It was a fucking stupid thing to do because I could have broken my neck. But I needed to jolt this guy and get him motivated. It worked. He was scared. He thought I was crazy, that maybe I'd kill myself for real -- or kill him -- if he didn't listen to me. He said, "I thought you were going to die."
By the day of his wedding, he had dropped 85lbs. It wasn't 100, but it was close enough. Tom gave me my bonus and he looked good in his suit.
Soon after, I got a call from a guy, let's call him James. I wanted to take things to the next level. James was a passive person who somehow managed to make a fortune. He was never exactly clear as to how he earned his money, but he sure had a shit-ton of it. He agreed to pay me $12,000 a month. I would move into his apartment in Tribeca. The plan was for me to get him into shape and teach him how to meet girls. He really needed the help. He could never get anyone to sleep with him. He weighed 260lbs, was 27 years old, and had had sex with exactly one woman in his life.
I cornered him and started making my chest pop. My teeth were gritted and I said to him, "Don't make me put my titties in your face, boy."
After moving into his apartment, I received a giant box from Amazon. James didn't think anything of it. He had no clue that the box contained a pair of gravity boots and a kit for hanging from the ceiling in them. There was also a drill.
After a few weeks of training, I felt that he was getting tired and had stopped giving me his all. He needed to be shocked into action. At around 2 o'clock one morning, while he was sleeping, I got up on a chair and drilled the boot-holders into the ceiling. Then I stripped down to just a pair of shorts, got into the boots, and hung from the ceiling doing sit-ups.
I used the stereo's remote to start blasting Ja Rule's "New York." I was in the zone, pumping out sit-ups, singing along -- I'm from New York, New Yoooork -- and shouting, "Come on! Get the fuck up!"
James came out of his room, rubbing his eyes. He looked at the ceiling and said, "What the fuck are you doing, Castro? You can't drill holes in the ceiling. And it's 3 in the morning. I'm not getting up. We don't do our workout until 6. That's the deal."
I swung down from the ceiling and told him that the deal had changed. I cornered him and started making my chest pop. My teeth were gritted and I said to him, "Don't make me put my titties in your face, boy."
He had no idea what was going on. He was scared shitless. I made him put on his sneakers and shorts and we went out and ran in the street. I took him out for a four-mile run in the middle of the night. He was freaked out, he had been woken up abruptly, his endorphins were rocking. The guy was forced out of his comfort zone and made to do something he had never even considered before. He wouldn't have done it if I had nicely asked him to wake up a little early. The bottom line is that I never saw him more pumped up than he was that morning.
When we got back to his apartment, he looked at the gravity set-up and told me he wanted to get up there. I was like, "Let’s not get crazy." I didn't know that the ceiling could hold his weight. I didn't want to see my client kill himself.