Matt Miller
October 25, 2017 12:50
I was in town on business, and decided to stop in. I went up to someone who looked like they worked there, and said "Hello my good man, I'd like one fitness, please". He stared at me for a second, and then started angrily lecturing me about something called "Rip". I felt uncomfortable, so I ran away and hid behind a stack of iron barbell plates, until I felt certain that man had gone away. I did my stretches, and started doing sets of 25 Sea Lions (stand on a Pilates ball, balancing a 5lbs kettlebell on your nose, clapping your hands, while barking like a seal). I must have been on my 5th set, when a large man in his early 60's burst through the wall like the Kool-Aid Man, clutching a gallon of milk each hand. He demanded to know just what the hell I was doing, and why the hell I was doing it in his gym. This, it turns out, was the owner: a burly, gruff man named Rip. I explained to him that I was doing Sea Lions, and how they are outstanding at breaking up lactic acid between the muscle fibers, and just SLAY my quads! He didn't appreciate how boss my quads looked in my male yoga pants. He also didn't seem to have any patience for my explanation, so I whipped out my CCFT level 2 certificate, so he knew just who he was dealing with. He stared at my cross fit certificate with such emnity, that it literally burst into flames in my hand! I said "Look here, Mr. Rip, that certificate cost me $100, and I had to use my own printer and paper to print it out!". He grabbed me, slung me over his back in what he referred to as "the low bar position", and used something he called "hip drive" to unceremoniously squat me like a barbell. At this point, I was starting to get the feeling I wasn't welcome here, and tried unsuccessfully to squirm my way out of his strong grip. "Congratulations", he said to me, "you're now one of the 5 basic lifts", as he dipped me slightly below parallel. "Mr. Rip, don't do that!", I yelled. "Had enough, have you?", he asked. "No, you'll hurt your knees doing that!", I cried. He put me down, and he started shaking his head, muttering something about stupidity. I must have gotten through to him. I'll be back again, next time I'm in town, and try to explain why deadlifting is bad, unless it is in a hex bar.