The Mechanic, The Creeper, and Me.

Sometimes a stranger can alter the course of your life.

I don't remember much about "The Dude." He was thin and white, and that's about as much as I can recall. He might've had sandy blond hair. Or maybe he was bald. After nearly twenty years, the details are fuzzy. I do, however, remember two biographical details quite vividly. He was an auto-body mechanic. And he was the living, breathing embodiment of the word "laconic."

"la·​con·​ic lə-ˈkä-nik  using or involving the use of a minimum of words : concise to the point of seeming rude or mysterious."

The Dude belonged to a rare club: the complete and utter stranger who makes a profound impact on your life. Sometimes, it's a detrimental effect. And sometimes, the chance encounter reaps rewards. In my particular case, I don't think the trajectory of my career would've followed the same path if I hadn't met The Dude. In fact, I might not be a trainer at all.

My first foray into personal training wasn't a positive experience. I began working at a gym with immaculate scenery (a bird's eye view of the San Francisco skyline), a fantastic staff, and friendly members. Ostensibly, all the ingredients were there for a great start to my new career. There was just one big, insurmountable impediment: the work bored the hell out of me.

As a new "fitness assistant" (who had not yet received his Certified Personal Trainer Certification) I was expected to follow strict protocols when it came to showing members a fitness regimen. New members were shown three "upper body" machines and three "lower body" machines and given a precise amount of repetitions to do on each one. I was instructed to tell members to inhale while lifting the weights and exhale while releasing them. And...that was it.

It was mind numbingly, excruciatingly boring; a Kafkaesque mash-up of "Pumping Iron" and "Groundhog Day." The early days of my career also instilled a deep and abiding dislike for conventional gym equipment. Very few gym machines replicate how we move in everyday life. And a few of them are just injuries waiting to happen. But that's the subject of another article.

Around this time, I picked up a book that changed my life as much as the Dude had. It had the prosaic title "The Idiot's Guide to Core Conditioning." The title was very apt: when it came to core strength and conditioning, I was totally uneducated. Even though I had always been athletic and active, I paid very little attention to body mechanics and conditioning. When I was younger (similar to many young men) I was more interested in aesthetics than I was in functional training.

The book was a revelation. At first, I struggled with the most rudimentary exercises. And then, eventually, with diligence and dedication, I began to understand and master the intricacies of core training. I also became confident in my ability to teach them to other people. After the drudgery of showing people the exercise machines, I explained that I would show them some "bonus exercises." Not only were those exercises much more effective, but they were also more fun.

For example, I could have people doing a Russian Twist with a medicine ball (seated position with knees bent and feet on the ground or raised depending on ability) and then tossing it. It's a much more interactive and engaging way to exercise.

One weekend after I was done trudging from machine to machine, the Dude showed up. There was no accompanying theme music, and no aura that illuminated the room. He just rapped on the trainer office door and said something like "Hey...I'm here for the free session that comes with my membership."

Time has elided many of the details of our one and only encounter, but after filling out a work and personal history report, I asked him about his exercise background.

"Did you play any sports?" I asked. "Nope," he replied. "Any gym experience?" I continued. "Nope. None," he responded.

He clearly wasn't interested in the gym, in the free session, or, most of all, in chatting with me. Perhaps he got the membership through his work and felt obligated to use it. I'll never know the answer. But what I did know was that the two of us were in an awkward situation that was best ended quickly.

So I showed him the "routine." After every machine he tried he just said "Yep. Got it." Fifteen minutes in, and I was ready to end the session and send him on his way. But, perhaps because I was bored, or perhaps because I wanted to jolt both of us out of our weekend ennui, I decided to show him some of the "extracurricular" core stuff.

That was a very fateful decision. Because a funny thing happened. When I gave him a simple core exercise, he performed it without any difficulty. Then, I gave him a moderately difficult core exercise. Same result. Finally, I really upped the ante. Core exercises that had taken me months to master. He did them without breaking a sweat.

I was having a hard time squaring the fact that some guy who never played sports and never exercised was blowing through advanced core work. We went back to the office. Still perplexed, I reiterated my previous questions about fitness history. Same answers: "Nope. None."

We looked at each other in awkward silence. Finally, I asked him what he did for work again.

"I'm an auto body mechanic," he said.

I didn't (and still don't) know diddly squat about cars. "So what do you do all day long?" I asked.

"I get underneath cars with a creeper and fix them," he said.

"Can you show me what that looks like?" I asked.

The Dude shot me a really quizzical look, but he obliged. He lied down on his back, and then, effortlessly, raised the upper part of his torso while keeping his lower half planted. In other words, he executed a "crunch" with perfect form. And he did this countless times per day. Over and over again.

"Are we done now?" he asked.

"Yep," I said. "Let me know if you have any questions."

I knew he wouldn't. And I never saw him again.

But the very next day, I went to the local Kragen Auto Body Parts store and picked up a creeper. I brought it to the gym. I attached strong resistance bands to it, and instructed clients to lie on their stomachs. I gripped the bands, while the clients used their upper body strength to propel the creeper forward. Surfers, rock climbers, and people who wanted to strengthen (or rehab) their shoulder muscles loved it. I also had people assume a squat position with one foot on and one foot off while I pulled it — a movement that engaged the entire leg complex.

I began to experiment with other exercises and modalities. Balance exercises on a stability ball. Throwing footballs while standing one-legged on a BOSU ball. Catching a tennis ball off a wall while in a push-up position. Anything that was fun, creative, and challenging. Anything, in other words, besides the machines.

Not coincidentally, I began to attract the attention of the other trainers who were ticked off that I had people grunting and groaning on a creeper. And more importantly, they seemed to be having way more fun than the people on the machines.

Eventually, I was asked to take my "circus freak show" (in the words of another trainer) to other venues. I did, and stayed in touch with many of the people from that era, which is now almost twenty years ago. Many of them became long-term clients.

But there's one person I owe the most thanks to: The Dude. The lessons he (unintentionally) taught me were three-fold.

Lesson number one was that fitness is best accomplished when it's habitual. Very few of us are going to be rolling around on creepers all day long. But if we take the stairs every day, or maintain a ritual of taking a daily walk, it becomes much less arduous. Instead, it becomes much more like a "habit."

The second lesson I learned from the Dude was to think outside the box. This became of paramount importance during the Pandemic when people were relegated to their homes. Anything can be gym equipment. Towels for sliding. Pillows for weights. Tennis balls for agility training. The outer boundaries of the gym are the limits to your imagination. I've never forgotten that lesson.

The last lesson I learned from the Dude was that movement should be fun. People are much more apt to stick with an exercise routine if they enjoy it. Maybe that means group exercises. Maybe that means surfing, dancing, or lawn bowling. Or crawling along the ground with a creeper. Whatever the exercise is, the more it brings a smile to your face, the more apt you are to stick with it.

When I think back to the Dude and our fateful encounter, perhaps the best way to express my gratitude is with a brevity of speech he'd appreciate.

"Thanks."