GYM-NASTIES
Believe it or not, I used to be a gym bunny! Three days a week I worked out in a dank basement lifting weights, stretching my leg muscles, or jogging on a high velocity running machine as if my life depended on it. You name it I did it, and even though I do say so myself the results were impressive. My biceps were as strong as Popeye’s, my legs were more toned than an athlete, while my stomach was so firm you could iron a shirt on it. Although my gym visits have tailed off, I’m still in reasonably good shape primarily because I took my exercise regime seriously. In fact, my fitness instructor was so impressed at my dedication he not only showered me with compliments but even gave me the low down on his clients. Now in fairness he didn’t name names, but what he said left a lasting impression of grossness which Matt Hodges has confirmed in his laugh-out-loud debut book Behind Gym Doors.
Hodges is a fitness industry veteran whose clients fall between the good, the bad, and the somewhere in-between. The majority are wealthy, but as we all know, money doesn’t make good manners. Take Miss Pee for example, who knowingly wet herself while skipping and afterwards left it to somebody else to clear up her mess! But on a scale of 1 to 10 Miss Pee’s wee was nothing compared to Tammy’s gargantuan offering. Hodges gave up working as a massage therapist after Tammy’s cabbage soup diet triggered a bowel evacuation so epic that it drenched him in a faecal waterfall!
If he hadn’t made it as a fitness instructor, Hodges could probably have turned his hand to stand-up comedy. I say that because he is a genuinely funny writer who sticks it to the reader with a battery of smart one-liners, hilarious character observations, and lewd, crude humour. Like the best stand-up, he knows his limits and doesn’t go too far over the top with the snide remarks or character assassinations. Some clients really should be named and shamed, but for legal reasons can’t be, yet despite or because of the restrictions Hodges has a fine old time tearing them apart. And deservedly so, given the vanity of some and the tightfistedness of others. Maybe it’s not a flattering portrayal but then neither is the fitness sector. An industry promoting good health alongside fad diets and “wellbeing” products about as useful as a bottled fart, also attracts its fair share of chancers and piss takers. Competition is rife, which is why gyms are either incentivising instructors to hit unrealistic goals or tempting punters through the doors with gimmicks or cut-price subscriptions. So why does Hodges do it? Despite the warts and all nature of his job, there are times when it can be satisfying. Remember, not every client is a nightmare, and a good one can be the difference between a good or a bad day.
Hodges writes movingly about Trish, a successful lawyer and breast cancer survivor, whose solid, down to earth nature paved the way for a friendship that helped him through his own emotional crisis. Their twice weekly training sessions were a good-natured battle of wills with Trish trying “to do as little as possible” and Hodges pushing her to the point “where she actually felt she had done something to help her bone structure during her recovery.” When Trish died Hodges was blindsided, although her compassion and single-mindedness left an indelible mark. Another of the not so easily forgotten is Diego, the wild child son of a fabulously wealthy couple who Hodges was hired to train. Hodges got on well with this bored, seven-year-old rich kid “who always had a devilish look in his eye” and for whom killing time involved winding up his Filipino nanny, stuffing his face with food, or whacking cricket balls through windows. But Diego exceeded his own capacity for mischief when he peed in his parent’s gold-plated kitchen sink, earning himself an indefinite exile to his grandparents’ house, where his behaviour is probably even worse!
Behind Gym Doors is an irreverent, humorous book that also earns the respect of its readers. It takes a thick skin and calm personality to work with A list actors/actresses; delusional reality TV stars; arrogant middle-class yummy mummies; Z list “celebrities” who think they’re Hollywood royalty; music producers with STIs; or vodka swigging, gold toothed, Russian gangsters with bone crushing handshakes. Hodges has trained them all and lived to tell the tale, thanks in part to having friends in a similar professional boat.
So, the next time you go for a workout, please, please, please don’t pee over the equipment; or wrap your legs in clingfilm; or diss the dude who forked out £30,000 for you to entertain the guests at his daughter’s Bat mitzvah; or drink soup that does some very weird things to your insides, otherwise you might end up taking center stage in somebody’s memoir. You have been warned!
Reviewed by Juliette Foster
