Today, I'd like to share an experience.
You see, I was at the gym early this morning doing my Saturday morning routine, when I noticed something peculiar.
It was the second half of my workout, which consisted of 30 minutes of sprint intervals. About 10 minutes in, some BroScience PhD's arrived, lifting belts fastened snugly, and gatorade in hand. The team of 3 grabbed all the 5-pound dumbbells on the rack and came on over to where I was on the treadmills. They were warming up. This grabbed my attention because the entire row of treadmills was empty - I'm not sure why they came to where I was.
Their warmup consisted of walking at a not-so-brisk 3 mile-an-hour pace, while swinging the 5's in each hand like Rocky Balboa in his diaper-days. The leader, who I assume had earned his tenure at the prestigious BroScience University, consistently made these weird "ungh" sounds as he pumped the weights on his walk. Yes, the exact "ungh" sound that Jay-Z makes in virtually all of his songs.
After an excruciating 6 or so minutes of that, they got off and hopped on to the cable crossover. What followed was disturbing.
Please observe exhibit 1, the center-left dude in the white shirt:
I apologize for the shakiness; I was on a 3-minute "rest" interval, and YT corrected as much as it could.
Now, on to business: You should not use the cable crossover machine as a boxing trainer. Especially if you can't box.
Laidies, feel free to do this. However, to the bros on here: I hope to never see you on a cable crossover, hitting the "invisible punching bag," with fucking FIVE POUNDS of resistance on the machine.
You are better off doing plyometric pushups to increase your explosiveness, bench or dumbbell presses for some added power, or actual sparring to improve your form and technique.
These guys did this for about 10 minutes, then went on to some strange form of lunge (without any added weight), during which they barely got their legs bent past a 140-degree angle. You can see the guy in the dark shirt in front of Rocky doing this.
As I cleaned up in the men's room before leaving, the trio walked in, loudly threw their gatorades away and said, in ghetto-Spanish nonetheless, "shit, that was great. What you wanna eat once we get home?"
I guess this is what $10 gets me. I just want to use this opportunity to remind everyone who works out:
Proper form is proper exercise.
Please feel free to add or discuss any sad gym experiences, including this one.