Welcome - Brody has a new website we hope you will visit!
We have had numerous requests to see B's video work-outs that he finally gave the okay to allow them to be shown through this forum.
In this first video he is pulling himself up by only 2 fingers on each hand.
In the third video he has a weighted vest on .
"Meathead Manifesto" on sale from now till Christmas at the Athletic Club on Wonderland Rd South, in London ON
Stop by and pick up your copy and have Brody sign it for you or the recipient.
A great stocking stuffer or gift for any young person to encourage them to begin a healthy lifestyle and easy steps to start and maintain.
order yours today or better yet - come meet Brody in person.
In Person: Brody McVittie hopes his new book will get you in shape — in your love life too
From London Free Press Article by Randy Richmond Sat Nov 2nd, 2013
Fitness fanatic and trainer Brody McVittie has a dream of letting it all go.
“In a perfect world, I’d love to be the guy that sits at home in a bathrobe and write and make money.”
He laughs at the suggestion that would make him out of shape.
“Absolutely. There’s a certain self-destructiveness associated with really really good writers. So I look forward to embracing that,” he jokes.
But then he adds he couldn’t live without working out.
“To me it kind of centres me. I can’t get through my day.”
It’s taken years for McVittie, 34, to reconcile his love of fitness and of writing, but now the two have been successfully wed in a book about fitness heading to a fitness club near you and iTunes.
Born and raised in the Aylmer area, McVittie has always focused on physical and mental workouts.
“Growing up, journalism interested me and so did fitness, so I was going to do a career in one or the other and I just kind of ended up dabbling in both.”
McVittie took broadcast journalism at Fanshawe College but found jobs were scarce, especially in the London area.
He moved to the fitness industry, got certified as a personal trainer and opened p a gym in Tillsonburg with a friend.
After a few years of that, he worked in other gyms before going to the Athletic Club, the chain of 10 Ontario gyms stretching from Amherstburg to Thunder Bay and Ottawa.
He kept writing, two novels titled Lion and Lamb and Writing in & of Color, and dozens of columns and blogs.
That led to creation of The Meathead Manifesto, subtitled Bad Advice on working out, relationships, nutrition and other stuff.
McVittie’s joking, of course, that the advice is bad, especially when working out and working up the nerve to ask out women.
The collection takes a tongue-in-cheek approach to physical and emotional fitness he hopes will appeal to men for obvious reasons and women as well.
“The bulk of the articles boil down to the fact that as men, it’s pretty well our fault for everything. We are deeply flawed creatures. So I think a woman can certainly appreciate that.”
He spent months getting his first novel and this latest book on iTunes, and he has a cautionary tale for writers trying to break into the Internet.
“That was a challenge to say the least.”
Though he had a publisher helping convert the book into Apple format, McVittie had to figure out its price, including taxes, in different currencies.
“It was a lot of research and a lot of legwork. As an author, I’m not the most mechanical thinker. so this was more daunting than writing a novel.”
He’s counting on fans to review the book on iTunes to get on the front page, or new and hot list.
The Athletic Club chain has agreed to carry the hard copy of his guys’ manifesto.
That makes McVittie nervous.
“For a long time, I wouldn’t tell people I write. There are certain connotations with being a personal trainer, you know being a type A personality.”
Now there’s no hiding his other side, considering the gym is where the book will be sold.
This is advice for guys.
Guys who workout as hard as they party.
Guys who know what the 'Mr Olympia' is.
Guys who subscribe to Flex.
Guys who know 38 variations of the chess press.
Guys who are probably clueless when it comes to women.
Guys like me.
When I was asked to write a series of bodybuilding articles for a renowned fitness website, I was thrilled.
I could do this in my sleep - and the result of that series, more or less, makes up Book 1:
Meditations on lifting heavy things, (many times in a row.)
There's advice in there for everybody, but be warned - if you don't know your 'Dexter Jackson's ' from 'Branch Warren's' you're gonna need Google nearby.
Bearing that in mind, the message is for everybody who ever wanted to get the most out of their time in the gym.
When I was asked to write a series of relationship advice articles for a popular Toronto lifestyle website, I WAS TERRIFIED.
This was harder than 7th grade math - which was, coincidentally, about the time of my last mature, meaningful relationship.
I fooled my editor, though, and the articles contained in Book 2: Meditations on Girls, and stuff are the result of countless failed conquests with dozens of disappointed women.
When I was asked to write a series of articles on Nutrition, it was by me. To fill out the contents of this book.
I was pretty happy about it.
Bear in mind that I am not a certified nutritionist - I am just a guy who took an interest in building muscles, and the science behind feeding them, (researching and studying it with diligence. )
Book 3: Meditations on Nutrition .... and Supplementation ( and other stuff I'm grossly unqualified to give advice on ) pretty much shares everything I've stumbled upon up to this point.
As a Certified Personal Trainer, I want to help my clients reach their fitness goals.
As a writer, I want to give people the knowledge ( and, hopefully, some motivation) to take their physique to the next level.
I know I'm trying to every day.
Hopefully, if you're reading this, you can learn something from this meathead's mistakes.
The Rules of Attraction (--and Attracting--)
At Your Gym
So there’s this girl at your gym.
Am I right?
Maybe she’s a regular at Sweat Yoga, maybe she’s a monster on the treadmill, maybe (--but hopefully not—) she routinely presses more than you. Either way, you’ve noticed her, and you’ve noticed the shorts she wears when she’s not noticing you.
Which is pretty much every time you work out.
You want to know what you can do about it.
Let’s face it, fellas; if you’re staring at her while she hits the elliptical, chances are every other testosterone and NO-fueled meathead in the club is too.
Chances are Dexter Jackson doesn’t work out at your gym.
Chances are somebody who looks just like Dexter Jackson does.
And if he can’t get this precious little thing’s attention, what chance do you have, right?
It’s all about tact; you need to have a plan; you need to stick to it.
First and foremost, you need to be aware that there are essentially two types of girls who work out at the club. The first type—and sorry, boys, this is the overwhelming majority—want absolutely nothing to do with you.
This is a problem, because these are the types of girls you want.
The second type—and you can spot them a mile away—may be a minority, but they make up for a lack in numbers with their overwhelming sense of…being overwhelming.
Call them gym-bunnies, call them easy, call them anything—but don’t call them. Because no matter how Diesel you think you are, there’s always somebody a little more Vin right around the corner, and you can bet your sorry ass they’ll be on to them by the time leg day rolls around.
So how do you separate yourself from all of the other available alpha males in your concrete jungle?
You try something so foreign, so alien--so unheard of—that she can’t help but be intrigued.
You be yourself.
Not the guy you think she wants. You have no idea what the hell she wants. You’re a man.
Not the guy with the biggest arms in the gym. Trust me; you’re not the guy with the biggest arms in the gym.
Not the guy who never does cardio, but hops on the stationary bike beside hers everytime she gets on. She knows you don’t do cardio. You look like you don’t do cardio.
No, the magic is in not being creepy; not hounding her by the smoothie bar, not trying to get her attention by lifting something you have no business lifting. (She can tell.)
The truth is, there is not set rule on where or when to make your move (—although when she’s grunting through a set of shoulders may not be the best time--) just that if you do, for God’s sake, be respectful.
Hey New Guy:
Bodybuilding Advice for the Beginner in all of Us
My Love Affair With DOMS
At first, my girl was worried. She said I talked about her every time I came home from the gym; said I wasn’t careful with my verbose descriptions—hell, she admitted she was getting jealous.
I told her I was in love with DOMS.
She figured that new afternoons-and-weekends-trainer had a cute nickname, short for Dominique or Diana or something that started with D—you can imagine her relief when I told her it wasn’t another woman I’d fallen for.
It was DOMS--
--Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness.
If you’ve spent any kind of time in the weight room, you know what I’m talking about. That burning, aching, cramping soreness in your muscles the next day, the kind that lets you know you really broke that muscle down.
You kind of become addicted to her; suddenly, a Tuesday morning without that intense tingle in your biceps means you must have failed in your arm training the day before.
Some scientists (far smarter than myself) attribute the onset of DOMS to micro-damage that occurs to muscle tissue following those make-your-mother-cry workouts. It’s one of those ‘good pains;’ the pretty cousin to that wicked-burn lactic acid—you know, the one that comes your way in the middle of that last set of curls.
I leave the science stuff to the egg-heads—all I know is that DOMS loves me, and I love her right back.
She’s honest with me, DOMS is. (In ways I sometimes wish my girl would be after shopping for ‘a few things’ with my credit card.)
She lets me know when I’ve turned her on, and she’s not afraid to tell me when I need to step my game up.
I listen to her, and, in doing so, learn which areas of my workout I need to focus on in order to bring her howling back.
When she goes away, I chase her—only instead of buying pretty things to woo her, all I have to do is hit those seated rows again.
She knows how to give me just enough; after leg day, I’m not bed-ridden and miserable, but I’m not taking the stairs two-at-a-time, either.
If all my relationships were as mutually beneficial, I’d probably be a much happier man. For now, though, I remain content with my girl—she’s got the out-of-the-gym stuff covered—besides, my thing on the side is always waiting for me after the squat rack.
The Thing About Squats
You know it, I know it, and—unfortunately—the dude with Will Harris wheels repping them out in the corner knows it.
He’s doing them, and he doesn’t need to.
You, on the other hand…
Manning up to leg day isn’t easy for the biggest at the gym; for the rest of us, its murder. Unfortunately, bodybuilding is one of those ‘get what you put in’ clichés.
And every training article you’ve ever read wasn’t lying when it told you that, hands down, nothing gives you a total body gut-check like spending time parallel to the floor.
So suck it up, call your mother to tell her you love her, and get under that rack.
There’s things to consider, sure, when you line up your shoulders under the bar—whether or not you’ve upped your life insurance premium, how long it’ll take for your girl to move on—really, though, the only secret to getting the dreaded squat right is actually doing it.
It doesn’t matter if you’re racking a plate a side or ten; as long as you’re breathing right, tightening that Transverse abdominus, and dropping low, you’ll have the respect of everybody around you for giving it a go.
And therein lies the magic—sooner or later, even if you’ve just got a naked bar draped across your delts—you’ll find that ‘sweet spot,’ the point in the descent when you can feel your entire body say “THIS. IS. WORKING.”
Going heavy isn’t the trick; remember, a standard Olympia bar is forty-five pounds, and you’re pushing all your upper body weight into your wheels when you work your way down.
Whether it’s six reps or twelve, going full-bore and getting your ass parallel to the floor is all it takes to turn little-girl stems into the kind of proportionate-to-my-upper-body quads, hamstrings and glutes you (probably) so desperately need.
So the next time you see that rack free, pick up your cell phone, make the call, and give it a shot.
Hey, New Guy!--
Bodybuilding Advice for the Amateur in all of us
The Importance of the Training Partner....
Okay, so you’re a little nervous.
You’ve got every right to be—maybe it’s been awhile, maybe you’re worried you’ve still got some coleslaw on that dumb smile stretched across your face.
Relax—first dates are tough on everybody, tough guy—just bat those pretty eyes, pick up the ‘35’s, and curl ‘em until your ears bleed.
It’s your training partner’s first time, too.
So what if he’s got zero after the two on the measuring tape wrapped tightly against his arm?
Fourteen and a half ain’t half bad, and the five you’re gunning for won’t come by thinking about it.
Working out with somebody new for the first time is hard on everybody, no matter if 35 is their max curl, or their bare minimum—but you can bet the best way to impress Cutler over there is to get on the bench, and just rep, coleslaw or not.
Because any bodybuilder worth his salt respects drive and determination over forced negatives and three plates.
Now, mind you, three plates aren’t all bad, either, but the only way you’ll get there is by making the kind of call-in-sick-tomorrow lifts you’ll need a spotter to cap off.
Think about it—nothing will make you feel better about adding that third plate than having someone there to share it with; someone who’s been there for the times two almost broke you, the times wife-beaters were bad dudes on the six o’clock news, the times coleslaw made you think twice about smiling at Sally.
So all you new Thundercats, don’t bother fixing your hair, and go say ‘hi’ to the monster trying to get his weight belt on. The worst thing that can happen is you walking away with intimate knowledge of the mechanics of the Nike deadlift strap-clasp.
Who knows—you could wind up with the single most important piece of equipment in that weight room—an extra pair of arms, twenty inches or otherwise.
And that—that—is worth all the coleslaw in the cafeteria.
Hey, New Guy!—Bodybuilding Advice for the Amateur in all of us
by Brody McVittie
Getting Through That First Week
So you took a chance, joined a gym.
You should know, there’s more to it than flashing the pass on the end of your keychain—you’re paying the cash, you better get in there, tough guy.
Sure, it’s scary the first time. The lights are bright, the girls are beautiful and the guys—well, for every average-sized one walking around, there’s two that could give He-Man a run for his money.
And He-Man is a big dude.
Yeah, there are dumbbells with numbers higher than you remember there being numbers, and Beastor in the corner has been putting them up since you walked in the door, but don’t worry, little man.
There is a place for you in the free-weight room, and you better believe the monsters will respect you for getting in there and finding it, day in and day out.
Respect, a lot more than the guy peeking at you from behind the Smith machine.
Yeah, Mondays are tough, you tell yourself, but if cinnamon-skinned Sally can bust an hour and a half on the elliptical, then you can get your lazy ass to the gym.
Sure, you injured yourself on the couch last night, but its Tuesday, and you know damn well Jack Bauer wouldn’t hide from the squat rack.
Wednesdays—well, Wednesdays suck for all of us.
Go to the gym.
Conventional wisdom states that you need an off day; Thursday ain’t it. The bench won’t press itself, and you want to look pumped for the weekend, so Thursday might as well be Monday, because you’re starting over.
By Friday, you’ve got to be feeling good—maybe good enough to do more than smile at the walking L’Oreal commercial—the one who’s probably noticed your newfound commitment.
And not just because it’s her favourite word.
Now, the weekend—the weekend could be your downtime. You could kick back; admire the hard work you’ve put in over the last five days.
Could—but you know damn well what Arnold would say, and Saturday is just two shy of Monday, so why ruin a good thing?
You’re already the envy of the wimp hiding behind the Smith machine.