Intelligent Fitness

When I was young, innocent and naïve, I sat in the front row at the fitness circus. The experience was colorful, loud and raw. I trusted anyone who seemed to know more than me. And having been brought up in the Midwest, I also tended to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. Well, almost everyone, even at a young age, I found it hard to believe that Joe Weider invented every training principle ever conceived by man or beast, especially when I read it just six months earlier in Peary Rader’s Ironman Magazine.

The cast of fitness characters paraded before me on their way to their sideshow locations. Strongmen lifting impossible weight, the acrobats’ tumbling blur and wild animals making extreme claims competed for my attention and of course my money. While walking down the sideshow boardwalk, barkers fired bullet-points at a machinegun pace trying to strike an emotional target that would pull me in their direction. They were all surrounded by testimonials and one time special offers to assist in landing the “whale”. During those years, I was successfully harpooned and skinned on many occasions. I usually learned something, good or bad, each time I invested in these promises of the fitness Holy Grail. However, it took decades before I learned to ignore the barker’s sermon and to hide my wallet when another “workout miracle” shiny medallion swung back and forth across my ego-driven myopic vision.

The next phase of my fitness life was to serve as a shill for the barkers, handing out the pamphlets of bullet-points and casting worthless beads to the innocents who lined the parade route or who visited the sideshow. I was still naïve though. I actually believed what I was doing was helping the masses find their way to their Holy Grail and that the information I handed out was “spot-on” (I’m not sure what that means but it sounds authoritative). Little did I know that I was still being fed a high-grade line of crap by the industry barkers (experts) but at least now, I was a “trained” (as in obedient dog) professional.

It seems fitting that current my role in the fitness circus is to walk behind the industry elephants with a broom and shovel. Somebody has to clean up this crap and explain the content of elephant dung. My advice to anyone interested in fitness is to not stare at shiny objects swinging at the end of a chain and please watch where you step.

I saw the fitness circus in its most perfected form on TV a few nights ago. My wife yelled from the kitchen for me to turn to HSN. She wanted to know what I thought about the exercise equipment they were promoting. When the channel came up, I found two forty-something, overly caffeinated blondes screeching like Valley Girls while pointing to their hips and thighs followed by panting references to weight loss and muscle shaping. This was classic fitness marketing. Shoot enough bullet-points at the viewer and something is bound to hit the “got to have this” button. The screeching subsided momentarily when they broke away for the compensatory testimonials and to describe the bonus diet and workout DVDs but quickly returned to the manic volume with full force with more body part pointing. The copy block at the bottom of the screen hid the equipment until the camera finally pulled back. There in its’ full glory was the “Air-Stepper”.

“Really”?

“Yes, it was an Air-Stepper”.

“What the hell is an Air-Stepper”?

“I’m glad you asked. It is nothing less than the answer to ALL of your fitness needs. It is what you have been waiting for (even though you didn’t know it). And frankly, I’m surprised you have lived this long without it! Fat will slide off your ass, thighs, abs and chin quickly and effortlessly like a melting Al Gore Glacier. You will become ripped, toned, shaped, younger or whatever ego, self-esteem booster you need to hug to make it to tomorrow or until your next fast-food bag of salt, fat and sugar”.

Quick, get the broom and shovel. There is a pile of dung to cleanup in the fitness aisle. And call 911, I can see chubby legs sticking out from underneath the mound of crap and a hand clutching a chocolate covered Hot Pocket and the other hand with a cell phone and a charge card. God, I hope we’re not too late.

When my wife become aware of my negativity, she demanded to know what I felt was wrong with product. I saw in her face the innocence and unearned trust of someone new to the fitness parade. She saw hope where I saw a scam. She saw exercise where I saw silly, ineffective movements designed to look busy and deceive the inexperienced and uninformed. She heard answers to her needs and I heard just noisy bullshit.

I had no answer for her demand. I could not provide a ten second sound bite that would grant her instant insight without fracturing her false hope and trust in the screeching blondes. She represented that night the vast majority of those attending the fitness circus and HSN knew it. In the brief pause to gather my thoughts before attempting a reply, I became the enemy of hope and no longer the champion of reason and real lasting results. HSN and other pimps of fitness crap (worthless equipment, supplements, workout programs and diet books) know how to harpoon and skin their victims with the efficiency of Japanese whalers and the conscience of a serial killer (maybe they are one in the same). I need time to talk someone’s ego down and that is good only if they are willing to enter into a real dialog.  Short attention spans and the cozy comfort of the fitness myths prevent most circus attendees from even considering the possibility of such a dialog. But when they are ready, I’ll walk with them to a quiet location outside the fitness tent. We’ll step over and walk around the dung to a place where we can discuss what is real and really works. Maybe then, they too will grab a broom and shovel and help clear the path away from illusion and deceit for others.

Dung is everywhere, please watch where you step.

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