Betting On The Ponies — Papa’s Basement 491
Co-host Pete lives about 350 yards from the West Virginia border. And West Virginia, compared to Virginia, has a very vice-laden vibe. To say nothing of its vibrant (if underground) […]
Let’s be honest: Motivating yourself to go to the gym is hard. This isn’t 1974. You can be a 400-pound blob and, between “adult” Internet content, Netflix, video games and Chipotle, you don’t really need to be in shape enough for a partner or able to use stairs without sweating like a long distance runner in order to live a fulfilling (if addiction-addled) life. Somehow, though, I have mustered the willpower to join a gym again. And I’m encountering a new reason to avoid it that I never expected would be a factor: The trainers.
We all hate personal trainers (and I say this as a man who, albeit very briefly, worked as one). They march around like they own the place, take peoples’ money to mostly talk to them for 15 minutes between each set they perform and try to hustle new faces in the gym like a pimp would a hayseed Iowa beauty fresh to Hollywood. But one trainer at my new gym takes the annoyance factor to new heights. A man I have christened “Mohawk.”
What is it that Mohawk does that makes me root for a spinal compression occurring every time I see him squat? You’ll have to listen to the episode for that. But it’s a laundry list of “please punch me in the dick because I am a Niagara Falls’ worth of douche nozzle” That much I assure you. Don’t forget to share this glorious piece of literature and tell all your friends to listen to the show.
Click here to listen to the latest episode of Papa’s Basement in your browser or here to open and listen in iTunes (you can also use the embedded player below the ad).
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