I know that golf is supposed to be the sport most metaphorically applicable to life. But I’d like to mention this bit of insight that came from my coach of youth soccer: A ball rolling slowly towards the goal has a much greater chance of scoring than a fast wild shot that is off the mark. This wisdom is clearly applicable to something like financial planning, and also to the gym.

I used to deadlift extremely heavy – my best sets were 335 lbs for six reps, with no belt on. I’m also proud to say that my form was perfect. However, the only way I could get out of a car for one week following was to open the door and roll out onto the ground.

Today, as I watched an average-sized guy load up a barbell with four plates on a side, my amusement was tempered by empathy.

For a regular guy, a 405 lb deadlift is preposterous. To be sure, I’d never before seen a person deadlift with a spotter, getting pulled upright at the top of each rep. I did, however, recognize the noise this guy made bouncing his barbell as a grocery cart being pushed down the stairs. Regardless, when this fellow added another 25 lb plate between sets, I didn’t even bother to continue watching. I just turned away and waited for the sound of splintering low back ligaments.

Nowadays, I do my sets of deadlifts at about 225 lbs for eight or nine reps. I’m no longer the man to call to lift a car off some unfortunate soul, but I’m also not missing bunches of workouts due to a wrecked low back.  I figure it’s better to be at the gym making slow but regular progress, than to engage in one fast wild workout and spend the next several days in bed.

A heavyset gentleman stepped onto the locker room scale. He looked down at the digits, then sighed in disgust and cursed loudly. He raised his head and glowered at the reflection in the mirror. The look in his eyes betrayed his anger at himself, and then expressed a fresh resolve.

As he turned to leave, the guy nodded to an acquaintance passing by.

“See you tomorrow?” his friend asked.

“Naah,” the guy responded. “Maybe Tuesday.”

Due to our lack of skill, my golfing buddy and I usually play a scramble. After each stroke, we both take our next swing from the preferred location of the better ball. I remember one hole when my friend blasted his drive almost 300 yards: his ball traveled 150 yards straight and then 150 yards right, landing deep in the woods. I launched my drive straight but sky-high, causing the ball to plug hard against the wall of a sand trap. Someone in our foursome, unable to contain his schadenfreude, yelled out, “And that’s your preferred drive!”

Golf is a sport that requires focus and concentration, just like serious exercise. I’ve long believed that proper conditioning is not just a measure of fitness, but also an ability to block out a gym’s countless distractions. Frankly, I don’t see how you can achieve one without the other. Just take a look at a typical week of assaults on my senses.

Sight: On Monday, I pushed open the door of my gym and walked into a cave. The fellow at the front desk asked my forgiveness for the power outage, and invited me to work out anyway. Dude: no apology necessary – I’m just delighted the front door is unlocked. The rest is up to me.

Sound: How about working out while a fire alarm shrieks endlessly? (Same gym, same time.)

Smell: On Wednesday, my jump rope and I were met at the threshold of the aerobics room by the health club version of tear gas: a repairman was applying industrial lubricant to a dozen stationary bikes. I counted on my clean-running liver to process the toxic fumes at the same rate I inhaled them.

Touch: On Friday, the gym I used has its free weight area built on some kind of plywood platform. When I perform heavy squats, I can feel the floor sag under the weight of each rep.

Now I know what you’re thinking: The distractions at the beginning of the week were just a coincidence, but an unstable floor is a permanent feature. Shouldn’t a weak base be motivation enough to go find a new club?

Actually, this facility is my preferred gym.

Attached below is my open letter to President Obama addressing the under-explored and underrated fitness crisis. As Congress strives to draft a workable economic stimulus, I’ve decided the time is right to make the case for a health club stimulus.

________________________________________

Dear President Obama:

I applaud your rhetoric about getting people back to work for a stronger America. I too see widespread loafing at the gym and people stuck on fitness plateaus. In fact, we have a fitness crisis in America.  Every day, legions of people wander around the gyms of this country without ever making any progress, if they even bother to show up at all.

Most pundits agree that the root cause of our economic turmoil is the housing crisis.  After careful study, I’ve discovered that the pathologies behind our housing crisis and our fitness crisis are strikingly similar. Though one is destabilizing the world economy and the other is disrupting my workout, I think you’ll find that the justification for a bailout applies equally to both.

The housing crisis began when lenders (some well-intentioned and some greedy) permitted people without sufficient resources to purchase homes. The fitness crisis began when gym owners (some well-intentioned and some greedy) permitted people without sufficient drive to purchase memberships. Banks and mortgage brokers colluded to create complicated financial instruments that hid the true cost of home ownership. Gyms and equipment manufacturers colluded to create complicated machines that averted the pain of a serious workout.

In short, home ownership became the province of millions of people who should have been renters. Gym membership became the province of thousands of people who should have just gone for a walk.

The housing bubble and gym bubble inflated in parallel. People took advantage of surging home equity to purchase sports cars, boats and other pricey toys. Gyms used the revenue from swelling membership rolls to purchase oversized kickballs, giant rubber bands and other pricey toys. Banks enabled spendthrifts to refinance with exotic loan arrangements, while responsible homeowners stuck with traditional notions of spending and saving. Personal trainers worked out newcomers with gimmicks from the functional fitness fad, while knowledgeable gym members stuck with real weight training and rigorous cardio.

Today, the glut of housing inventory continues to pull down the market; with the economy in decline, even fewer people are available to purchase homes. Gyms are now cluttered with equipment no one uses; having maxed out their equipment expenditures, health clubs have no money left to buy the equipment that is good and worthwhile.

Mr. President, we are in need of a fitness stimulus. Gyms require money to rebuild their infrastructure – to invest in better machines, to purchase cardio equipment and to expand free weight offerings. I urge you to give fitness buffs the tools we need to get moving again.

Sincerely,

Keva Silversmith

Whenever a holiday approaches, I’m reminded of my old swim coach’s attitude toward days off. When a teammate asked in early summer whether we’d have practice on Independence Day, my coach said: “The Russians have practice on July 4th, as do the Germans … you can bet we’ll be practicing too!”

Years later, it occurred to me that every athlete celebrates an Independence Day. During the course of a year, I’m sure that national holidays worldwide interfere with the same number of training days. Over time, workouts missed due to illness or injury probably even themselves out too. What I can’t account for, however, are training disparities related to fitness center disasters.

It’s never a good sign when you turn into your gym’s parking lot and find two fire trucks sitting outside the club’s front door. As I sense my workout slipping away, I start to descend through the five stages of grief: Denial (maybe the entire firehouse decided to exercise right now?); anger (Whiskey Tango Foxtrot! As if my workouts aren’t already challenging enough!); then bargaining (I’m here only for the treadmill, so I’m fine if the free weight area has burned to the ground). Inside, I learn that an electrical circuit has blown, so the gym remains open for everything except equipment that plugs into a socket, like a treadmill.

As I slink back out of the facility with my gym bag unopened, my depression gives way to acceptance: it’s got to be a vacation day somewhere in the world, right?

Though health clubs often spend lavishly to make the gym experience more pleasant, I’d rather see the money put towards making the time more productive.  For example, I appreciate the unlimited supply of gym towels, but I’d just as soon have my sweat drip all over a new StairMaster. Likewise, I enjoy watching SportsCenter in the locker room, but I’d prefer to make my own highlights with a better leg press machine. In fact, I’d crap in a gym’s outhouse and shower in recycled seawater if it meant I could establish a long term relationship with my favorite equipment.

There is one gym amenity, however, that is absolutely indispensible: the sauna.

Years ago, during my first winter in Ann Arbor, I discovered the best way to begin a pre-workout warm up: head directly from the outside into the rec center’s sauna. I stripped off my ski hat, gloves and parka only after I was stationed securely inside the heated cabin. (Bonus fact: MSN Weather says average January temperatures in Ann Arbor are colder than in Anchorage, AK.)

Though the weather I’m dealing with today doesn’t quite rival the Rust Belt, I frequent gyms whose approach to the sauna still leaves me cold. At one gym, an out-of-order sign has hung from the wood door since October; another gym’s sauna shuts itself off after about 20 minutes and requires a manual re-start (a huge disappointment if you’re the first to enter); a third gym has no sauna at all.

By its nature, a gym is a cold place, filled with iron bars, vinyl-covered equipment pads and high drafty ceilings. Furthermore, when I work out during lunch, my gym clothes have been sitting in a parked car for hours; imagine the exact opposite sensation of putting on clothes fresh out of the dryer. In total, my deepening chill isn’t just uncomfortable, it’s downright dangerous: cold muscles don’t react well with heavy weights.

With the sauna unavailable, I’ve developed a new strategy for generating locker room warmth: I point the nozzle of an electric hand dryer skyward, pull my shirt over the vent, and gleefully press the button.