Whether for health, appearance or just to get laid, we all think about hitting the gym at some point in our lives, but these sweat palaces are like their own little universes. It can all be intimidating if you don’t know the etiquette. It’s like someone should interview some pro gym rats and get some rules for the road, which is exactly what we did, because we do that sort of thing at The Loafer.
Btw, got some damn fine hints for lifers and newbies both, so no excuses, read this shit and make my mom proud that I chose an English major. Here’s the top 10 gym etiquette pro tips…
Always share. Here’s a win-win. Nothing toughens fellow gym rats like shared pathogens and nothing knocks out a killer cold like a damn fine workout. Don’t be such a selfish bastard, sharing is caring, gyms need germs… and stop all your damn OCD equipment wiping already, lordy.
Smell success. Invest in some fucking perfume or cologne or something! Slather your sweaty damn self so the whole fucking gym smells like a 1920’s Louisiana bordello post murder spree.
Set a patient vibe. Gym goers can get mightily rushed during peak workout hours, so stay on that machine an extra 10, 20 or 30 minutes, because really, your fitness experience is all about you.
Show interest. Look, all that spandex and heavy breathing happens for a reason, fellow gym goers want you to stare, makes them feel like it’s all worth it. And remember guys, lady gym goers really dig it when you show them how to do stuff, yesiree!
Keep it tight. See that item right above? Yeah, I’m talking to you ladies.. STOP showing up to the gym in just any old damn thing. Dudes dig it when you’re wearing short-shorts and a bikini top. Do this, and I can promise you’ll feel the eyes, booya!
Help thy neighbor. That guy… The one with all the awesome advice! Be like that guy. Gym rats love that guy. Dudes, remember ladies love that little extra lilt in your voice as you explain stuff to them, yes… yesiree.
Communicate. Phones and friends and decibels. Cuz we all wanna hear you bitch about your damn life, or whatever. Like, I’m trying to tic me some fucking Car Talk reruns here, but I do wanna hear about your rash.
Share. Obviously, if your fellow gym rats could just hear the tuneage your sweating it too, they’ll be swarming for your playlist – you’re tastes are that totally epic. So, blast that shit.
More sharing. Finished those curls, leave those damn 45 lb. plates on the bar you selfish bastard, the next man or women using the thing NEEDS to heft that wait for your ass…. and theirs. Yep.
Dumbbells. Mmm, slapstick as we all watch the newbies trip over the shit you leave on the floor, because comic relief… mother fukka.
-By Rick Harmon