"Good thing we're not using our arms, then, Amy: it's deadlift day."
Flip the speakers, and the exchange could have taken place between me and one of my personal training clients. With them, I'm kind but firm, finding their limits and pushing, pressing or pulling our way past them. Instead, Bobby was pushing mine, zeroing in with his trainer's eye on the gap between my work capacity and insecurities. It would go like this: he'd ask me to do something; I'd say no; he'd say yes you will too; I'd point to an old injury; he'd get in spotting position; I'd make a face; he'd say go; I'd do it. Seven sessions together, and this scenario played out each and every time.
A nice, inspiring end to this story would include success in these moves, but I'm here to say that some of my initial attempts--cartwheels, somersaults--were kind of ugly. And that's the point: I paid someone to help me find my limitations. I know my strengths, which are..is... just that: strength. I can pick up something really heavy one time and put it down. Bobby wants to make sure I can do some other stuff--eventually--and do it well.
I came into this profession in my late thirties a brand-new convert, with as much or more enthusiasm than the kids waving their exercise science degrees. Enthusiasm can go a long way, as can all the self-study and work experience I undertook, but it can't cover a missing history of participation in sports and the chance to observe a range of coaches. I'm proud of every hour of personal training I've led, but the more I know, the more I find I don't know.
Enter Bobby. I've been eating humble pie for a couple of weeks now, and it's made me think that every trainer should try this at least once. Anyone in any field, really; stepping under someone's tutelage can go a long way. But please...
...be humble. Don't be "the trainer'; drop your pro role and play the student. Bobby and the others know I work at another gym, but I rarely play this side. I did, however, mention my deadlift PR when asked, and this was forever held against me. Think a class of four women and one man, and guess who had to lift the same weight as the man?
And if you haven't guessed yet from all the gymnastics, let me make clear that I'm at a CrossFit gym. Did you flinch? Hater, be humble: drop your preconceptions on this exercise phenomenon and see what you can learn. I found myself dipping on rings, standing on my hands, and doing more deadlifts in seven minutes than I'd usually do in a hour. If you're at a solid gym, as I am, you've got something to learn. Those CrossFit injuries you read about come when people--or staff--aren't training smart. I am; Bobby makes sure of this.
...respect your skill set. All those nice comments aside, CrossFit programming demands quite a vast array of skills. I can stand on my hands, but walk? Cartwheel? Not yet, and maybe not ever. But I'm there to try, and later, to pick and choose which new skills I want to work on. I have no plans to compete in their games, so I will work on what's important and what I have time for. Planches are on the list, as you'll see in a minute. And I know I need to work on endurance and conditioning, which happens by default when I show up. But I don't need to be laid out for six weeks with an injury, so sometimes, despite that first paragraph, a no is a no.
...step into your client's shoes. Found along the path of humility is a sense of what I ask of my clients. Those times when I bless them with a nuanced assessment of their mobility issues? They thought this: "I suck." I know this because I've now been there. Bobby knows I want all the facts, though, so he gives them to me; but with the general public, I realize, I need to keep things positive and challenging, minus the helplessness that can come with realizing, say, your right foot likes to turn out every time you squat deep. Point is, by being a student for a time, I can become a better teacher.
I'll head back to the gym later this week for another sweatfest and dose of reality. Meanwhile, in keeping with the humble theme, I present one of my many recent fails. But look out, straddle planche: some day, after much effort, you're mine.