Friday, February 24, 2012

Fauxhawks, Top Knots, and the Latino Fabio

Guys with unusual haircuts do not “stick” at the gym. They come, they go, they don’t come back. It’s a pattern I’ve noticed during my time at Flex Fit Gym.

The most common “interesting” men’s hair style I see is the “fauxhawk.” A fauxhawk is a Mohawk with commitment issues. A fauxhawk is a Mohawk that needs Viagra. Rather than shaving the side of the head, the way a Mohawk wearer would, the hair on the side of the Fauxhawk head is cut short but is still visible. The stripe of hair left longer along the top is shorter on a fauxhawk than it is on a Mohawk, often only an inch or so long (rather than the six or so inch bristles that you’d expect on any self respecting Mohawk wearer). It’s as if Fauxhawk Guy wanted to get a Mohawk but lacked courage.

Fauxhawk Guys have a number of gym rituals, all of which center around “I know I’m not a badass, but I want people to think I am.” This is visible in two ways: demeanor and how they lift weights. I’m serious.

Fauxhawk Guys strut like NFL hopefuls do at a scouting combine. Walking with fists clenched, arms held to the side with forearms flexed, they swagger slowly through the weight room with a “stone cold” look on their face, scowling, looking other males in the eye with a look of challenge. They walk slowly because they are trying to flex their leg muscles, too—a hard thing to do why you walk.

Fauxhawk Guys do not make eye contact with women. I don’t know why—maybe they think, “Oh, if I ignore these girls, it will drive them crazy and they will want me.” Maybe it’s because they realize that they could never catch up to a woman as long as they do that muscle-flex-walk thing. Most likely, it’s because, in their heart of heart of hearts, they know they look silly and can’t bear to make eye contact.

The other distinguishing Fauxhawk Factor is the manner in which they lift weights. If they lift free weights, it is with as much drama, action, noise, and facial expression as possible. Your normal self respecting free weight lifter settles himself down, lifts with proper form and an efficiency of effort, and exhales sharply when lifting, a determined look on his (or her) face. He (or she) lifts slowly, holding the weight at the top of the repetition, then lowering it slowly, knowing that negative resistance—the lowering of the weight—is what builds muscles.

Fauxhawk Guy has a different routine. He will walk around the weight, much like a dog who is either preparing to pee or is making a bed. Then he will settle himself into the weightlifting position, with lots of shaking of hands and arms, swiveling of the neck, and craning of eyes around to insure the other Fauxhawk Guys are watching. When he begins to lift he swings in broad motions, lifting extremely fast (pumping blood into the veins) updownupdownupdown without pausing, shaking the weight up and down, much like a bartender in a James Bond film would prepare 007’s martini (shaken, not stirred). While lifting, Fauxhawk Guy’s eyes pop out, and he looks, to all the world, like a constipated man on the toilet trying to expel last week’s baked potato.

At the end, his face is red and his muscles are swollen, temporarily inflamed by all the blood pumping through his veins as a result of improper weightlifting technique. He looks in the mirror and knows he looks goooood. After all, he has a Fauxhawk! His muscles pop, although they will return to normal size minutes after he leaves the gym.

Those Fauxhawk Guys who use weightlifting machines do many of the same things Fauwhawk Freeweighters do, with one variation. They get to the weightlifting station, which ever one it is—say, bench press—lift doing the same Shake Your Martini motion and, afterward, they look around furtively, and move the pin to the bottom of the stack.

I presume this is because he wants all of the other guys in the gym to ooh and aah about how macho he is because he can work out with the whole stack. If so, he failed, because all the other Fauxhawk Guys know this trick. Plus, I was watching him.

(I have to add that my wife says many men do this—put the pin in the bottom of the weight stack after lifting—and that it is not just Fauxhawk Guy who does this. I’ve never seen anyone else but them do so.)

Fauxhawk Guys never last at the gym. Perhaps the hairdo IS a symptom of their inability to commit. Can’t commit to a REAL Mowhawk, can’t commit to a gym routine. Perhaps it’s because they don’t make any real progress in the weight room—lifting that way will not lead to long term muscle or strength gain. Or perhaps it’s because of injury—lifting badly tends to have consequences in terms of torn muscles, damaged joints, and wrenched spines. Maybe it’s too much trouble to do that much hair care prior to going to the gym.

Top Knot Guys look just plain silly.

I have a news flash for you. Unless you wake up and are either

A) a ninja warrior

B) in a medieval film or

C) a woman

TOP KNOTS in your hair do NOT look good.

Presumably, there is some reason for the Top Knot.

Most of the women in the gym whose hair is at least as long as their shoulders pull their hair back in some kind of pony tail. Usually, their pony tails are pulled up, still on the back of their head, but a bit higher than center. My wife tells me this is called a “top pony tail.” I assume these ladies sport the top pony tail to keep their hair out of the way, and off the shoulders, in order to stay cool and to avoid getting lots of extra sweat in their hair.

I could understand if these guys with long hair wore a “high pony” or some other kind of pony tail like the ladies do, especially if they were, say, getting their hair fouled in the weight machines. But the guys I’m talking about go straight for the Ninja Warrior Look.

Then, they work out, tossing their heads a lot so the hair in the Top Knot Look moves around a lot. This is a phenomenon I have no explanation for. I will say that a number of my women friends contend that the top knot doesn’t look good on women, either. I have no opinion either way, although my friend Stacy Bruce says that Appalachian women who are Pentecostal ministers can preach a mean sermon while wearing a top knot.

Whatever their reasons for wearing the Top Knot, guys who sport this look don’t last any longer in the gym than Fauxhawk Guys do.

There is one major exception to my theory about guys with unusual hair who don’t stick to their gym routines: the Latino Fabio.

This man has earned my respect, and that of everyone else in the gym. First of all, he comes, every day, like clockwork. He is committed (no Fauxhawk for him!). Second, he’s in really, really good shape.

You can’t look at him and TELL he’s in good shape, because unlike Fauxhawk and Top Knot Guys, he doesn’t wear tight clothes that show every pec, bicep, and quad. He wears loose fitting tee shirts and long, baggy shorts—the kind of clothes people can move in.

I know he’s in good shape by the way he effortlessly handles fifty pound weights as he adds more iron to whatever he’s lifting. Nothing showy, just quiet, unassuming, and strong enough to bench press your house (although he’d never tell anyone he could).

His hair, thought, is neither Fauxhawked nor Top Knotted. Instead, he has thick, very long hair that runs down to the middle of his back and, on the side, lays on his shoulder, the way Fabio’s does. (In case you don’t know who Fabio is, he’s the muscular, blond Italian Adonis who has graced the cover out countless romance novels). And this guy has hair just like Fabio, although he’s quite young (probably early twenties) and Latino. Thus, the Latino Fabio, the Man Respected By All at Flex Fit Gym.

Young Fabio, is, however, the exception. Except for him, if a guy walks into the gym and is rocking an unusual hair style, it’s a clear indication that he’s not serious about going to the gym. I should enjoy him while he’s there, for I shall not see him very often or for very long.

Fairness obligates me to mention one other man.

A few weeks ago, a new Fauxhawk Guy showed up (the other ones had all petered out by then). He spent an hour working out with barbells and looking at his hair in the mirror. (I know some people look in the mirror as they exercise to they can check their form, to make sure they are using proper technique, or to check the symmetry of their muscles. But this guy actually stood so his body was blocked by equipment--I swear he truly was looking at his hair the whole time. New to Fauxhawks, maybe . . . .?) He left, and I didn’t see him again.

Then, yesterday, a vaguely familiar, ball capped guy was working out quietly in the corner (near Latino Fabio). When he took the cap off to wipe his brow, I saw his growing out but still short hair on the side, and the longer stripe of hair on top. I realized he was a Former Fauhawk Guy who must have rethought the look.

Maybe his girl friend staged an intervention.

Friday, February 17, 2012

Leaving the Gym: The Best Minute of My Day

Since beginning my fitness journey, I have been asked:
  • Don't you feel better?
  • Is it getting easier to go to the gym every day?
  • When are you going to post the 'Before and After' pictures?
And my honest answer is "Well, it sucks less." This means that going to the gym now sucks less than it did when I started about eight weeks ago.

When I first started going (at five in the morning, I might add, because that's the only time in my day when I can go), it was dreadful. The alarm would go off, and the only thing that would keep me from turning it off was the fact that the 'off' switch on my alarm is not reachable from my side of the bed.

Alerted by the alarm, Crazy Daisy, the Most Irritatingly Peppy Beagle in the Universe, decided to nip my toes even before they hit the ground, and I would pull on shirt, shorts, and then try to get shoes on as Daisy tried to give me a pedicure with her teeth. Then, Pearl, the Seventy Pound German Shepherd would wander in, wondering what the heck was going on. (I like Pearl because, like me, she is neither an early or an easy riser.)

I would be halfway through walking them around the block when I would wonder, "Why in the world am I up at Dark Thirty?" Then, it would dawn on me, "Oh, yeah, I meant to go to the gym today." By the time I finished the walk and got the dogs back home, I would figure that, well, since I"m already awake, and up, I'd go to the gym.

So I'd drive to good ol' Flex Fit gym, do my workout, planning to quit after about each thirty seconds of cardio or each set of 10 on each weightlifting machine, planning on just giving up and going home and going back to bed. But then I'd get through that thirty seconds of bike riding or whatever cardio I was doing, or that set of ten on the wight machine, and I'd say, "well, maybe I'll do a bit more." Then I would repeat this process until I'd finish.

After about two weeks, I was gasping less and was able to notice that there were actually televisions on the wall of the gym.

After three weeks, I was less winded enough that I actually noticed there were other people in the gym.

After about four weeks, I was actually working out and was still getting enough air to my brain that I actually noticed that the same movie (Priest) was on every day.

After about six weeks, I actually was awake enough at five that I started planning on taking the dogs for a walk before the gym (rather than accidentally being tricked into it by Crazy Daisy).

The downside to this was that Crazy Daisy get used to the routine and would be sitting on the bed, staring at me, the second the alarm went off. Very disconcerting, to be stared at by a dog justly nicknamed Crazy. She has yet to stop nipping my toes as I try to pull my shoes on.

After eight weeks, I am not noticeably skinnier.

My clothes may not fit as badly as they once did, but I would not classify them as "Fitting Better."

I have not become one of those obnoxious Fitness Afficionados who suddenly preach the Virtues of Getting Git (as they preach the Virtues of Whatever Else Their Current Enthusiasm Is). I doubt most people I work with or encounter in my day to day, non gym life, even know I work out.

I don't know that I feel any better. But I don't feel any worse, and at my age, this is a victory. It's about hanging on!

Going to the gym isn't any easier. It's just become habit. My getting up, getting dressed, walking the dog routine has become so ingrained that I'm actually on my way to the gym before I ask myself the dreaded question, "Do I really want to go to the gym today?"

There will be no 'Before and After' pictures in which I have my "Biggest Loser Moment," and reveal my suddenly svelte self to friends and family, as they cheer and whoop while NBC's cameras roll. Realistically, my fitness goal is to delay the near-fatal heart attack that my father had at age 55 until later.

I have WAY TOO MUCH CHEST HAIR to have open-heart surgery.

So be best minute of the day is the minute I leave the gym after having completed my work out. I'm not sure why.

Maybe it's a sense of accomplishment. I did it!

Maybe it's relief--thank God it's over!

Maybe it's because I'm escaping the endless noise of the awful radio station that's perpetually on (which purports to play '90s alternative rock' even though it's clear the programmer has no idea what 90s alternative rock IS).

Maybe it's euphoria caused by lack of oxygen to the brain.

Some friends have their own theories:

Ann-Marie Lopez says it's "All of the above."

The always supportive Jay Butler says I should be happy that I "didn't pass out and die after all the cardio.'

Jerry Davis says that in "
A few more years and you will be like the rest of us, as Terry Bradshaw says: 'Old, Fat, & Ugly.'" He predicts my future holds lots of Slim Fast.

All I can say in reply to them, and to others is that, after eight weeks of going to the gym, "It sucks less" than it did before.