I’m proud to have written my first fitness piece, recently posted on The Manual. It focuses on shaking off a winter's-worth of "Netflix-and-Chill," just in time for beach bod season. Writing it brought back memories of my own fitness journey: it was only about three years ago that I had a wake-up call and started working out again myself.
Like a lot of men my age, I came out of college in pretty good shape. I wasn't much of a jock in high school, but was on a college swim team for a while. I worked out sporadically—including a yoga class I took to satisfy a P.E. requirement and, yes...doing the Jane Fonda Workout—but upon graduation, I joined a cheap gym as soon as I could afford it, where I mostly used weight machines until I braved the free weight room. I'd run, bike, or Rollerblade in Central Park for cardio, and was in and out of the gym throughout my twenties...a little more or less, depending on New Year’s Resolutions and imminent beach weather.
In my thirties I got more serious when I discovered a program called "Body For Life" where I learned more about the balance of workout and diet. I got more serious about weight training and, to be blunt...I got hot! I'd finally broken out of being a skinny kid and was well on my way to gaining some real muscle.
Unfortunately, I hit my forties and it all sputtered out. I woke up one day and just couldn't bring myself to get to the gym. I'd renew my gym membership for a while, try different clubs, and different routines, but nothing quite took hold.
A family bout with cardiac disease did not help: I lost my oldest brother to a heart attack when he was 49 years old, then another brother had stents inserted a few months later. The third ended up having quadruple bypass surgery not long after that.
Needless to say I went to a cardiologist, checked out healthy, but, as he put it, had the sword of Damocles hanging over my head (cue up The Rocky Horror Picture Show soundtrack). I ate pretty healthfully—especially due to my husband, Steve, who is an excellent cook and eschews processed foods—and kept somewhat active, even though I tipped the scales at one point at more than 215 pounds.
One weekend I was aware of a pain that seemed to be pushing from the front center of my chest through to my back. When it lasted more than a day, I went to the emergency room where I was checked into the hospital but, after a bunch of tests, was pronounced healthy.
While laying on my back there, I coincidentally got a text from a friend who was considering getting his certification as a personal trainer...would I consider being one of his first clients? As I looked down at my lovely hospital dressing gown, I thought, "Yeah...probably a good idea."
A few weeks later I started working out with Brett Edward Stout, and have since become addicted. Brett is amazing and has practically become my life coach in many ways. He always keeps our workouts interesting, engaging, and always demonstrating progress.
Brett also helped me prepare for two Tough Mudders that I ran last summer. What was most amazing was that I didn't just run and survive them, but I actually had a blast doing them! (OK...full disclosure...that mud in the last one...that was harsh, dude.)
So now at 53 (rapidly approaching 54) years of age, I'm in the best shape of my life! I only hope that I can inspire other guys to get off their butts and move before they face any of the trauma that my brothers and family have.