• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 598 0

“Tom is the BEST. It was so amazing today.” They HAD to be pork-ing, right? “Amazing” is an orgasmy word. SURELY she couldn’t be talking about working out, which as we all know is a painful, awful process that only psychotic people endure. Well, not being the jealous type but still intrigued by their connection, I came up to meet Tom one day while dropping her off. Tom’s a handsome man. A few years older than me, good posture, square jawline. To look at him, you’d never assume that deep inside beats the heart of a guy who wants to be a Nerd. (Tom has a deal with one of his many tech-head clients wherein they trade training sessions for Photoshop lessons.) “Hey! Janet said you might be in the market for a trainer,” he said in a boyish, enthusiastic manner (but NEVER forced or annoying), which I would come to realize was his charming default setting.

I was sort of in the market for a trainer. I had always been a scrawny kid. I was four-foot-nine my freshman year of high school, at which time I began to grow until I hit five-ten by senior year. Still, I was about 125 pounds, so no one was ever in any danger of being harmed by me in any physical way. In my twenties, the drinking and late-night pizza consumption had chubbed me up to about 170. When I disembarked from my booze-cruise lifestyle, I had lost roughly thirty-five pounds within a few months, but I was not in good shape. I was just skinny, but in the way that I looked weak and slightly ill. More than one of my comic friends posed a variation of the question “How’s that [insert terminal illness here] coming?” (It’s not offensive if you understand inter-comedian humor.) It was time for a change. I’ve always been jazzed by the idea of reinvention (though usually not by the word “jazzed” itself)—the idea that we are not petrified chunks of matter but rather balls of moist clay that can be remolded many times throughout our lives. I wanted to not be a weak wiener anymore. I also was on the other side of thirty and realized that most dudes in their thirties UTTERLY let shit go. It’s usually where the unraveling starts, and the last bit of physical activity they engage in is the act of throwing in the towel. I felt a weird competitiveness with ALL DUDES MY AGE. I had this idea that I wanted to live the rest of my life as someone who you couldn’t really tell how old they were. I reasoned that a fitness regime might help this.

“What type of training have you had in the past?” Tom asked. Naturally, I tried to make it sound more intensive than it actually was because I’m a guy and we are adept at posturing. “Yeah, I’ve been doing a bunch of boxing training.” This was PARTIALLY true. The “a bunch” part was questionable. I had gone to a place in Hollywood in an old mini-mall called Wild Card Boxing Club. It was divey, pretty much an enclosed prison yard. The fascinating thing about it, though, was that it was THE REAL DEAL. The gym’s owner, Freddie Roach, is a world-class trainer who has worked with the absolute biggest names in boxing, many of whom pop in from time to time. Wild Card is a place where a prep school kid like me would slightly fear for his life, but if you’re serious about the sport, it’s a good way to go. I enjoyed the few times I went, but was too intimidated by the skill level of the other combatants to muster up the gumption to keep going.

“Great!” Tom said. “I’ve been a kickboxer and martial arts guy for twenty years! If I train you, it’ll give me a chance to dust off the ol’ mitts!” “Well, I dunno . . . I’m kind of busy these days . . .” (I wasn’t.) “Look . . . I like you. You seem like a good dude and I think the world of Janet. Just gimme a chance. I’ll even train you the first time for free. I am confident that I could change your life.” It didn’t sound sales-pitchy. There was kindness in his voice and sincerity in his eyes. “Oh, OK. I’ll give it a shot.” Six years later we’re still training together.

Tom trains out of his modest loft dwelling that I would later dub “Apartment Dojo”. His workouts are a mashup of boxing, weights, cardio, and stretching.