Mid-Way 2013
Thomas Plummer: The Business of Training Video
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Training alone, by oneself, is interesting. You become your very best training partner, encouraging yourself and co-deciding what to do, how, when and why. It's not as solitary or as introverted as it appears. It's more like a friendship, a team of two, a winning combination. Unless, I guess, you don't like yourself; training solo then becomes heavy labor, toil and trouble.
Not infrequently when pondering my training and doing battle at the gym, I feel fatigue and anxiety, causing me to suspect the wisdom of my prescribed workout. I'm no kid anymore and need to take it easy, I note, as I vigorously shake my pre-workout Bomber Blend (one of the few highlights of my day -- the drink, not the vigorous shaking). In reality, what I'm confessing is this: I'm old as the hills beneath my feet and don't want to depart their gradual slope.
Can't fool this amateur geologist. He knows his dirt.
I go, rather than not (who can handle the guilt?), and somewhere en route I revive and feel... ummm... okay. Upon reaching my destination, I'm good, and after the first set I'm better. The sets that follow take me higher and higher for the first 30 minutes. I hover mid-way, like a pop fly above the pitcher's mound before descending. By the time I complete the last rep of the last set, I plummet with a delirious thud behind the steering wheel, homeward bound north on Highway 1.
I'll pay big time for this tomorrow.
It never fails. I enter the gym with the sworn intention of pleasurably engaging the iron to arouse some strength and stimulate a few friendly muscles. I make a promise. I take an oath: Within the next hour I shall delight in the iron while seeking the copious benefits of mental-ordering and problem-solving, soul-cleansing and body-building. It's fun, fruitful and makes the heart sing.
Let the games begin: The very first rep snaps the developed resistance, the barrier created between me and my arduous workouts. At last, a weight in hand, a bar, a handle, a device of force under my control. No more anticipation. The wait is over. What a relief! Morphine to the body, mind and soul.
Ha! I am stunned each and every time by my naiveté. Hello, anybody home -- the sucker has arrived. During the very first set, set number one, Mr. Goodpockets, my innocent, affable self loses his benign persona, and the alter ego is exposed: Buster Backo, aka Dave Deadly, the Bone Breaker.
The fresh repetitions -- smooth, soothing, instinctively precise and rhythmic -- awaken every fiber of my clinging musculature. Spontaneously executed rope tucks are particularly suitable for this nirvanic experience. The rush is exhilarating.
I want more. Gimme, gimme...
There are at least two things worse than more: not enough and too much. I am many things, but I am not a not-enough type of guy. Too much, excessive, overload, extreme, extra-dumb, super-dopey: these are terms recurrent in my very own personal self-descriptive vocabulary.
And here I am once again, on the edge of another workout. Get this, bombs: That pre-workout fatigue and anxiety I referenced earlier in this random rambling is doubly evident. Extraordinarily aware of my tendency to exceed my unlimited limits, today's workout is postponed till further notice.
Rats! Multiple Rats! Rats-a-many!
The Executive Executioner of Excessive and Extreme Exercise (EEEEE) has extemporaneously exited the external egress. See ya.
Sue me. I have my rights. See my lawyer. File a complaint, tap my phone, send me to Benghazi, audit me. Bring me before Congress, the DOJ, the Whitehouse; I have not done anything wrong; I'm asserting my right not to answer any questions, or lift any iron (5th Amendment). Let me be clear: I don't know, never knew, and, as all the good and respectful liars say, I did not lie.
Fact is, neighbors, there are spring chores to be done around the ole' hillside dwelling and I need all my energy for the annual task. The weights can wait.
The best half of 2013 is right around the corner, not over the cliff as it appears.
God Bless Us... Dave Draper
*****
Somewhere Over the Rainbow
Have you ever thought about opening you own gym business, either 10,000 square feet downtown or a personal training facility in your refurbished double-wide garage? You love the iron, muscle and might and know exactly how they work. You can do this, a dream come true.
Daydreams come and go like sets and reps. But if this one persists -- providing and teaching strength and health, here and now -- proceed smartly and surely. Or not at all. Your very next move (after your terrific workout, of course) should be to seek the advice and business know-how of Thomas Plummer and Associates.
Thom's my long-time bud.
Iron's not enough, folks; you need more than a bench, a cable and a personal trainer's certification. You need simple yet specific business know-how, marketplace awareness, people skills and sales savvy; this trick and that trick, these tips and those hints from the chief gym-maker himself, Thomas Plummer. He learned, discovered and invented this stuff while ironheads like me were doing curls and presses.
Final word of encouragement: Don't you dare open a gym biz without Thom standing by your side. That clank-clunk you hear is not the sound of dumbbells in action.
It's the doors closing.
New lecture video here:
Thomas Plummer: The Business of Training Video
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