Growing up in Brooklyn, gyms were pretty much the same. A few guys got together, bought some weights, rented out a storefront and it was off to the races. They were no trainers per say, just spotters, guys who were working out and tried to squeeze those last couple of reps out of you by shouting inspirational sayings like "all you! I'm just touching the bar. Two fingers. One finger!" No degrees necessary, just experience and a subscription to 'Muscle and Fitness' magazine. Forced reps, supersets and how many cans of tuna you devoured that day were topics that dominated most discussions.  My introduction to boxing was much different. First of all, I was one of the only white guys there. Second, I didn't feel like a white guy there, I felt like a fighter. What makes boxing unique is that you become what you do and where you do it. Nobody goes into a boxing gym by accident, especially on a Saturday morning in July when most normal people are at a beach or a barbeque. Somewhere along the line some damage was done and the only was to fix it was by breaking something else. The first time I ever sparred I wanted to make sure I could take a punch so I got in with a guy who knew what he was doing and knew it on every square inch of my face. Broke my nose.  The following week we sparred again only this time I threw back. He quit after the first round. I stayed. For good.