A lot of people have been asking how I stay so committed to my fitness training. “You’re always working out. What’s your secret formula?”
Here are the ingredients, in no particular order.
1. Invest in the right equipment
Quality gear improves exercise performance, leading to greater long-term motivation and interest. It’s more fun to workout when you’re seeing results.
If you’re a runner, buy real running shoes. Hokas are my favorite. If you’re a powerlifter, invest in a good belt and some wrist wraps. If you’re a swimmer, goggles and a cap. A carpenter doesn’t use a plastic hammer.
2. Write out your workout schedule
Build a comprehensive exercise plan. Know which exercises you’ll perform during each session. Know when you have cardio scheduled. Know what time of day is best to workout. Most importantly, stick to the plan.
One life hack I use is to literally block out time to exercise on my calendar, as I would a work meeting or social event. I pop them right into my iCal with reminders and everything.
3. Suffer from crippling, debilitating anxiety
Not just a few nights of restlessness, but overwhelming worry, angst and insomnia.
Don’t take it seriously at first. Chalk it up to a few hard days at work. “Everyone deals with stress from time to time,” you tell yourself. “It’ll be fine.” Repeat this over and over as you lie awake in the dark, unable to drift into sleep’s warm embrace.
Go out that weekend. Pretend everything is normal. Late nights and hazy lights. Don’t get any sleep. Feel like shit Sunday morning. It’s difficult to tell if the alcohol, lack of sleep or poor food choices hit you the hardest. Muster the energy to take a shower. Almost pass out. Sail aimlessly into a sleepless fog, begging the sandman to finish the job. Realize this is not a flash in the pan.
Cobble together a new workout plan. “That’ll fix it,” you say. Start training in the mornings, even though you can’t sleep, even though you’re too tired to stand. Scrape together a half-assed 45 minute session. Wolf down a vending machine protein shake on your way out. Do this again next time. And the time after that. And the time after that.
Get written up at work. You just aren’t the same these last few months, they tell you. Assure them everything is fine. Assure them it’s nothing major. You just need a little more time to get your head on straight. Lie to them and to yourself.
Eat lunch alone that day. Head to your favorite picnic table at the park across the street, the one next to the pond. It’s a stunningly beautiful afternoon. A slight breeze rolls over the water, an unseasonably warm sun heats your face. Birds fly overhead. Wonder what it’s like to be a bird. To not be bound by gravity or time or space or Excel reports. Break down in tears over your leftover spaghetti and meatballs and half your morning protein shake.
Don’t sleep that night. Scrape together a half-assed 45 minute workout the next morning.
Suffer another panic attack. They’re coming every couple weeks like clockwork. But this one’s different. Feel worse than you ever thought possible. Go to the emergency room. Get poked and prodded six ways to Sunday. Have your EKG come back with an abnormal “blip” on the readout. Spend the night in a hospital room that’s too cold.
Give silent thanks as the doctor says your heart is fine. Some EKGs look different than others, he proclaims. Watch the relief wash over your mother like heroin over an addict. Spend the rest of the day in the room that’s too cold. Catch your mother’s eye once or twice, see her face. See her exhaustion, her worry, her love and her relief all at once. Know you’ve caused her pain and have been for some time.
Realize you never want her to feel like that ever, EVER again.
Watch as your life gets real simple, real fast. Move out of your basement apartment on a claustrophobic city block to a quaint suburban neighborhood next to a prairie. Quit the job that’s taken from you ten times what it’s given. Abandon devils like Jack Daniels and Bud Light. Replace pizza, macaroni and soda with chicken, whole grains and water. And the occasional pizza.
You’re not drinking anymore, so you fear you’re not as charismatic as you once were. Realize you can no longer use alcohol as a crutch. You’re not drinking anymore, so most of your “friends” think you’re boring. Realize they probably weren’t your friends in the first place.
You’re not living in the city anymore, so no one comes to visit. Realize you’ll be ok on your own. You’re not living in the city anymore, so most people assume you’ve lost your mind. Realize the only opinion that matters is yours.
Build a better fitness program. Incorporate additional training modalities like yoga, pilates, and spin. Reconnect with distance running, your first and truest passion. Discover the ultrarunning community. Feed off their love and support. Learn how fitness is a gateway to spiritual experience, not just mental or physical.
Start cleansing yourself of material possessions. Realize the value of quality, not quantity. Start meditating. Realize mental health is just as important as physical health. Start making more time for those closest to you. Realize family is what matters most.
Chain two nights of good sleep together. Then three. Then ten. Then thirty. Your body changes slowly, then all at once — you’re suddenly in the shape of your life. Your lifts aren’t as draining. Your runs aren’t as tiring. You have more energy throughout the course of the day.
Suddenly, realize years have gone by. Years of pain, suffering, and loneliness, but also of growth, progress, and maturity. Realize fitness has been in your corner since the beginning, wiping away the blood at the end of each round. Realize fitness has saved you from the darkest corners of yourself.
Late one afternoon, you’re out running your regular route at the local forest preserve. The dimming sun peaks through the trees. The temperature drops, you can see your breath with every exhale. The trail feels soft yet springy from the early morning rain.
The mileage starts to climb. Your body becomes warmer and warmer as you seemingly float over the terrain. You’ve found the groove, that special place at the intersection of effortlessness and movement. That special place every runner seeks but doesn’t always find.
About halfway through, something amazing happens. You enter your favorite section of the forest. Your music hits its apex. The sun comes through just right, reflecting off the moisture still clinging to the barren trees.
You have to stop. You have to reflect. You have to make sure this fleeting moment became an eternal memory.
After a brief pause you start up again, a subtle smile on your face. You’re not sure if the tears in your eyes are from the biting wind or the moment you just experienced. Either way, you don’t wipe them away.
Realize you’re meant to be here, now. Realize there’s no other place you’d rather be than here, now. Realize if you were to leave the earth here, now, it’d be ok. You were doing exactly what you were supposed to be doing.
Exactly what you were put on this earth to do.
4. Workout with a friend
You’re more likely to hold yourself accountable if someone else is depending on you.
Scott Mayer is a runner, thinker, curious observer and certified personal trainer.