Motivation

Some people hire trainers because they genuinely need help developing a well-suited, results-based, interesting, and effective program. More commonly, however, I find people hire me because they lack serious motivation. They know the basics, they're generally happy with their fitness level - but they can't seem to find the time/energy/reasons to get to the gym unless they make that appointment and financial commitment to have somebody breathing down their neck either literally or figuratively. Same goes for the people who can't seem to generate enough chutzpah to get up the last rep on a tough set. The mere presence of somebody you're accountable to helps you find that last bit of an ounce of oomph to get it up one more time.

People are motivated both by fear (I don't want to get fat, I don't want to be the last kid picked in dodgeball, I don't want a jiggly ass, etc.) or they are motivated by desire (I want abs like that guy, I want to feel stronger, I want to look good naked - even in flourescent lighting).

So I am sitting here in the middle of (one of) New York's gay meccas sipping on an iced venti unsweetened green tea. I'm avoiding doing work for school and instead I'm staring out the window. So many hot guys are out on the street today. The warmer weather really brings out the boys -- and in this hood, with at least three major gyms within a 3 block radius you get to see a lot of nice shoulders, arms, and legs. Ok ok, so you see a lot of people that you wish would go home and put on a snowsuit and/or walk around the back of the building - but still the good ones are worth waiting for the not-so-good ones to walk on by for sure.

Right now, walking by we have a dark-haired, medium-muscular guy in light blue mesh gym shorts, a sleeveless navy shirt, and blue nike shox. Now this, this is what I call motivation.

I never feel ugly until I sit at a Starbucks in a good old-fashioned, homespun gayborhood. How many cute guys can there really be wearing gym shorts and cute sneakers? You'd be surprised. How many well-filled tank tops or t-shirt sleeves pulled tight by awesome biceps can you see on any given afternoon? A lot. This is the kind of thing that gets me all riled up. When I'm working out I just keep my mind on the material, superficial, shallow pressure of life in gay New York. That's always good for getting me to do at least one more heavy set and another half hour of cardio.

Does this mean I'm just part of the aforementioned soul-less, shallow, superficial, body-obsessed gay clan? I don't think so, and I surely hope not. However I do remember being confused one birthday when my friend Michael gave me a copy of The Adonis Complex. Yet still, I refuse to believe I've sunk to that point.

For me it's all in good fun. I like working out, a lot. And yes, I do like eating celery more than I like eating chocolate. But the gym, and sweating -- that's what I do when I want to relax and that's the single best way for me to get out of a funk, in the mood for "love", and able to think clearly. Do I like the cosmetic results - I sure do, but only because I like to see progress. That's why it's fun to work with other people who have a goal in mind. The before and after pictures are an amazing artifact. The rest of the superficial crap is just a game - and who likes to lose at games? I don't. I lived my whole childhood with an overly competitive brother who kept Monopoly money hidden in his wallet so he could later use it to win the game.

Also, it's fun to have control over something. So much of my life feels dictated by other people: professors, bosses, parents, clients - but my body - that's something I get to play with and change. I like that.

That's why I was really brought back to reality recently by a comment made by "anonymous" to an earlier post. He said:

Gym? What's a gym?
I'm neither your first shower stall exhibitionist nor a locker room predator. I haven't been in a gym since I was forced into going back in high school (more years ago than I'd like to remember). Back then, I could easily have become hooked except that I was the brunt of serious torment. I was the non-athletic, bright, scrawny geek in my small town HS class. Worse, my peers figured out I was gay long before I even knew what gay was.

And so, today, I'm a shy couch potato, admiring serious brawn from afar, wishing that just once, one of the muscled gods I so worship would take me by the hand and teach me the ropes.

I think what bothered me most was how much I could relate to what he said. I hated gym class in high school and I avoided it at all costs. There was a moment in adulthood when things changed for me but I am still sometimes plagued with the same self--doubt that I felt when I was in the lockerroom looking at the most athletic kid in the school. I wasn't like him and I never conceived that I could be. Today he's an overweight, lazy, has-been. Everybody starts somewhere, and once the motivation kicks into a high gear - the sky is the limit. I just want Anonymous and the many guys like him to know that we're all a lot more alike than we are different. I say to Anonymous -- hire a trainer, a nice, understanding, qualified one. Oh, look at that - I have an opening next week.