[gardener]

This post bears directly on and partially answers Q’s “some days yes...some days no” query., specifically the question of mind/body in someone who works out alone and the “Pops” remark. But it’s also got some tangential aspects and I don’t want to hijack the other thread. So I’m making this a separate topic with Q’s . I do have a chance here to comment on an issue of some concern—namely the differences in the kind of experience that come from working out on your own versus working out with someone else, specifically with a personal trainer.
Before getting into this topic, two general observations are in order.
The first observation concerns our host on this board. Jean-Paul (1) owns and operates a fitness center based largely on his staff of trainers and their work with his clients. He therefore has something of a vested interest in promoting the idea that there’s a lot of value in using a trainer in the quest for greater fitness.But Jean-Paul (2) actively participates in both his own fitness forum and that of MH. If he has ever said a single word in favor of personal trainers, I’ve missed it. This absence of self-promotion is absolutely extraordinary—really magnanimous and generous. (My theory is that our friend realizes that most of the denizens of these forums are do-it-yourselfers, and many are teenagers who can’t afford personal trainers.)
The second observation concerns my own experience. Three years ago, when I started working out, the first time in my life (not as a 97-pound, 21-year-old “weakling,” but as a 65-year-old, 200+ pound weakling), I did it alone. Someone at my gym set me up with a program of cardio and circuit training. I was then on my own. I made modifications in my routine as I continued—gradually reduced cardio, increased reps, sets, and amount lifted.
I kept at it in this way for two years and made a lot of progress in every way. But then I reached a fork in the road. I realized that if I kept up what I was doing I would never go any farther. I wanted to add free weights to what I was doing and cut back on the machines, but was worried about injury from poor form or technique. I wasn’t challenging myself as needed, and there was no feedback about whether I was doing things right or not.
So, a year ago next month, I signed on with a personal trainer who at that time worked in the gym I went to. I’d seen enough of his work with other clients that I had confidence that he knew what he was doing, and that I could therefore trust him absolutely.
But before going into what it was like to work out under a trainer’s guidance, there’s one more point. I wasn’t the oldest guy using that gym, but the great majority of the other members were younger than me, in many cases by a three or more decades. I was sometimes distracted by wondering what they thought about me and about what I was doing. I was also distracted by noticing that I was leg pressing 175 pounds, while the next guy to use the machine (about 17 years old) was up to 300 pounds. Here are a couple of instances of poor transactions between mind and body.
I had intended to work with my trainer—let’s call him Steve— for maybe a month or two, but it’s been three sessions a week ever since, and I’ll probably continue with him another year—or until I reach a point where further progress is possible, trainer or no trainer.
I’ve made much more progress in this last 11 months than I ever dreamed of, in both strength and appearance. I attribute this progress to two things: first, Steve does in fact know his stuff; and, second, I have trusted him. (If he asks me to do something new, I may ask why, but always accept his explanation.)
I don’t have to ask if I’m doing something right—or wrong. If my grip is wrong, if I am cheating on range of motion, if my stance or posture is sloppy, Steve tells me. “Keep your elbows in.” “Don’t lock your knees.” “Keep your arms out straight.” “Hey, look, right at the end of this set, you’re popping your head forward. Keep it back, and meanwhile there’s a lot of tension in your neck and your clenched fists.” He encourages me. “You’ve got another set in you this morning.” “Do you realize you’re up ten more pounds on this one over where you were just two weeks ago?”
Steve keeps track of what I’m doing, so I don’t have to keep track. I just have to perform what he asks. In a sense, it’s HIS mind and MY body. He constantly varies my routine. (Since it’s never exactly the same thing twice, it really isn’t a routine.)
What’s going on here between Steve and me is not entirely unfamiliar. In my youth I took a lot of music lessons, particularly voice. My teacher told me things I was doing that I was entirely unconscious of. I also had some conducting classes involving a coach. I’ve also had similar experiences in intensive training in another language. What happens is that you divest yourself of your own mind, but temporarily, and see yourself from the vantage point of someone else’s mind. And obviously we could take this topic in another direction altogether, that of various kinds of therapy.
Below, most of the post that inspired these reflections.


“Since this section is about the mind-body connection, I was wondering how much your state of mind influences your performance in the gym? Today, when I working out, a lift that I can normally do with a little struggling was out of my range. I always lift alone so I didn't have a spotter and didn't seek any help with it so I eventually had to drop my weight back to finish the set.
“I tried once more and tried to psych myself up to finish it but then this kid came up and asked, "how many more sets you got, Pop?" Just kidding, he didn't add the "Pop" part but he did just stand there and stare at me as I was struggling with this weight I had failed on once so I never did get back to where I normally top out at. With him standing there and having missed it once, I was probably dead in the water anyway. “