Before I dive into today’s main points, a few quarantine reflections: caffeine is glorious. Disney+ is saving my wife and me while we juggle a toddler at home. I don’t have enough eye rolls for people who complain about gaining weight during this time. Wouldn’t it be amazing if the cure was banning kipping pull-ups for good? That would be spectacular. Disney+ is basically a never-ending fist bump.
I’ve been seeing the same therapist since 2011. We’ve worked on a lot of things, from addressing why my biological father left when I was three to my relentless negative self-talk, and yes, Michael Bay continuing to make more Transformers movies. She’s helped me through a lot. When we started, we met about once a week for a year, which was really hard. Then we lowered it to every other week for several years, and now we have a monthly check-in to review life and other stuff. Truthfully, I’ve felt good for a while and wondered whether I should keep going. Even if I’m not always fired up, I treat my therapy as a non-negotiable appointment, like getting an oil change every 5,000 miles or, I don’t know, working out. In short: it keeps me from wanting to crash my face into a brick wall.
My most recent session reminded me of all this in a powerful way. I left the States for Europe on February 26, just as the coronavirus was taking shape back home and was already shaping life abroad. I spent five days in Athens (workshop and pleasure), two days in Paris (pleasure, mainly to eat cheese), and five days in London (two more workshops and because I’m obsessed with the city). Each day brought more masks, more hand sanitizer, more distance, and more general unease. I flew back to the States on March 10. Two days later, the U.S. started travel restrictions while many countries began shutting down. A week after that, a Thursday, was my first therapy session. By then the world had changed—and toilet paper seemed to vanish.
And boy, did I unload on my therapist. The theme was loss: I’d lost clients, I’d lost all my workshops scheduled for later in the year, I’d lost my new gym expansion plans, and I’d lost pants because staying home makes pants optional. After about 20–30 minutes I paused, and my therapist signaled a time-out with a reassuring smile. She said simply, “You didn’t lose anything. Things are just on pause at the moment.” This wasn’t meant to minimize real suffering, but her framing was exactly what I needed to hear and I hope it resonates for other fitness professionals who may be reading.
Like many of you, I’ve vacillated between determination, fatalism, ennui, and trying to recreate something normal. The health/fitness industry, like many others, has been decimated in recent weeks. It’s bad. Thousands are left in uncertainty and the feeling of inevitable loss. The pause button has been pressed. What this means for me:
– Checking in and being present for my clients. I know they’ll come back, or I’ll adapt. We’re in the service business, so we should keep serving—whether that means at-home workouts or just sending a “hey, how are you?” text. I haven’t lost my clients; the pause button has been pressed.
– Pivoting to more online and virtual training until social distancing loosens. Maybe this becomes a more viable revenue stream in the long run. I haven’t lost in-person training; the pause button has been pressed.
– Reassessing future expansion of my gym later in the year. I haven’t lost the gym; the pause button has been pressed.
– Expecting 2021 to be an epic travel year for workshops. I haven’t lost those plans; the pause button has been pressed.
– Finally getting my head straight and catching up on shows like Ozark. No excuses here. I’ll do better.
To be honest, fitness professionals, I’d urge you to prioritize your clients over your social feeds in the weeks and months ahead. The pause isn’t permanent, but the time to focus on those you serve is now.
