Get Fit Now!: The Trainer Tells All

We had another guy we called “Dr. Drunk,” because every time he came, which was two or three times a week, he’d sit out in his car and drink and then come in and work out. One time, he was so drunk, he came in with no pants on. No pants. No underwear. Nothing. My boss saw him first.

“That guy has no pants on,” he said to me.

“Oh my God.”

“You have to go tell him.”

“What?”

“You have to tell him he has no pants on.”

“I don’t even know his real name. You tell him.”

“No, you.”

“What am I supposed to say? ‘Um, excuse me, Dr. Drunk, but you have no pants on?’” I suddenly came up with an excuse of something very urgent I had to do. I don’t know who ended up telling him, but I never saw Dr. Drunk again.

Another day, I saw a gym member standing outside with his video camera pointed in through the window, filming women working out. “Dude, that’s really wrong,” I said. He looked me straight in the eye and said: “No, man, it’s so right.”

What was I supposed to do? Make the guy pick up his toenails? Call AA on the drunk guy, or sic the police on the peeping Tom? You had to pick your battles. These people were your clients, or your potential clients, and you didn’t want to shoot yourself in the foot by pissing them off. Plus, you had to be careful, because if you reacted too harshly, it would get back to your boss.

I was working out with a client, and a woman on a treadmill, not one of my clients, just a gym member, dropped her towel. She looked over at me and snapped her fingers, then pointed down at her towel. All I could think was, “Are you outta your mind? You think I’m going to pick up that towel for you after you snap at me?” So I didn’t. Wouldn’t you know, my boss called me into his office.

“Why didn’t you pick up the towel?”

“She snapped her fingers at me.”

“But she’s a member, and members are always … ”

“Are you kidding me? She snapped her fingers at me,” I said again, louder. “All she had to do was ask.”

Sometimes you had to do what they told you to do. You had no choice. One day a little 70-year old woman called me over and pointed to a guy on the leg-extension machine and said, “His thingie is hanging out. You have to go over and tell him that his thingie is hanging out.” What could I do? I looked over and, sure enough, his thingie was hanging out. I didn’t want to tell him, but I had to. If my thingie was hanging out, I’d want to know.