mine is the first book written by an ex-skinny guy specifically for skinny guys like you. My nickname used to be “Skinny Vinny.” Now I’m called the “Skinny Guy Savior.” I came into this world as a scrawny, awkward pipsqueak. I mean, I had no muscle mass whatsoever. The only thing I wanted was to be big and muscular and not be intimidated by the bigger guys at school.
Adding to my misery, when I got to university, all my roommates were jacked and ripped. I’m talking six-packs, eight-packs, and guns the size of Howitzers! I wanted what they had, but I was a puny runner with a lame social life. I figured I was destined to be “Skinny Vinny” forever.
I started to believe everyone who said, “It’s not your fault. You have bad genetics,” and, for a while, I gave up the fascination with being muscular, but I still wanted to make the most of the skinny body I was cursed with.
I became a triathlete—a lean and mean swimming, biking, and running machine. I actually got good at it, and I competed at the provincial and national levels. I became the captain of my university squad and even represented my country at the world triathlon championships one year.
But it wasn’t everything I wanted.
Just like you, I wanted muscle and respect. Just like you, I wanted to be ripped and feel confident. Just like you, I wanted all the things I figured I could never have.
After four years of university, my athletic eligibility was over, and it was time for me to move into the real world. Like just about everyone else who graduates from an exercise sciences program, I had no clue what I wanted to do, so I pursued the fitness industry as a personal trainer. The only problem was that I did not resemble a personal trainer in any way. I was still Skinny Vinny.
On top of that, I figured I had damaged my potential for muscle growth by making my “muscle-unfriendly genes” even more unfriendly by training long hours each day using primarily my slow-twitch muscle fibers (the kind that don’t contribute to big muscles, only endurance).
My diet consisted of mostly mac and cheese in a box, peanut butter and jam sandwiches, bagels, pasta, Power Bars, and Gatorade. I got my protein, fruits, and vegetables on Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving—during an Italian ten-course dinner. Even worse, I had no experience with weight training.
If there had been a reality-based TV show called The Biggest Gainer, I would have been the prototype for the show’s most embarrassingly scrawny, geeky weakling and instantly cast.
I moved back home to live with my parents and began working at my local YMCA as a personal trainer (for $10 an hour) on a Monday, and I decided that would be the day that I’d start to put to death the nickname that had plagued me my entire life.
Doubtful that I could overcome my stubborn genetics, I banked on the hope that perhaps I could transfer the same qualities that made me successful in the runner’s world to the gym. I went to my room and took a series of “before” pictures to act as proof, just in case I did transform my skin and bones into the body of my dreams.
It wasn’t long after my first bodybuilding mentor had taught me an entirely new way of training that the unimaginable happened. I began to see and feel a difference in just one week (three workouts). My muscles got thicker, denser. My high school crush, who had moved here from Italy, approached me in the gym and said, “Wow, you look different!”
I interpreted that to mean, “Wow, you’re looking hot.”
After a few more weeks, my buddies started to yell, “VIN-SANITY!” when I’d walk into the gym, inspired by my no-nonsense style of training (which you’ll be learning shortly).
I started lifting heavier weights and was getting stronger every week. I finally started to look like “one of the bigger guys,” and a few of my close friends would come up to me and say, “Yo, Vinny [notice they did not say “Yo, Skinny Vinny”]. You’re looking jacked, man!”
My mom even threw away my protein powder. After she witnessed her son transform so fast, she worried that the container in her kitchen was powdered steroids. My brothers just laughed at me with awe or begged, “Vince, flex your muscles,” when their friends came over. The compliments and recognition fueled my mission. I was starting to get what I had thought I could never have.
I continued to trust my body, trust the program, and stay focused on the six-month deadline when I would take my “after” photos. I was determined to capture my transformation on film. After I gained the first 20 pounds, I felt invincible and unstoppable! Over the next five months I gained another 20 pounds and became the talk of my gym.
I started testing out my tactics on my clients. Everyone I trained bulked up fast and got super shredded. They started referring to me as the “Skinny Guy Savior” and “Transformation Specialist.” Other trainers joked, “Vince is about to do another extreme makeover.”
Two years later, I began competing in natural fitness model shows (let me stress this is natural fitness, no steroids allowed). I placed seventeenth in my first show and then fifth in my next a few months later. A few years after that, I returned to the stage and earned my World Beauty Fashion and Fitness (WBFF) Pro Card, and I went on to compete at the World Championships against some of the best physiques in the business.
When I became known as “ripped” and “buff,” those words became central to my new identity. However, I was unaware that at that point, the muscle had more control over me than I had over the muscle.
While I was competing, my life revolved around my workouts, food, supplements, sleep, schedule, and competition outfits. I never missed a meal, and I never missed a workout. I took great pride in sticking to my plan, and I learned a lot about focus, consistency, and discipline; however, I let this goal control my entire life, which created a lot of selfishness and anxiety. It became sickening.
Although I looked damn good, I realized that I was heading down a road of never having enough. That’s when I realized I needed to start looking at muscular development differently. I needed to figure out how I could use my gains to serve others, and I’m going to teach you about that, too.
And so, this book is here to help you defeat your skinny genetics and build a body that is covered with head-turning muscle that you can be proud of, but not at the expense of your physical, emotional, relational, and spiritual health.
This book is here to help you defeat your skinny genetics and build a body that is covered with head-turning muscle that you can be proud of, but not at the expense of your physical, emotional, relational, and spiritual health.
I know too painfully well about your trials and struggles to put on muscle. I know how it feels to walk into the gym where it seems like everyone is growing except you. I know what it’s like to go to the beach and wish you didn’t have to take your shirt off around cute girls, or to feel intimidated when you walk into a bar or club surrounded by guys who are more muscular than you. I know how annoying it is to not be able to find clothes that reveal a strong and proportioned body or to feel frustrated when you step into a confrontation and you don’t have enough respect for yourself to man up.
But finding your identity in how many “likes” you get on your shirtless Facebook selfies will suck your soul dry. Freaking out over a missed meal or the next meal, falling in love with the mirror, pushing through injuries that should be rested, revolving the day around me, me, me, leaves you isolated and obsessive.
Don’t
