About a year into the pandemic, things were getting tight. Pants, to be specific. While elastic waistbands were fine for working from home, the more professional attire was not fitting well. I texted my neighbor, Gary, who is a personal trainer. People were starting to return to gyms, and so I asked him to take me on as a client.
Just off the freeway in Carlsbad you’ll find Team Potts Fitness. It’s a small gym nestled in between warehouses and commercial offices. There’s no sign outside, and you’ll drive right by it if you don’t know where it is. Inside, free weights of various denominations ring the perimeter. Exercise bikes sit perched above exercise balls and boxing equipment. In the corner are neatly rolled towels and a water cooler.
On my first day at the gym, I walked cautiously towards the rowing machines in the parking lot. Gary greeted me with a baritone “Hey Steve” that could be heard over the Purple Rain soundtrack playing in the background. He was laying out dumbbells and putting out jump ropes. My left knee ached just looking at the mini hurdles that certainly suggested jumping and impact. What had I gotten myself into?
As I would learn, a typical workout is a circuit of twelve exercises to be completed three times. Neon green cones numbered one through twelve lead you through the gauntlet of push ups, bench presses, rope slams, and crunches. In the beginning, Gary would have me off to the side doing baby versions of whatever his usual clients were doing with less reps, less weight, or both. Instead of following the neon green cones, I was segregated to my own little mat. It’s like the real athletes were working out, and I was off on the side in the kiddie pool–which was just fine with me.
The first workout was brutal. Muscles that had laid dormant for years were called back into action. Even swimming in the kiddie pool can be exhausting. Upon returning home I could barely lift myself out of the car. I stumbled to the couch, laid down, and announced to my wife, “I’m dying!” Given the physical pain and mental duress of the first day, it’s remarkable I decided to go back for the second workout. Same result. As I lay on the couch I again called out to Jenni, “I’m dying! A little less though!”
Eventually, the training wheels came off, I graduated from my personal mat, and I was incorporated into the big boy exercises. Joining me in the Tuesday/Thursday circuit were two other middle-aged fathers. I didn’t want to draw comparisons, but I felt like I was keeping up with the class okay. Then a Division I tennis player joined for a few sessions; he’d finish the workout while I was in the middle of my second round. And he started after me. I really hate working out with Division I tennis players.
When I first texted Gary, I wasn’t sure what to expect from a trainer. As a neighbor he’s pretty mellow, so I didn’t think he’d be a drill sergeant type–yelling and screaming for more push ups–and he’s not. Gary is more of a gym tour guide, ushering me through the foreign land of personal fitness. Plus, he’s absolutely there for accountability. I’ll start on the alternating dips that mark the beginning of the last circuit. Gary will ask “third round?” as if he is generally curious and doesn’t know where I am in today’s workout. This is a complete charade on his part as he knows it’s my third round. Never once has Gary asked “third round?” and it hasn’t been the case.
Almost all of our workouts end with some running: run to the near cone, back peddle to start, run to the far cone, complete four times. Gary would probably use the word “sprint” instead of “run,” but “run” is the target for me and by 8:30, I’m more at a “jog,” “amble,” or “lumber.” At any rate, once you finish the run, you’ll make eye contact with Gary who will emphatically pronounce, “You. Are. Done.” It’s the greatest feeling in the world to know that you’ve completed another work. “You. Are. Done” Three little words–that’s what I’m paying Gary for; to have someone tell me I won’t have to endure this again for another couple of days.
The pandemic inspired a lot of COVID hobbies. With excellent intentions, people thought they’d use the additional time at thome to learn guitar, knit a sweater, or run on the treadmill. While many of those guitars and knitting needles are gathering dust, I’m proud to say I’ve maintained my workout routine for over a year. I’ve lost some weight and feel more fit overall. More importantly, I’ve made a significant and healthy lifestyle change. How many mornings did I struggle to button my pants and not do anything about it? Eventually, I took action and reached out to someone who could help me. Like Lao Tzu, the sixth century Taoist, once wrote, “A journey of twelve neon green cones begins with a single step.”
