It doesn’t matter whether you spend two hours a day in the gym or do trial workouts every two years in a commercial fitness chain: these types must have caught your eye.
Type No. 1: The coach
The coach is 20 years old, but already has 25 years of weight training experience (from YouTube). His favourite area is the free weight area, where he and his student go through the basics of the most important lift (biceps curl). His technique is 50% invented and at least 10% fatal, but pain is only weakness that leaves the body.
Type No. 2: The secret martial artist
The secret martial artist has been an inner UFC veteran since he first googled “Is everything really allowed in MMA”. In front of his 35 Instagram followers, he calls himself “a fucking savage.” His concern is to show everyone that he is not just training to look badass. He pushes himself so hard to deface the attackers lurking on every street corner in Stuttgart. Therefore, he always does a short round of shadow boxes and a burpee between two biceps sets. He’s just a fucking savage.
Type No. 3: The boyfriend coach
The Boyfriend coach is actually almost exactly like the coach. Frequently represented subtype: The type that explains movements to his girlfriend that she before performed better than he did.
Type No. 4: The quarter-squatter
The quarter-squatter is a plague. Really, he’s a total pain in the ass, and everyone hates him deeply. He sets a weekly all-time squat record by simply putting a few more discs on, placing his mobile phone next to him for filming and then going down a little deeper week after week. His undeclared goal is to stand with 200 kg on the pole and just be calm, put the pole down again and shout “I AM A FUCKING SAVAGE BITCH”.
Type No. 5: The nearly influencer
In the office, nine to five? No way! Not with us! We have created a business plan in the economics and law course how we exclusively come to fame and fortune with the strength of our booties. Is everyone else doing the same? Yeah, hello, we realise too. But we’re different. Because every day we invent completely new and guaranteed weak-minded whole-body exercises with 1kg dumbbells and rubber bands, which surely nobody knows or should know yet. Admittedly, it looks a bit strange when the photo guy lies on his back with his mobile phone in hand in order to make our bottom look as full as possible in front of the lens, but we’re just living the dream. However, it’s already associated with many costs, because the BCAA manufacturer found out that we’re advertising his amino acid water without being asked. But hey, nobody out there takes you seriously anymore if you’re not important enough to sell a niche product with your personal promotional code. Our favourite exercise? 2-hour butt endurance training. Burn butt Burn!
Type No. 6: Mr. Biceps
Mr. Biceps comes to the gym every day with the motorcycle. He meets his friend there, who also comes with the motorcycle, to talk to him very loudly about motorcycles and penis topics. His main exercise is the same on every training day: He grabs 30-40 kg on the barbell without warming up, then places himself in the squat cage (so that nobody can squat again) and then somehow brings it up to chest height. His game has no rules, up is up. At some point he learnt that the most reliable way to move weight is to hit the hip forward with a lot of momentum and then go very strongly into the hollow back. Whether he’s screaming in pain or out of pure masculinity, we don’t know. Isn’t that the same? Excuse me, ma’am. I mean the same, of course. By the way, be careful when staring: Yes, of course you don’t want to miss the moment when his intervertebral discs shoot against the studio wall. But: If you stare at him for too long, he invites you for a ride on his motorcycle. And you don’t want that.
Type No. 7: Der Fuckboy-Coach
Works similar to the Boyfriend Coach. He goes to the pull-up bar without warming up, straps 20kg extra around his hip, makes a painfully distorted half pull-up and says to his companion, a friend / colleague / classmate who has never done weight training before: “Just do a few pull-ups without weight to warm up”. Of course, he knows she’s not gonna make it. But until she finds out that pull-ups are harder for women, she at least thinks he’s Batman. Frequently represented subtype: The one who gives unsolicited tips to unknown women (from YouTube). Classic: He: “Hey, I’d definitely make sure you get a little into the hollow back when doing deadlifts.” She said, “That’s a squat.” Break. He says, “You’d better do deadlifts. Much more effective.”
Type No. 8: The artists
Nobody really knows why they are registered in the gym. Actually, the artists hang around all the time with their legs behind their ears on the surface that normal people use for normal stretching within a normal range of motion. While we try to reach our feet with our hands, they do handstands and human pyramids and plunge us into deep crises.
Type No. 9: Ms gym-shark
Yeah, you’ve thought about it. To order these pants. The magical pants that squeeze your bottom with 20kg of push up and all the waist fat inside so that you develop a fatty liver while you only feed on green smoothies and non-smoking. Plus, the tiny, colour-coordinated top with inlays of reinforced concrete, programmed to mock everything that consists of human flesh. The personalised ads on Facebook have been telling you for weeks: When you buy this outfit, you look like Betthany, the glute miracle. Yes. Yes. You want to look like Betthany, the glute miracle! At least deep down inside you. But better knowledge keeps you from it: in that outfit, you’d mutate into a gym-shark girl. Gym-Shark-Girls don’t even leave the house without the I-Phone X with a tripod, let alone going to the gym without one. Where they are, there’s an serious walk-out-of—the-light policy. If you dare to run in front of her lens in your save-the-whales shirt while she’s delivering for Instagram, the blood will freeze in your veins. Because she’S nothing more than a dementor in functional clothing.
Type No. 10: The Choir of the Old Men
They’re many, and they’re blue. They’re dressed in blue tracksuits. Royal blue. That was the sports colour of the ’70s. That was when they were still ambitious sports teachers and trained poor, innocent children into authoritarian characters with messed up body perception. Today they gather ominously on the surfaces of the gyms, watching the boys suspiciously in their colourful functional clothes, talk about beef roulades and judge all the others. If you want to go to the sauna, their towels are already there. Sometimes even one of them goes nuts on the surface and screams “YOUNG LADY THERE IS NO HOPPING HERE”. Every now and then someone disappears.