i joined golds gym in bozeman Montana in January of 2007.

it was the first time i had ever stepped in a gym.

it was part of the PAST skills residency program, the idea that “ones fitness determines their reality”

that being said, it was immediate into bodybuilding. back and legs day, chest and bi’s.

one guy there began to talk about 3 dimensional movements.

about practicality.

about unintended consequences to ones problem solving ability.

then someone showed me a video shot during the GYM JONES training for the cast of 300.

there was a shift. the difference between talking about ones condition affecting their lives and making it so.

there was simple ideas that made too much sense to ignore.

usable fitness.

under this new light, the pec deck looked absurd.

i went home and mined the website. i read every word there. went back day by day and tried to decode the theory behind the site. i had to research what a TGU was, what a GHD was, and then find out why it was being used and how to replicate it.

i showed up at the gym every day, i hung out in the group room with a couple medicine balls, some dumbbells and went to work.

i moved, i crawled, i jumped.

i did everything i could think of, and tried to do it with an objective.

i got stuck.

i e-mailed GYM JONES and asked if i could come to a seminar.

weeks went by.

i kept checking.

i remember a workout that started and ended with 100 pullups.

i was happy they didnt get back to me. i joked about it at dinner that night.

after dinner, i had an e-mail.

“show up, or dont. just tell us now.”

at least that was the gist of it.

terrified, i paid the fee, got a hotel and planned my trip.

i decided i was going to learn everything i could, and that these guys were probably going to be pricks.

i drove down from montana, spent the night in the back of my truck on some side street in SLC, i showed up in the parking lot early, and more than a little nervous.

when i got there, it was unbelievable. i felt so stupid. the things being said were so simple. at the same time, they were irrefutable. i wanted to know why i didn’t think of this myself.

they were helpful. they were encouraging. and if they were pricks, it was in a way i could appreciate.

i went home, converted my garage into a gym and got to work.

after a few months, some good guys came to trim my trees. they saw the end of my workout and asked if they could be next.

we trained. more people noticed. friends were told.

i trained more and different people. sport specific or not. they just came to my workouts. i started a bit of programing. i began to contact coaches because people were looking to me for answers i didn’t have. i was feeling responsible for these people, and i wanted to do right.

after 2 years of this, it became a habit.

eventually, a friend of a friend showed up whos sister owned a gym.

they needed a personal trainer.

i got certified and began work.

i applied myself, i found where i could push and where i could bend.

but i would not give up the driveway.

we had days where fifteen people would show up. fit kids. fat kids. people with goals. people who wanted to change. people who fed on the challenge. on the fact that your mental game will shape your workout more than any piece of equipment. we decided to find a place.

the details get muddy, building after building (the first was 515 woodward heights, and right next to the train tracks), crappy landlords, shifting financial tides… i even got crossfit certified to try and satisfy an investor, making sure he knew we were still going to do it my way.

eventually, i was tired of other people letting me down. even my litter sister called me out. she told me she had heard me talking about this for a while, and i still had nothing to show for it…

i found a building.

i trimmed the fat, and made a budget.

i signed the lease.

i bought the equipment.

roll the dice.

make it work.

raise the bar.

-burkey

station515

time is not found. it is made.

i used to not be able to find time to go to the gym. now, i make the time.

i used to not find time to recover properly. now, i make the time.

i couldn’t be bothered to track my diet, my sleep, my heart rate. now i make it a point.

there are 24 hours in a day. 1440 minutes. each one is a choice. a step in a direction….

enough steps, and a path begins to form. where is yours going? is it were you want it to? is it where you tell people you are headed?

live deliberately.

and take some fucking responsibility.

or don’t.

but if you don’t, the only reason, the only reason, is that you don’t care enough.

everything else is just noise.

live deliberately.

make a point.

-b

special thanks to Rob MacDonald and Rob Fusco for driving that point home.

weight is a funny thing.

how much does a wedding ring weigh?

or a newborn child?

there is significance. there is commitment. there is expectation.

nothing adds weight like the confidence of others.

nothing adds weight like feeling responsible for something that is not wholly your own.

this weight is emotional.

this weight is symbolic.

logically, we can ignore it.

we can choose not to give the symbol power.

but at what cost?

keep that logic. remain goal oriented…

what are the consequences of giving these symbols power?

how does the gravity, the emotional attachment, affect your behavior?

easy lives encourage laziness.

too much praise causes us to start believing it.

a symbol. a goal.

a reminder of whats important. of the price that must be paid.

that is commitment.

that is weight.

i am not married.

i have no children.

the heaviest thing i own is a few ounces of ring-spun cotton.

it is a symbol.

it is a goal.

it is a judge.

and it must be earned each and every day…

and i will be better for it.

depressions aren’t all bad…

depressions are the impetus for growth. forced into a situation where an indivudial must exibit creativity, self motivation, problem solving, and the willingness to work. the drive to out think, out maneuver, out wit and out work the twenty other guys looking for the same gig. there is no choice. improvise. improve. survive… or don’t.

at least that was what my younger sister told her econ professor in geneva.

she (my sister, that is) works in africa. refugee camp in liberia, researching in rwanda. she has seen what it means to work hard. seen the creativity that is born from necessity. hell, there was a kid in africa who build a working windmill generator to operate a water pump out of garbage from looking at pictures in a book in a different fucking language.

hard work. determination. creativity.

i got to spend today at the GYM JONES facility in salt lake city, utah. part of a seminar, this is my vacation. this is my recharge. of all the things i learned today, or learned to see in another way, it is that thought of my sisters argument with her econ professor that is sticking in my head right now.

i am not training for any specific sport. i, frankly dont “need” to be fit. the nescecity is not there. that forceful impetus for growth. consequence. while we are not faced with the constant pressure of economic collapse (at least not yet) we have the choice to raise our expectations. we can choose to expect more from ourselves, from the people who surround us. today i was once again reminded ,” we become what we do. and who we hang around.”

this weekend is a moment for me to take a glimpse into a shared mental state. to see individuals who have agreed to expect more. to raise the bar. to become better… together.

that glimpse, that spark. it is something that resonates. something i can carry home and, god willing, set a few fires.

and there is still another day…

“there is no such thing as over-training, just under-recovery”
-scrawled in my seminar notebook, GYM JONES, august – 2007

language is important.

10 months ago i started working as a personal trainer at a 24 hour fitness facility. it wasnt my idea. i was asked to. that being said, i was pretty stoked. i picked up clients pretty fast, i was working 40+ hours a week. January and all. i was new, i worked the only way i knew, i did. i worked next to my clients. i pulled heavier weights, and i did it faster. just a bit. just so they would try and keep up.

it was great, i saw people improve, saw them struggle to keep the pace i set for them. it made me feel good that i could operate at that level for 12 hour days, and still hit it hard once or twice a week. the volume of training made me get my diet under control. made me appreciate sleep. got my Deadlift up another 15%. occasionally i worried about over training, but didn’t see any of the red flags. i pushed on. i got stronger. i got faster.

then it caught up.

my joints started hurting, and while i am usually a bitter and contemptuous individual, i noticed i was getting annoyed at things i used to ignore. my right elbow and shoulder started to feel wrong. i went to see a ART specialist. active release technique. massage and movement. the doctor ran me through some ROM tests. she was not happy. simple diagnosis: over trained. fibrotic muscle tissue. lack of flexibility causing stress on joints. as soon as she pointed out my sticking point i knew ten reasons i was sitting on that table. i could see the holes in my training. in my recovery.

lucky for me nothing is ruined. just have to step back a little. make recovery a habit. use the tools given to me years ago. listen and remain vigilant. my shoulder still feels a bit weak, definitely not where i would choose to be a week out from a second trip to SLC. but i will savor it. remember this bitter taste every time i think i don’t have the time to hit the foam roller or the money for a 3rd party assessment.

the question should have never been “am i training too much” but “am i recovering too little”

language is important. take responsibility.

recover.

-b

I remember a poster.

A simple picture, with simple words.

Let reality be the grindstone on which you sharpen your hatred.

Better yet, your fear.

Your will.

You must be willing to smash your dreams and grind them into dust, a fine grit on which to hone your tools. The better for cutting. Cutting past the bullshit. cutting past excuses. Cutting to the heart of the matter. The reason we push. The reason we suffer. The reason we refuse to glide through life on the well worn path. The reason we choose the hard. The hurt. The wrench.

because fuck him. Fuck them. That’s why.

We work hard because we know we don’t have to. We are angry because we know we could roll over with a whimper and people would tell us that its ok. We work hard as an act of revenge upon the pieces of ourselves that want to be average. We work to become more than what we are.

We work our tools. Flesh and soul. Fear. Anger. Love. Compassion. Parts of a whole. Tools we learn. Tools we use. Strength and flexibility. Power and endurance. Speed. Agility. Of body and of mind. Parts of a whole. Pieces. Reflections of the work we have done. Of the promises we have made, and the ones we have broken.

We work to take responsibility. To claim our birthright. To remove the useless material. To grind down the conditioning that was forced upon us. To hone our sense of self, and learn to respect the edge. This tool requires a deft hand. requires patience and restraint and the willingness to act at the required moment without hesitation.

This is why we work. This is why we fight. This is why we push. The pain. The hours. The price we pay. We are all creatures of our own making. We are dealt a hand, for better or worse, but it is how we play that exposes us for who and what we are. Our choices, not our gifts.

It is about definition.

And when the time comes, when the moment has consequences, we can stand and face them. Face them with the knowledge of a sculptor. Of an artist who has touched every piece. Who has handled and honed. Who has shaped each part with purpose. With knowledge and perspective. We can throw ourselves into the challenge, and regardless of the outcome, grow.

-the station.

raise the bar.

i have been told from the beginning of my training history to see a massage therapist or acupuncturist once a month. to find someone good, let them now how and why i am training and listen to them. i was given this advice from people whom i trusted, people who have walked down the paths i wish to tread… i heard this advice and ignored it. it seemed like a good idea, but never seemed to happen. how could a massage be essential? i dont have the money. i dont have the time. maybe next month… 3 years later i am seeing a specialist every week. there were holes in my training, holes i was missing because i was focusing on others progress and pushing my health to the side. and now i am reaping what was sown.

seeing one of these specialists is a chance to learn. to ask what is out of balance, where is there excess tension, to get feedback. in anything, the most dangerous shortcomings are the ones we never see, never expect. every so often, get a second opinion. a test. see if what you are doing is having the effect you want and change plans accordingly. sometimes we have to learn the hard way.thankfully, my price seems small – and the lesson highly transferable… listen to those who have been there before, and “recovery” is hard work – and not optional.

you have seen the advertisements – “six pack abs”, “get totally ripped”, names like beast,
tsunami, and x-plode – all promising to condense years of hard work into a shake or a pill.
where do people get the idea that they can buy results? that they even deserve the physical
manifestation of countless hours of blood, sweat, tears, and a level of determination that
borders on psychosis?

our body is a tool, and like any tool, form follows function. so have a function. train
for a purpose. make the hours matter. sacrifice. consequences will sharpen your attention.

work. work hard. work with people who will not accept anything less than your best. court
failure. find your limits and expand them. take the bitter pill of over reaching with the
knowledge that failure will teach you better than success ever will.

train yourself. take control. take responsibility. this is your life after all. how often
is “can’t” code for “never tried”. cut the bull-shit. make decisions. make moves. make it
matter. talk less, work more. work smart. what is stopping you?

it will hurt. you will survive. it will be inconvenient. you will survive. it will be
scary. you will survive. it will be hard. you will survive. keep at it, and you might
even live.

to live with a body, with a mind shaped by your own efforts. to be an individual, to know,
to own your victories and defeats. to be able to taste panic, to face doubts with a quiet
determination. to balance the world with the weight of our will.

that is our goal.

we are a collection of individuals looking to test the limits of our physical and emotional
capacity. we are athletes and artists, players and gamers. men and women of all fitness
levels working to strip away the glitz and posturing and get back to honest, hard work.
our aim is to create an environment where philosophy has consequences….

that environment is currently located in a secure private warehouse in madison heights.

we call it home. we call it “the station”. and we want some new blood.

if you want to work for a purpose. if you want to explore the deep end of “working out”. if
you are willing to smash the mirror, to risk who you are today for who you may become…

then we welcome you.

-the Station

when an individual is first undertaking something at the edge of their ability it is often helpful to be surrounded by other individuals doing the same. it is good to have teachers, people who have been there before, and peers who are engaged with the struggle at a similar level. we are comparative creatures and benefit from the camaraderie of suffering. we can look around, and in that moment that we wish to quit can see that thought mirrored in our peers, and also see that they are still going. the group can drag the lagging individual up, force them to find ways to work harder, and smarter, and eventually overcome.

because overcoming is the point. most of us do not travel with a pack, we do not have the luxury of constantly being surrounded by honest and hard workers. many of us face our worst challenges with only the voices in our head to keep us company and that fact must be respected and reflected in out training. remember that the group exists to push you beyond yourself, to protect you and inspire you and to give you the confidence and the skill to exist on that level apart from everyone else. if your performance is hampered by training alone, than that is a sign of an imbalance and should be addressed accordingly. the group is a tool, a stage, a station… we do our time and progress. not that we should abandon our pack, just be sure you are able to stand on your own.

any way you cut it, 4 minutes under the slosh pipe starts to feel pretty lonely…

ideally groups are designed, comprised of individuals with certain qualities, qualities chosen to enhance the entirety, to balance and expose and encourage each member. the wrong combination of qualities can hinder growth, while the proper mix will bring a tangible force, a knowing. be mindful of your surroundings, and if you are lucky (and strategic) enough to build that community, take full advantage of it. embrace it. internalize it.

what purpose does your community serve?

what do you bring to your pack?

what do you take from it?

plan accordingly… act deliberately.