Talking with a Guy at the Gym – Making a Change

Zion 2010 159

I forget his name, the blue-shirted guy at the gym, who’s smiling these days while benching over two hundred pounds. He’s a big guy, though not tall, and when he started his regular workouts about two years ago, he didn’t appear pleased. Matter of fact his tentative sideways glances, exuded ‘this isn’t my normal scene.’ Yet, he kept showing up, and over the months he began to sport something akin to a swagger, like he was comfortable, enjoying himself.

Change. Sometimes we have the luxury of choice, executing a well thought-out plan, with a firmly defined goal. Other times, we never saw it coming—an unexpected pleasant surprise or a crash-and-burn disappointment—‘life on life’s terms.’ Is there yet another way change comes our way?

“So, I’ve seen you in here for a while,” I venture, glancing over at the big blue-shirted man, while I push barbells, from under my chin pivoting and extending them over my head. “Arnold’s.”

“About two years,” he says simply.

“Me too.”

“I know. You started about when I did.” I wonder if I too looked like a sideways glancing newby.

“Yeah,” I pause, wanting to ask him about how he got to the gym, being a very large man, with a very large project, but convention tells me my question might be rude. After a few more reps I override my culture, as usual.

“So, what made you start? Health? Life change?” He doesn’t even hesitate.

“Got tired of sitting on the couch.” I am both relieved and surprised.

“Really? But, it’s two years later.”

“Yeah, I started out with Gabby as my personal trainer, currently James here. Tim by the way.” I nod to James, and extend my hand to Tim.


“Was 298. Now 265. I haven’t changed my diet.”

“Me neither.” Which is truer than I’d like it to be.

“Now my car drives itself here.” He positions himself on the padded bench, looks intently into mirror, holding the barbell behind his shoulder starts extending the black weight towards the ceiling. Triceps extensions.

So, sometimes…is it just time? And when does simply showing up become “my car drives itself here”—a brand new make-your-life-better habit.

Cheers lovelies—to it simply being time.

Love and lettuce,

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