It’s Coach Atwood’s fault.  In the seventh grade he had all us guys figure out how much weight we could bench press for one repetition.  Then, he put us into weight classes accordingly: Guys with no necks who’d failed at least two grades and could lift a school bus were at the top of this pecking order.  Eugene, who had a growth disorder of some kind that made him half as tall as the average seventh grader, and I could only lift the bar.  Needless to say this put us at the bottom of the class, the two weakest kids in seventh grade athletics.

We lifted three days a week.  I drank protein shakes daily.  I prayed to Jesus fervently and without ceasing.  And at the end of the seventh grade I was permanently emotionally scarred and could lift the bar with two five pound weights on either end of it.

I was a late bloomer.  Other guys got ripped, every inch of their innards stewing in testosterone, while I waited on my voice to drop and my first chest hair to arrive.

We all know boys can be cruel.  The same guys who invented the atomic bomb first invented the wedgie and the towel whip wen they were in school.  But the locker room is an effective training ground for boys – it’s where we learn to assert ourselves. Without biceps and pecs with which to do battle I used the strongest and most persuasive muscle I had: my mouth.  Who knew I’d one day get paid for that?

Anyway, the point of this story is to get you to come exercise with me so let me get to that.

I always exercised alone after middle school.  I knew it was unlikely that grown men and women would pop me with a towel or submerge my noggin in toilet water, but still, why risk it?  Why risk walking into a place full of fit people who obviously wouldn’t be able to stop watching my every puny move and would almost surely be laughing it up at my expense on the inside?  And why submit myself once again to another Coach Atwood type character called an “instructor” who would surely take too much pleasure in yelling at me and might even put me in a remedial class with the Eugenes of my town? This, my friends, is what shrinks call “projection.” Can you say that with me?  Pro-Jec-shun.

And shun I did.  I shunned exercise successfully for years until I met middle age one morning in the C concourse of the Nashville airport.  Actually, we didn’t so much meet as have a head on collision…in my lungs and hamstrings mostly.  I was attempting to sprint to the farthest gate with a backpack strapped to me and a guitar in one hand.  I made it to gate 5(ish) of 26 and then walked the rest of the way muttering to myself in King James English “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” A little dramatic I know, but I’m artsy and it was a come-to-Jesus moment for me.

I decided – recalling that my family tree is eaten up with cancer, stroke and heart disease – that I didn’t want to be that guy.  That guy who can’t climb stairs, or sit down without sighing/moaning audibly, who won’t likekly live to see his grandkids and won’t work into the twilight of life.  That guy isn’t physically ready to do all he might be asked to do by God for the rest of his life.

So I started eating wiser (and I say “started” because I’m not all there yet) and I let Becky talk me into going to GroupFit with her.  Today, after being medicated since the tenth grade, I don’t take a single pill.  I’m totally free of a life-altering illness I was told I’d have my whole life.  I sleep soundly – something I rarely did before.  I have more energy.  I’m more flexible, I can run to my gate without a cramp or being too winded to talk.  I can play with my kids and not wear out before they do – as long as they don’t break me.  I weighed the same since high school until I gained twenty pounds of muscle this last year, with no weight lifting. My posture is better. I have more energy.  I just feel better.

And this is thanks to GroupFit. There are no guys at GroupFit without necks.  I’ve never been popped with a towel or had my head stuck in a toilet.  I’ve never been looked down on or discouraged, felt self-conscious or like I was being graded or sized up.  I’ve been encouraged constantly, missed when I’m absent, had my nutrition and exercise questions answered in a way I can actually understand.  Everyone there is late twenties and older, with the same struggles I have, sweating as much as I do, needing the help as much as I do.

All of us know we will not get fit on our own.  Most of us have tried that and realized that on our own we get bored with videos, we do the minimum without accountability, and we eventually – somewhere around the end of January – just stop exercising altogether.  So we decided to get fit together.

Here’s where you come in. If you live in the Spring Hill area of Tennessee, right now you can come exercise with Becky and me at GroupFit for free for one week.  Try all the classes you want: cycling, pilates, boot camp, core, sculpt, marathon training, something called zoomba, and on and on.  And here’s the deal I’ll make you.  If you want to try a class, but you’d prefer to know someone there your first time, shoot me an e-mail letting me know when the class is and I’ll go with you if I’m in town (which means weekends are probably out). I promise.

Go to GroupFit and tell Gina (the owner) you’re a Shlog reader and get a free week of exercise, free child care and a free bottle of water for every class – on me.  Offer good until the end of January.