If you’re into hip-hop, you’ll catch the title’s nod to Jay-Z. I’m not claiming to be in the same league as rap’s historic moguls, but the title felt right for what I want to share today. It’s something I rarely bring up here, yet it’s a core part of every fitness pro’s daily life. And no, I’m not talking about energy drinks or protein.
Let’s talk a little fitness business, okay?
It’s been a little over two months since I left Cressey Sports Performance to pursue other opportunities and my own thing in Boston. I’ll admit I say “thing” not because I lack a plan, but because you’ll see what I mean as you read.
Since leaving CSP, things have been good. Life has settled into a nice rhythm. I’ve managed to keep writing and running this site while also building what I’m doing in Boston—a small group of dedicated lifters.
A week or two ago, Pete suggested I share what it’s been like during this transition: the hardships, if any, and the lessons I’ve learned in starting my own thing.
The “Thing”
At the CSP staff Christmas party, Mike Reinold and I talked about how hard it can be for up-and-coming fitness pros to stand out. On one side, the internet has made everything—and everyone—more accessible. Fitness celebrities can be built in a matter of months. On the other, the market is so crowded with Instagram, Facebook, websites, blogs, and hashtags that a lot of people go unseen. There’s a lot of noise.
When we opened CSP in the summer of 2007, I had already been training for five years and had been writing on my own site and on sites like T-Nation for more than a year (my first T-Nation article appeared in 2006). I joined Facebook not long after, not really understanding what it was or where it would go. I joined Twitter in 2010 for the same reason—everybody else seemed to be doing it.
But the important thing, and where many upcoming fitness pros miss the boat, is that I didn’t start using those platforms to build my brand or fake experience. I spent years training and coaching people before any of that mattered. I spent over a year writing to the 10 people who read my blog—for free—before I got my first break on T-Nation. The work came first. I worked long hours, trained hundreds of people, woke up early, stayed up late, and paid my dues. The work shaped me as a professional, not the race for friends or arbitrary likes.
That said, I did get lucky. I was an early adopter of social media, especially blogging. Today I’d feel intimidated starting a blog from scratch. And I had Eric and Pete in my corner—and I think they’d say the same about me.
Eric: There is only one Eric Cressey. The man is a machine and has an incredible work ethic. Pete: part of why CSP worked early on was that he took on the “business guy” role—scheduling, invoicing, phone calls, ordering, leasing, and all the other dirty work that most people don’t see. That let Eric and I do what we do best: coach—and argue about the music.
All that to say, I have no interest in opening or owning my own facility. I’ve spent more than a decade building my own brand and a business, but I am not a businessman in the sense of owning a gym. I think one of the biggest myths in fitness is that the end goal is to own a gym. Ask ten young trainers what they want to achieve, and I’d bet 80–90% say they want to own a facility someday—to watch Tony Gentilcore train shirtless, etc. It’s a lofty goal, but not always the right one.
Strength coach Clifton Harski put it well: a lot of gym owners got there because of their ego and a vague initial goal they never reevaluated. Opening a gym isn’t the automatic next step. You might buy fancy equipment and think the lights on means people will walk in—and that’s rarely true. The commercial gym trainer conundrum is real.
Dean Somerset wrote a solid piece on why being a commercial gym trainer isn’t such a bad thing. For me, that’s not what I want. I want to figure out what fits for the next 5–10 years of my life and what’s right for me.
So, to wrap up my thoughts:
1) I’m subleasing in Boston at a space called Run Strong Studio. I have no real overhead beyond the rent for the time I use and my own liability insurance. It’s the right fit for me.
2) I did buy about $5,000 worth of my own gear to get started, but I gave myself a hard audit of what I’d actually need. Many pros overspend on gear that’s flashy or takes up space. Think: a power rack is useful for most people; a big, fancy leg press isn’t.
3) And about taxes: get a good accountant. I’ve used the same one for five years, and he’s basically my best friend.
4) My goal now is to coach about 20 hours a week, which still leaves plenty of time for writing and for travel to workshops. It’s funny: many coaches want this setup, but they don’t realize I spent 13 years coaching people and writing thousands of posts to get here. Could I coach more or earn more? Yes. But I love the freedom and autonomy I have. If I want to catch an afternoon matinee or practice my nunchuck skills, I can. Autonomy is sweet. I’ve heard that many people feel happier and more fulfilled being their own boss—even if they earn less. I agree.
5) You’re only as good as your systems. Knowing my limits, I signed up for a service called Front Desk, and it’s been fantastic. Any peace of mind I can gain from better money management and systematizing things is worth it. My eight years at CSP helped prepare me, and I’ve learned more from failures than from successes. And that’s solid business advice—unless it’s about training ninjas.
