DALLAS — They’re fixated by fitness magazines, addicted to ab workouts. They measure what they eat, they know what they weigh, and they may not be the gender you surmise.
“What’s happening is that guys are just as susceptible to magazine covers as women are,” says Dallas personal trainer Kevin Durio.
For a long time, Dallas registered nurse Ruben Castillo bought the magazines. He followed the bulk-up routines; he compared himself to overly built guys at the gym. If he missed a workout, he made sure he fit another in as soon as possible — even right before starting a 12-hour shift.
Eventually, says Castillo, 37, “it affected my self-esteem. I never saw the positive out of it. I realized my body would never be like that. I had to work on the positive points that I can change or make better.”
In a country where way too many people are obese, paying attention to health is a good thing. But in his work at the downtown YMCA in Dallas as well as in his personal business training law-enforcement officers, Durio sees men who take that concern beyond mere good health. Some set goals to be outlandishly big and bodybuilder-ripped; others strive for an unrealistic lean look.
“The whole point,” Durio says, “is that it’s a disorder.”
Although it has nicknames — “bigorexia” for men obsessed with being bulkier; “manorexia” for those longing to be leaner — the medical term, at least for the former, is muscle dysmorphia.
Mike McFarland knows all about this. He’s a licensed Dallas psychologist who focuses on eating and exercise disorders.
“There’s a growing number, or maybe a growing awareness, of people who have these,” he says. “It’s like a moth to a flame. Everything their life centres around is their body.”
A certain degree of consciousness is healthy. But Americans, not known for moderation, sometimes take it to the extreme. If one protein shake is good, four are better. If spending three hours in the gym a week is good, then spending two every day is better.
“I know someone who lost his professional job due to his need to work out multiple times during the weekday,” McFarland says. “He became a personal trainer because that was in line with the focus on his body. He could be in the gym hanging out at all times, getting accolades from clients about his physique.”
Often, these men have regimented programs of eating and exercise that “compromise their ability to focus in a work or social setting,” he says. “They may be setting the alarm for 2 a.m. to have a protein shake. Their inflexible regimen gets in the way oftentimes of normally functioning in life.”
The obsession often starts when a man is in his late teens or 20s, McFarland says. Recently, though, he’s been seeing men several decades older with the same symptoms, and with bodies that don’t quite look as if they belong to them. That’s when he starts wondering about steroid use.
“A lot of guys in their late 40s and 50s suddenly are having bodies that look more like they’re in their 20s and 30s,” McFarland says. “It’s a slippery slope. You start to get those accolades, and you hit the gym more and hang out with people achieving similar goals. It can be a feedback loop that takes people further down that path.”
The older men, more than the younger, concern Durio, too. “These kids are trying to look cool at the beach and that’s fine,” he says. “It becomes an issue when they get older and still have a dysmorphic view of how they should look and be right now.”
Although part of that mindset is just a guy thing, he attributes much of the muscle craving to society. Commercials for Viagra and Cialis, billboards that blame low testosterone levels for a rash of physical and psychological woes, photos of Photoshop-perfect movie stars all contribute, he says.
“You’re seeing these 80-year-old guy ‘before’ pictures,” he says, slightly exaggerating the age, “and after, they’re so pumped up, jacked up, ripped.”
Often, the especially zealous are those who haven’t been into fitness before, he says. People start telling them how good they look, which fuels their passion.
“The guys weigh, they measure, they’re number crunchers,” Durio says. “They have to know: What is their body fat? What is their lean muscle mass? Guys who want to get big are, ‘How big is my chest? How big is my waist?’
“We have one guy at the gym who has jacked up his body so badly he looks like a cartoon character. Some want to be thin. You can see what they had for breakfast! I’m like, ‘Dude! You’re wasting away!’ ”
It’s not a normal view of their body, Durio says. Clients will tell him they have 10 pounds to lose, or 20. “I’m like, ‘Hang on. No you don’t. Cut something off. You won’t lose it in fat because you’re already there.’ ”
On the other end, he says, “I’ll get clients who like racquetball or squash or tennis but who want to be huge. I’ll say, ‘You can’t be both. Pick one.’ ”
As a long-time trainer, he can spot someone who has unrealistic expectations.
“We can catch that early, put it into perspective,” Durio says. “I get them moving in a different direction.”
The problem, of course, is that men who tend toward varying ends of the fitness spectrum don’t think what they’re doing is harmful.
“You can tell them, ‘Dude, this isn’t going to be good for you in a few years,’ ” he says.
There’s a good chance they’ll get injured, lose muscle mass or have joint issues. Those who take testosterone or steroids have a whole other slew of issues.
The response? “They’ll say, ‘Well, I’ll wait till I get there.’ ”
McFarland uses cognitive behavioural therapy to help clients with exercise or eating issues.
“We challenge perceptions on what’s normal and attractive, the health consequences and seeing how they’re compromising their quality of life, whether [it’s] friendships, emotional relationships, work,” he says.
“Success depends. You have a range of results. It’s an ongoing struggle. If it becomes a core part of your identity and it’s how people respond to you, it’s much more difficult to change over time,” McFarland says.
Castillo still occasionally compares himself with the bulkier men he sees in the gym, he says, but he’s able to step back and talk himself out of trying to emulate someone else.
“It’s almost like wishful thinking,” he says, “like someone short who wants to be tall. I know it’ll never happen, so I can just be comfortable in the body I have and work on things that can be improved.”
