Eleven sections, what each one is actually for, and the three that matter if something ever goes wrong.
Most personal trainers assemble an intake form out of whatever they were handed during their certification, plus a PAR-Q found online, plus a waiver copied from another trainer's website. It works right up until the day it doesn't — a client has an incident, or asks for their records, or disputes what they agreed to, and the paperwork turns out to be three documents that don't reference each other and one that was written for a different country.
This is what a complete intake actually contains, and why each piece is there. Some of it protects the client. Some of it protects you. A surprising amount of it just makes you better at the job.
Name, date of birth, address, phone, email, and one person to call.
The emergency contact is the part people leave off, and it's the only field on the form you'd give anything for on the one day you need it. Ask for a name, a phone number, and the relationship. If you train anyone in their own home, ask for it before the first session rather than at it.
The pre-exercise questions that decide whether you train them today or wait.
This is the PAR-Q, or something built along the same lines: chest pain, dizziness, bone or joint problems, blood pressure, medication, and whether a doctor has ever told them to limit physical activity. Seven to nine questions, all yes or no.
The point isn't the questions. It's that a yes has to lead somewhere. A screening that flags something and then gets filed anyway is worse than no screening at all, because now there's a document showing you were told.
Injuries, surgeries, conditions, medications.
Separate from the screening on purpose. Screening asks "is it safe to start"; history asks "what should I know while we work together". A reconstructed knee from nine years ago isn't a red flag, but it changes how you program.
What they want, what they've tried, and what their week actually looks like.
The commercially useful section, and the one most forms treat as an afterthought. Sleep, occupation, activity level, training history, which days they could realistically train, and — the best question on any intake form — what has derailed them before.
Ask that one and people tell you the truth, because they've usually been waiting for somebody to ask.
Where they're starting from, recorded on day one.
Weight, girths, resting heart rate, blood pressure if you take it. Not because the numbers are interesting on their own, but because in twelve weeks they're the only evidence that anything changed. Memory is unreliable and flattering in both directions.
They understand what training involves, including that exercise carries risk.
Consent is not the same as a waiver, and the two get conflated constantly. Consent says: I understand what we're doing and the risks that come with it. It's an acknowledgement, and it belongs in every intake regardless of where you practise.
The waiver — and the section most likely to be wrong.
Waivers are treated very differently depending on where you are. Some jurisdictions enforce them broadly, some narrow them heavily, and some won't enforce a waiver of negligence at all. A waiver copied from a trainer in another country may be worth nothing where you practise.
This is the section to have looked at by a lawyer in your own jurisdiction. It's an hour of someone's time against the thing it's protecting.
Cancellations, late arrivals, no-shows, package expiry, payment.
Every argument you will ever have with a client is in this section. Write the cancellation window in hours, say plainly what happens to a missed session, and state when a package of sessions expires.
Vague policies don't avoid conflict, they postpone it to a moment when someone is already annoyed.
Separate, optional, and never bundled into the main agreement.
If you might post a progress photo or film a lift for social media, ask separately and let them decline without it affecting anything else. Bundling media consent into a training agreement is the kind of thing that reads badly later, and a client who feels cornered into it will resent it quietly.
What you collect, where it lives, how long you keep it.
You are holding health information about identifiable people. That comes with obligations in most places, and the client is entitled to know where their answers are stored and who can see them.
It's also worth knowing yourself. "In my email" and "in a photo on my phone" are both real answers trainers give, and neither is a good one.
Signed, dated, and a copy for them.
Unsigned paperwork is a questionnaire. The signature and date are what make it a record, and the client should end up with a copy without having to ask — partly because it's fair, and partly because a client who has their own copy never has to take your word for what they agreed to.
If you strip everything else away, three sections do the defensive work: health screening, release of liability, and policies. Screening shows you asked before you trained them. The release sets out what they accepted. Policies decide who's right when there's money in dispute.
The other eight make you better at the job. These three are the ones you'll be glad existed.
This is where most intake processes quietly fail. A client ticks yes to chest pain during exercise, the trainer notices, feels awkward, and trains them anyway because the session is booked and the alternative conversation is uncomfortable.
Decide in advance what a yes means, so you're not deciding it in the room. For most flags the answer is a physician's clearance before training starts — a short letter naming what was flagged and asking whether there's anything you should avoid.
Getting clearance costs a week. Not getting it costs considerably more, and the client who gets hurt is the one who told you about it on the form you didn't act on.
Paper works. A clipboard has never run out of battery. But it means transcribing everything afterwards, storing it somewhere, and finding it again in two years when someone asks.
On a tablet, the client fills it in themselves, signs on screen, and the record is complete the moment they finish. The practical difference isn't speed — it's that the record actually gets kept, rather than living in a drawer you eventually clear out.
Either way, the eleven sections are the same. The form is the thing that matters; the surface it's on is a preference.
Two things worth doing once, properly:
Have the consent and release wording reviewed by a lawyer where you practise. Waivers vary enormously by province and state, and this is the one part you cannot safely borrow.
Fill the whole thing in yourself, as if you were a client, answering yes to a health question on the way through. You'll find out immediately whether your process actually has an answer for that, or whether it just has a box.