping gold nuggets about form between each grunt. Plus, they look intriguing when they squat. Choose your preference.
You’ll also be amazed at the generosity of the bodybuilders on your gym floor. They know a great deal, they’re flattered by your questions, and most are surprisingly friendly, despite the way they growl under tension.
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Switch off your brain. Day One in a gym can be an introvert’s worst nightmare. Your clothes get drenched; your face turns red; you find yourself in positions reminiscent of an OnlyFans account. Once again: no one cares. Everyone pulls those faces, and everyone has stains in questionable places. To paraphrase Stephen King’s creepy clown: ‘We all sweat down here!’ Switch off and get on with it.
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Refrain from loud grunting and theatrical bravado. Pretty girls in Spandex will not be impressed, and may roll their eyes at you, which is devastating. No one minds if you breathe heavily, but Hulk-roars smack of a Napoleon complex. As does chucking your weights.
There is one borderline exception to this. Professional bodybuilders often flex in front of the mirror, and there are genuine reasons for it (beyond showing off). It keeps the muscles flushed with blood, and it promotes mind-muscle connection. But it remains a tad iffy in His Majesty’s realm. We are not Texans, so make your own judgment call on this one.
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Thou shalt not skip Legs Day. Firstly, you’ll end up looking like Gru. Secondly, it’s your largest muscle group, which means training it accomplishes several important things, including massive promotion of testosterone for the guys.
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Divide it up. Most gym-goers divide muscle groups over consecutive days. This allows each group to recover before being worked again. As a sample, my split goes: legs day, chest and biceps day, back and triceps day, shoulders day. Repeat.
Lest you collapse, you must also take rest days. Through trial and error, I’ve found it effective to train for about three days running, then take one or two days off. But exercise in any quantity is beneficial, adding years to your life and life to your years. Even once a week is worth it.
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Force yourself to persevere beyond the first few painful months. It genuinely does get easier. If you can survive until March, you will probably have formed a lasting habit. Eventually, your own body ensures that exercising is chemically addictive. You may not believe this now, but you will want to exercise. However, you won’t experience this high unless you persevere until March, and most newbies give up by February. March is your real goal.
Clean food and good sleep are as important as the exercise itself. Take a little protein before and after each workout. As you advance, add Creatine and Glutamine (for muscle endurance and repair respectively). Drink oceans of water. Oh, and alcohol switches off muscle-repair, nullifying your hard work, so avoid it for at least 60 minutes after a workout, and immediately before bed.
Final pointers? Always replace your weights after use. Be sure to do weights and cardio, whether you’re male or female. And make a point of celebrating every small milestone (but not with cake).
Good luck. And if the going gets tough, remember this useful mantra: ‘It’s my workout. I can cry if I want to!’
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Douglas Kruger is the author of 12 non-fiction books and one novel. A transplant from Johannesburg, he lives in St Helier with his wife and five-year-old son, who subjects him to endless viewings of Shaun the Sheep. Meet him at douglaskruger.com.
