Gym rules for the modern gym-goer I figured out by myself like a big boy

I have learned all these things the hard way so that you can learn them the… soft way, I guess?

1- Don’t burst into the locker room like an Ostrogoth warlord

You know what people do in locker rooms these days? Take naked photos of themselves in the mirror. Do you know what happens when you fling the locker room door open and catch someone mid-selfie? They drop their phone on the floor, and there through a badly cracked screen lies a picture of half their penis. Out of focus.

Do this instead: knock gently, count to forty, then open the door slowly and walk backwards into the locker room, keeping your eyes on the floor.


2- Don’t cling to the bicep curl machine in desperation like it’s your father’s approval

He doesn’t really love you, despite what mom says. The bicep curl machine doesn’t love you either. Let it go.

Do this instead: let more deserving people enjoy the bicep curl machine. Just like your father’s approval.


3- Don’t antagonize the receptionist with practical and necessary questions

She’s busy and can’t be bothered and all she can see when you talk to her is your gelatinous upper arms. One more annoying interjection from you and she’ll roll her eyes and you’ll be getting the shittiest locker for weeks — the one that’s set so low that you need to bust your kneecaps to reach it, then crack your skull open against the door of the next locker if and when you manage to get up.

Do this instead: figure out the goddamned WiFi password on your own.


4- Don’t make eye contact between sets with the short guy that smells like a donkey

Just — trust me on this.

Do this instead: scribble something on your little notebook so that people think there’s a method to your being there. But there is no method, is there. You’re pure, unbridled chaos.


5- Don’t make eye contact between sets with the personal trainers

Just — trust me on this.

Do this instead: run the fuck away whenever a trainer gets too close for comfort, which in my case is a half-mile radius. I don’t need to know what the hell I’ve been doing wrong fitness-wise for years, and I don’t think you do either.


6- Don’t ask for help when you staple yourself to the bench under a 120 kg barbell

This is pretty self-explanatory, but here it goes: if you are like me and have no friends, you won’t have anyone to spot you (i.e move 75 percent of the weight while repeating “it’s all you, bro!”) while you bench press. You could just not do bench presses or just use dumbbells or whatever, but sometimes it’s Monday and Monday is International Bench-Pressing Day. So we staple ourselves. We do.  

Do this instead: pretend this was your plan all along. Nothing to see. Lalala. Eventually one of these three things will happen: a) someone will discreetly lend you a hand and set you free; b) the gym will be closed for the night and you’ll become a permanent part of the equipment; or c) your ribcage will give way with a horrifying crunch.


Happy gymming.

Not a target demographic for God’s creative power

Three million years ago, two Byzantine monks arrived in the Czech lands bringing the wrong alphabet and Christianity. Only one of those things stuck, but now we get two days off in the middle of the week.

And what I do with my two free days is go hunting for breakfast, which ends up being a spinach mango protein shake which looks like this:

Then H and I go to the gym, where I try very hard to move really heavy stuff with my legs. Then we go to Delmart where they ask me what ingredients I want in my salad and because of my astonishing ability to restrain myself I order spinach, chickpeas, smoked salmon, avocado, artichoke, mozzarella, sun-dried tomatoes, boiled goat, deep-fried hedgehog, aircraft bolts, plutonium and olive oil.

Then we go to EMA which is a hipster/preppy coffee house next to the Hilton and the plot by Masarykovo Nadrazi where they claim they’re building a building by Zaha Hadid but we don’t believe them. And I ask for an iced coffee with no sugar and H begins reading to me out of a book someone has left behind, and he says out loud

“In Jesus’ name and on the authority of His Holy Word, I call these debts PAID IN FULL!”

so I grab the book to see what it is, and it is called God’s Creative Power and it has a chapter about literally praying your mortgage away.

H has a mortgage but isn’t baptized. I am baptized but I don’t have a mortgage. We are not a target demographic for God’s creative power.

Then H goes singing and I come home to watch Trainspotting for the first time in my life, because we’re going to Aero later in the night to watch Trainspotting 2 and I want to know what happens in the first one (what happens is drugs and poo).

And then we go out in Žižkov and take pictures on our way to a restaurant where I order a chicken burger. H eats all of my fries but none of his own, so that when the waitress comes to collect the plates he looks like the one with all the self-control.

Today I go back to the gym where I try very hard to move really heavy stuff with my hands, and then I come home and lay in bed with the fan on reading a novel by Chuck Palahniuk while H packs for his trip to Iceland tonight.

And that’s how I spent my two free days in the middle of the week.