My “Personal Trainer” Story…

Me and Colleen (my wife) at age 16 – Nice Jacket!!!

I love the questions that I get on my forum http://www.hulsestrength.com/forum/ , especially the ones that relate to “The Business Of Strength”.

I firmly believe that if you are gifted with a skill or product that can serve people and do not take the time or effort to “Market” yourself or build a business around it, you are a derelict in your duty to yourself, God and mankind. This would be analogous to a bird refusing to sing his morning song because the flight to the top of the tree is “too hard” of “dangerous and uncertain” – he is a FREAKIN’ BIRD, he’s gotta sing! Or else, what is the point of living? God wouldn’t give him the capacity to sing if he didn’t require him to get off his ass and up into the tree!

Here is a “Business Of Strength” Question from one of my forum members:

HEY ELLIOTT,

I AM STILL ONLY 15 BUT I WAS WONDERING HOW DID YOU GET INTO THE WHOLE PERSONAL TRAINING THING? ALSO, WHAT WOULD I HAVE TO DO TO BECOME A PERSONAL TRAINER BECAUSE I AM REALLY INTERESTED IN THAT AND THAT MIGHT BE SOMETHING I WANT TO DO WHEN I AM OLDER. THANKS.

-KANE23

Thanks for the question KANE23 (I wish I knew your real name!).

I’m gonna do somthing real cool for ya! Since I am working on a product for trainers that want to start their own businesses I have been writing alot about my history and experiences in this field.

Below is the first section of my unreleased book titled:

The Rebel Fitness Business Plan

Part 1 – The Evolution of a “Fitness Business Rebel”

“Punch him in the stomach!”

THUD!

“Do it again, this time harder… you’ll see!”

THUD! THUD!

”He’s got a stomach like a brick wall.”

I have always taken full advantage of my athletic capacity and strength. As a kid, I would bet my schoolyard chums that their hardest punch in the stomach couldn’t phase me and as a result they would give me all of their lunch… Fruit Roll-Ups and all!

In high school I was an all-state football player and earned an athletic scholarship to a D1AA school. In college I was an all-American football player and team MVP. Needless to say, fitness has been a part of my life since day one.

My uncle Elroy lived with us when I was a kid. Uncle Elroy was a black belt in Northern Shaolin Kung Fu (a REAL black belt, not this Tiger Fool-Man’s BS where every fat kid with a few bucks gets a belt), a bodybuilder and former gymnast. Growing up under the same roof as a guy, who chops bricks in half with his bare hands and does backfilps, had a huge impact on my young and malleable psyche. Just imagine if all of the things that were seemingly impossible to physically perform for 99% of the worlds population, was being executed right in front of your face at the impressionable age of only 4. My uncle was a super stud and he made me believe that I could be a super stud too.

When I was in middle school my uncle decided to quit the booming real estate profession and created a brand new job for himself inside of the local gym. He decided that he was done performing jobs that didn’t fulfill his true passion. He went from being an accountant to a real estate agent to what today is called a personal trainer.

Back when Uncle Elroy decided to create this new job for himself there were very few personal trainers around. In fact, most people didn’t even know what a personal trainer was. He took a certification course and made some business cards and the next thing we knew, Uncle Elroy was making money teaching people how to lose weight and get strong and fit!

Gifted with the same athletic capacity as my Super Uncle, I had been making some impressive strides in the sport of football around the time that my uncle began his career as a personal trainer. As a sophomore in high school I was invited to play on the varsity team as a defensive lineman. This was an incredible achievement, especially since I weighed about 150lbs and most linemen weighted close to 210lbs. I needed to get bigger and stronger… fast!

As soon as I rushed home to tell my family the good news, my uncle dragged me down into our basement and told me that it was time to get to work! “No more kiddy bull-shit, you’ve got to get serious boy!” he told me. Over the course of 8 months I gained almost 47 pounds and increased my strength exponentially. Besides being ready to make a great impression at my first appearance on the varsity football team, I had fallen in love!

My love of lifting weights and getting stronger had only been superseded by my love for showing others how I did it. Shortly after the winter that my uncle mentored me on weight training he decided to move out of our house and relocated to New Jersey. Armed with the knowledge that my uncle taught me and the barbell set that my father bought me, I began teaching my high school friends and teammates how to train and eat right so that they too could get bigger, stronger and faster.

In school I was that kid who loved physical education and sucked at about everything else. I lived for phys-ed days! I never cared about looking neat and clean in my clothes after class, nor did I care that I often returned to math class with sweat dripping from my face and a torn t-shirt. Many teachers disliked me because I treated their classes as if it were phys ed too, I could barely keep my ass on the seat and would often need to walk around the classroom to vent my abundant energy. Needless to say, I practically failed every class except phys ed.

Fortunately football created a successful foundation for me. I was able to finagle my football skills and the recommendations from the phys ed department into an athletic scholarship. I attended St. Johns University in Queens NY, about 35 mins away from my hometown. At St. John’s I studied Health Care Administration because it was the only major with the term “health” in it. It had been my intention to attend college solely for the purpose of playing football, but that quickly changed.

At St. John’s I completed the most valuable internship of my education and it wasn’t even a part of the curriculum. The strength coach at the university my freshman year was an ex-power lifter. He took the foundation of strength and speed that my uncle help me build in our basement back home, and made me the fastest player on the team. I ran a 4.34 at 230lbs! My strength coach knew his shit and trained us well. Unfortunately, he left the university after my first season.

The following season, the university hired a new strength coach. This guy had a Doctorate in Exercise Science, but in my opinion – that plaque on the wall was nothing more than a dust collector. The man wall full to the rim with “facts” but knew nothing about getting athletes stronger and faster. He and I got into several spats over what I believed to be an inferior strength and conditioning program. My rebellious spirit only got me kicked out of the weight room, the only place at the university that I felt at home.

Everyone of my team knew that I was right, so when I went back to my home on Long Island to train… they were right behind me. If they wanted to get bigger and stronger, they knew that they had better follow my lead!

Summers spent in my parent’s basement training myself, my brother and college teammates proved to be my most pertinent form of education in undergrad. There would sometimes be 10 sweaty, hulking bodies crammed into the tiny weight room that housed only a barbell and 300 pounds of Olympic weight plates. We’d meet early in the morning to do some sprint and dynamic work, go for lunch and be back for an evening session with the barbells. Not only did we all get stronger, bigger and faster… I discovered exactly what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.

After undergrad at St. John’s I attended S———- College to study Exercise Science and build my educational foundation for the career of my choice, as a Strength and Conditioning Coach. As you might have guessed, I didn’t get along well with most of the professors and thought that the system that the college was using for strength and conditioning was inferior and useless. So, after only one semester I dropped out and went back home. With a solidified distrust for authority and a disillusioned perspective on the fitness and strength profession I chose to take a job as a Youth Counselor at a place for “At-Risk” teens.

If you don’t know what At-Risk means, it’s a term used to described kids who are in a position where the influence of drugs, violence and gangs participation are high. The term that I think better fits these lovely children is “Bad-Ass Kids”. I stayed in this position long enough to realize that I would probably never find a replacement for the passion I possessed for strength and athletics. I quit this job as a Youth Counselor faster than you could say, “Did you forget to take your Ritalin?!”

In the early 2000’s so-called health clubs were popping up all over the place. These were places where regular, unathletic and weak people would go to fool themselves into believing that they might be able to construct half-way decent looking bodies by sitting on expensive weight machines and walking on a moveable platform. It was and still is one of the biggest hoaxes of our time. So, I decided to work at one.

For several years I bit my tongue, bowed my head and settled for a job teaching fat, and generally lazy people how to train and eat properly. Often times I had to swallow my pride as I accepted humble pay checks from the fitness factories that I worked for. Although I boasted that I was working in a profession that I loved and felt sorry for the poor suckers that worked behind desks all day, I knew that I was as lowly a corporate robot as they were.

I made decent money at the fitness factories because I have a great personality and learned how to sell proficiently by listening to Brian Tracy and Zig Ziglar CDs in my car. I would often have over 10 clients a day and train over 60 hours a week. My wife and I had recently given birth to our first baby and my paternal instinct dictated that I “do whatever it takes” to make sure that I provided well for my family. Provide, I did… enjoy, I did not. I must have spent an average of only 8 hours a week with my daughter Isabelle for her first entire year of life.

“You’ve got to work hard to provide for your family! Do whatever it takes.” My dad would often say this. He grew up on a farm in Belize and if you didn’t work hard there was no food! So he brought the same ‘farm boy’ work ethic to the United States and created a beautiful life for my siblings and I. He is a working machine; to this day my dad works on cars and breaks his ass to keep a beautiful home in Tampa Bay, Florida.

If you are wondering what happed to my uncle, he suffered the same fate as I. He took his love for fitness, built a job around it and then became a slave to it. Now in the same profession as my childhood mentor, doing what I’ve always wanted to do… I was making a living but losing my dream. I think my uncle would tell you the same thing. He and I are both rebellious by nature and have creative, entrepreneurial spirits but needed to find a way to continue doing what we loved most, without being slaves to it, AND make a truck load of money along the way!

I continued to train people I didn’t like at a place I hated for several more months once I moved to St. Petersburg FL from NY in 2005. L——– F—— Fitness was the name of the place that I worked at and it sucked. They are one of the fastest growing “fitness clubs” in the industry and they are making a huge killing selling memberships to unsuspecting gym-goers and up selling them into personal training packages with pencil-necked geeks who call themselves “fitness experts”. And this is going on all over the country!

Now don’t get me wrong, many people like the prospect of ‘moving up’ in a large corporation and the security associated with having ‘benefits’ and whatnot. But, if you would rather eat raccoon shit than sell your soul for so-called “security” and a “good job” then this type of place is NOT for you. You would much rather throw caution to the wind, take life by the balls and CREATE what you’ve always dreamed of having. Unfortunately, the idea of taking their lips off the milking tit of a “stable job” scares most people out of their mind.

As months went by slaving away with ridiculous hours at the fitness factory, I became a better and better robot. I even won several awards for high performance and held the record for the most “packages” sold in a single month. In fact, I earned over $19,000 per month for them on a regular basis. This continued until… one day, I just snapped. I literally went postal.

At one of our pretentious, pep-rally type “Promo Meetings” I was approached by the companies owner himself, a tall English guy with that priggish accent that makes European people seem smarter and more cultured than we are (if you’re English I still love ya!), he asked me to attend an “Insider’s Meeting” for only the highest of performers in the company. It doesn’t take much to stroke my ego, so I accepted his invitation with glee!

I prepared for weeks as to how I was going to make a great impression during this meeting and perhaps put on a good enough dog and pony show to get noticed and “move up the ranks.” In hindsight, I realized that I must have looked and behaved like one of those infamous “House Slave’s” of old times who tried his darndest to please his ‘massa’ so that he could retain his high status and avoid the hot sun, outdoors with his lowly counterparts. “Yassuh! – Right away Suh!”

On the fated day I put on the only collard shirt that I had, a pair of slacks and my sneakers. Dressed to impress! As the meeting began, I quickly sensed that I was out of place. Being the outgoing and social type, I began making small talk with the other glassy eyed robots. I quickly realized that not one of them was listening when I spoke and they only seemed to want to talk about how great the company was doing and how they would “Sure, like one of those managerial jobs.”

The tall Englishman walked in, stood at the front of a long table and bided everyone to find their seats. It reminded me of my first time at Catholic Church as a kid, only that this guy didn’t wear a tall hat and robe. Everyone found their seats and the meeting began. After some pontification from the pulpit, “The Prez” invited each of us to give some input about how we thought that the company could improve. The format was, beginning on the left side of the table we would go around and each person would have an opportunity to speak their mind.

I was seated at the far right of the table and patiently waited and listened as each robot gave their account of… “The music in our gym sucks” or “when can we get new soap in the ladies room” or “we are out of large t-shirts and all of the trainers male trainer are wearing female shirts”. This went on for about 40 minutes before the “complain parade” made its way around to me. The gentleman right before me gave his apologetic account of “why his gym had the lowest grossing personal training sales.” This would be a great segue for me, since I was the highest grossing single personal trainer in the entire company. But before I could get my first word out, Our Highness decided that the conversations have gone on long enough and that it was time to eat!

The son-of-a-bitch had the nerve to travel the extent of the table listening to 40 minutes of crap and couldn’t afford me the opportunity to speak my mind as well – I was the last one for God’s sake! This is when I officially snapped. From this point on I had abandoned my well-guarded façade as a “Certified Personal Trainer” and revealed the rebel I am today.

As everyone reached for their fork, I released the bound up feeling that kept my breathing short for the past 9 months and solidified my position as an outcast. “Oh, you must have forgotten me!” I said, with a sarcastic that smile slowly crept across my face. In much more words and passion than I relate to you now, I basically told our High English Priest that I thought his company was a fraud and that they were selling people lies.

The simple statement that I intended to make when the bullshit streak finally ended with me was, “How can we claim to be a fitness company, and continue to sell Pepsi to fat people in the gym vending machine.” But mixed with sleep debt, anticipation and frustration it came out sounding more like a few bars from a 50 Cent rap album than a simple customer service comment. The Englishman’s goons shut me down quickly and I stormed out of the room… I didn’t even say good-bye!

A few weeks went by as I was planning my escape. There were a few obstacles in my path… I had just bought my very first house and needed to continue paying the mortgage. I had my wife’s college loans and a shit load of credit card debt to pay off. On top of all of my financial obligations was the fact (or so-called fact) that fitness factories don’t like their slaves running away with their cattle. Basically, there was a threat that if I left them and intended to start my own service that they would hunt me down like a lynch mob and stretch my neck for everyone to see!

Before I tell you about how I overcame these obstacles I want to make a few things clear to you. If you are sitting at home reading this, you are probably in the same hypnotic state, immersed in the drama of my story – just like a moviegoer. People read books and watch movies that make them feel good. These are stories of the “Good Guy’s” overcoming some huge challenge or beating up the “Bad Guy’s”. Often we leave the movie theatre feeling all “psyched up” and ready to take on the bad guy’s too. But within a few hours you realize that life will continue to suck and that you are really NOT going to move forward and tackle any worthwhile challenges.

I don’t want that to happen to you this time. Remember, I am just like you. I am not gifted with any super capacity for making shit happen. I’m not even what you may consider “smart” – I got a 930 on my SAT’s and I think you get ½ of that for just writing your name! I was just a lowly personal trainer who reached his wits end and decided to take my fate into my own hands. You and I are siblings – and like any good brother, I am going to show you how I beat the bully once and for all. You just need to follow my lead and trust in my approach.

The defining characteristics and mental trait that I had displayed since I was a kid taking punches for lunches was a “Nothing can stop me” attitude. An air of arrogance and a set of brass balls. This doesn’t mean that I wasn’t scared… I simply decided that fear was not going to stop me. I had mouths to feed, bills to pay and a monster on my back – but my profound sense of faith won over the pitiful SIN of fear.

In pages ahead I am going to take you step by step through each and every success and mistake that I made along the road that has bought me to where I am today. I am going to give you my formula for the success that I enjoy today. Remember, I am just a regular guy…

A regular guy, who loves spending more time with his kids than with his clients.

A regular guy, who enjoys the work he is doing and is paid well to do it.

A regular guy, who makes enough money for his wife to stay at home with his kids to raise them well.

A regular guy, who makes good money selling his ideas and helping people all over the world.

A regular guy, who owns his own gym and ONLY trains people he enjoys being around.

A regular guy, who makes money while he is sleeping and often gets unexpected, checks in the mail.

A regular guy, who takes vacations when he wants to and has as many ‘sick days’ as he wants.

A regular guy, who does what he wants whenever he wants with whom ever he wishes. (unless my wife objects )

A regular guy, who fulfills each and every one of his dreams!

A regular guy, who loves helping you fulfill each and every one of your dreams too!

As my uncle said to me, “No more kiddy bull-shit, we’ve got to get serious boy!”

Let’s get to work.

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Learn more about how to earn at least a 5 Figure Monthly Income as a

”Rebel Fitness Entrepreneur”

And get a free subscription to my Rebel Fitness Biz Rants newsletter at:

http://www.RebelFitnessBusiness.com

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