Confessions of a Cherry Picker
I picked. Often. I didn’t go in on the days my gym posted something running-ish or gymnastics-ish or just not barbell-ish. (Although I never fled after reading the whiteboard. I do know people who’ve done that, though. One look and poof! They were gone.)
Sometimes I did it because I was tired, or scared. And sometimes I was just tired of sucking at things. When I was an affiliate owner, it wasn’t so bad — I controlled the programming, right? As a member though, I was at the mercy of another coach. Gulp. Beads of sweat. Control issues …
I’ve cherry picked my way across three continents and most of the fifty states. But it’s over.
I don’t cherry pick anymore. I’m reformed. I show up at the 6am class, four days a week. If we’re squatting, I squat. If we’re double-undering, I’m in. If we’re tossing back bourbon, I’m grabbing a glass. Okay, maybe that was a dream, but you get it. My coach writes it, I’m doing it.
How did this change occur? I’d like to spew a lot of words about how I matured, how my fitness improved, how with mental training and razor-like focus I willed myself into a warrior like those at Valhalla.
The truth might be different.
I actually just found the right fit: a class time that fits (6am) with a coach that fits, at an affiliate where a main focus (barbell movements) is something that thrills me and forces my feet into sneakers at a dark hour when most people are still dreaming about riding dinosaurs or having sex. The routine allows me (psychologically) to deal with the unexpected.
It’s not a big, sexy answer. But, sometimes, that’s exactly how we find what works. This feels right. Safe, I can embrace the opportunity to feel unsafe. (Sort of. In a way. You know what I mean.)