Rivanna Reservoir, University of Virginia, October 1st, 1992

Rowing duels are rare. Usually crews will compete in fleets of 6-8 boats at a time. But once a year, my crew would take on UVA's crew and this year it would be on their course. It was a quiet reservoir. No spectators; no shore to have them. It was early fall, the leaves were only beginning to change.

When the gun sounded, we pried into our first ten strokes. The UVA crew was rowing higher than us and they immediately gained a 2 seat lead within those first ten strokes. Joe was our stroke, the newest member of our team, one we have not yet really gotten to know yet.

Had I known Joe would raise the stroke rating to a 48 and demand that we stay there, I probably would have unlocked my oar and dove into the reservoir because I did not think that pace was sustainable. But, having no choice if we were to stay with the big and powerful UVA crew, Joe kept us high.

I remember cursing Joe halfway through the race, accusing him of inexperience for rowing this high - we never settled! We have to settle you ass! We're going to blow up!

UVA hung with us but I could here there coxswain growing more frantic and demanding toward her crew. They were beginning to falter, which gave us new life, and we began to surge.

"Okay Joe, lock us down. Let's settle. Let's bring this down."

He never did. He kept it high and I, along with my crew, felt like our lungs were going to explode. I had already emptied my tank, or so I thought.

Funny how your body has reserve of which you are not aware. Survival reserve.

2000 meters later, we finished in the lead with an open water advantage and broke UVA's course record. Once we recovered in the boat, UVA floated over to us so we could lock oars, shake hands and claim their jerseys. My UVA counterpart was 6'4" with no lank about him. I could not believe I out-rowed this guy.

I took his sweaty jersey that he surrendered in sportsmanlike fashion and thanked him for the race. On the dock, I thanked Joe with a slight grin and smirk on my face.

Who was this guy that handled me like a horse and demanded I go faster than I was accustomed?

Every now and then, we should all surrender control to what we think we know and let someone else guide us. The outcome could take you to a good place.

A relatively young age, but one of massive transition. The middle of the decade of leaving your youth and entering the 'time' you vaguely knew was coming.

I've always been this hyper-focused athlete and now I feel confused. I still have this itch everyday to start racing again, or jumping, even though I know my peak is past. Could I get back there? Well, sure, I think so. But for how long and under what cost? And wouldn't that be a selfish path given the two little munchkins I have running around?

It's their time. Two little ripe kiddies with energy that requires no premeditated thought to unleash. They just...go. Me? I have to have a conversation with myself first before I fire up my engines.

So what's the motivation now if not to win? To look good? That's more about diet for me, and I've never been too good about 'working out' without that competitive element anyway.

I'm itching so badly to open up a studio. One that I, myself, would workout in. I'd invite all of my friends and colleagues to join me for workouts. I NEED to share my experience and knowledge with other people. I want to teach those that REALLY want to amp it up and get fit. It's so hard to do online - no human touch.

I think that's it. I'll be that awesome 40 something year old Dad that's in terrific shape, goes cycling with his buddies on the weekends and occasionally does a Triathlon. Maybe my kids will come by to 'find Dad' and breathe in what I do. Maybe other Dads will walk in and want to get in shape - really want to get in shape. I would love that.

No feeling is greater than the feeling of watching a person's life change as they find their fit selves. Good to know I have those opportunities in front of me, in the not-so-distant future.

I'd be lying if I told you that I exercise to stay healthy. I am just lucky that that was a side benefit. I think a lot of people that meet me feel like they need to put on a healthy front when they're around me. Look - the reality is that, for some reason, I chose to go running at 10:00 on a Friday night when I was a teenager. I had energy and frustration to release. It was an itch to move, so I scratched it. I wasn't consciously choosing to 'be healthy.' Please - does any teenager do that?

I never stopped scratching that itch. There is something special about existing in that 'place' when running, rowing, riding or swimming. It's as close to God as I ever felt. And the feeling afterward, the next day and so on? Awesome. Legs feel strong, abs are tight and you can... breathe...deeply. And that is what kept me running. It was the feeling of having physical mastery in the world I lived in and mental clarity to think my way through it.

So let me say it here - exercise to find that place, to soul-search, to learn more about yourself and negotiate your way through life. Move your body, and use it in every way you can. When it breaks - get it fixed. Don't use your bodies' breaking down as an excuse to get old. Get it fixed.

The other side of this is the reality that we are aging; our bodies will slow down and to fight that is denying the reality of your humanity. Don't fight aging; age gracefully.

Technology. Pharmaceuticals. Processed foods. Progress? I'm not so sure. It's a human condition, especially among Americans, to believe that we are advanced compared to our ancestors. But I look around and I see primitive conditions. I see a culture that lived its glory years. Sedentary people. Very overweight people. People buried underneath their excess. That saddens me, because I would love to meet the people hidden underneath years of neglect. The world needs those people.

Let's get back to basics. Don't eat egg-whites - eat the darn yoke. Skip the energy bar and break a loaf of bread. Bottom-up a tall glass of lemonade, spill it down your chest. Run your hands through your hair and open your eyes to the sky. Go run, or jog or walk. Can't? Knees hurt? Get them fixed. Back hurt? Why? Which part? Which muscle? Get it fixed. Do it to look good and healthy? Sure - that'll happen. But other things will happen. Things that are more powerful and effectual than you can know right now.

May, 1994, Dad Vails Regatta, Philadelphia

The lane official, laying belly-down on the floating wet dock, held tightly with both hands to the stern of our racing shell. Eight heavyweight men, one coxswain. You try to stay relaxed, oar blade set to pull with all your might. Relax. 2000 meters down the Schuylkill River. Six lanes, six boats. Final Event and biggest collegiate race of our lives. Relax.

A storm-whipped cross current will wreck a smooth start; the bows of each boat struggle to keep from pointing to port side. "Bow hit it!" The coxswain yells at Scott, our bowman. "Keep hitting it Scott - keep us straight." The belly-down deckman's forearms are burning from trying to hold still a 50-foot long shell filled with 8 heavyweights pitching into the cross current.

Loudspeakers boom and echo, "Gentlemen, welcome to the final of the Dad Vails Regatta." The coxswains urgently and crisply shout out commands to their crews. The spectators are all at the finish line, 1500 meters down the course. You can hear them, but only as a distant white noise hum. It makes the hairs on my forearms stand and sends a cool tingle down my back.

Our instructions from Chuck, our coach, are to pull only by the command of our coxswain, Robin, and not the gun of the race official, who is located on the side of the river. "The sound of the gun shot has to travel to your ears and your pull will be delayed - Robin will watch the trigger finger - go on her command."

I sit, oar blade buried, ready to explode into my first stroke in concert with my 7 teammates. All I see are the broad muscles of Web's back in front of me; he's drawn at the catch, fingers and shoulders relaxed - but ready to explode.

"Cha!" Robin yells, and then the gunshot.

Every stroke has to be clean and all of our blades have to enter the water together. Each of us has to row as hard as we possibly can and we all must be perfectly in tune with one another. No mental lapses. Don't follow Web, the rower in front of me. BE with Web. Move with him. Explosively.

Coming into the last 500 meters of that race has stayed with me these past 14 years, and those last 500 meters are one of three experiences for me that form the spiritual foundation from which I started Agile. The other two I've written about in the past, and they are buried within the archives of this blog, but subconsciously fresh in my mind everyday.

Something released from us coming into the grandstands amidst the roar of that crowd. Our tension disappeared and the boat went faster. I am not sure where this pixie dust came from, but I picked it up just as a dog would pick up a sudden scent. One by one, this sprinkle of magic trickled through us. We were all in great pain; our chests were heaving, our leg muscles were on fire and we were fried. But we found each other through that pain. Our strokes became rhythmic and the boat seemed to lift out of the water and move with litespeed to the finish line.

The pixie dust was the spirit of our friendship built on 4 years of rowing and racing and our realization that a great time was coming to pass - in about 500 meters.

April 1997. Palo Alto California.

Scotty - Do you remember ascending to Skyline Ridge, high above Silicone Valley and then descending at speeds nearly 50 miles per hour all the way to the Pacific Ocean? 6 Days later we were 11,000 feet high in Lake Tahoe skiing the best powder either of us having experienced to this day.

How about when we first met back in college 1991? 4 years of intense Rowing amongst what would be the best friends of our lives; friends that we are unusually close today, 17 years later.

17 years.

Remember when you first took me out on your Catamaran? We had the Cat peaked on one pontoon; I was trapezed way out. The wind suddenly died and I plunged under water then catapulted back onto the deck. You were steering the boat, keeping it from capsizing and laughing like a little kid. We bonded over the fact that only us two would giggle over what others would perceive as an absolute Mayday moment.

Another time that same summer we got caught way out on the Sound with no wind. Stranded for hours and we could have cared less. We had a dozen Coronas, 2 limes and a knife.

1995 summer at G's. That was the best summer of my life. How many open Jeep rides did we make out there?

Surfing in Costa Rica.

What about the Mountainous ride through St. Helena in Napa Valley?

Dad Vails Regatta in 1994. We never rowed better or more in sync with one another. How about the course record we set at UVA? I think we rowed at a 50 the whole way.

Remember Melbourne, Florida? Rowing through the canals. 3 practices a day?

Remember that Golf Trip we took with your Dad in Ocean City? I had a bike race that Sunday and destroyed the field in the finishing sprint. It was special not because I won, but because you witnessed it. I was only that good because your Dad taught me how to take my training seriously.

I'm having a flush of fine memories on the eve of your wedding to the best woman you have ever known (and I've been around to witness every one). I'm reminiscent.

There was a simplicity to our lives back then that made for these fine memories. I'm wanting to find that sense of endless relaxation again. We caught each other's vibes and stayed in tune.

What I do know, is that our best days are in front if us. Lisa and Jen are more alike than I could have imagined. They both don't take any B.S. from us and they know how to put us in our place; they are strong women.

I am happy for you; I am excited at what prospects the future holds for our families. I am thrilled that you and Lisa are taking such a monumental step. I am hopeful that we can not only have more of our past experiences, but that our families can share in them.    

How does one run a company called agile if he is, in fact, not very agile? That was the mental hurdle I was dealing with for the last few months, and part of the reason of why I haven’t written in so long.

But I did do something about it. I had an advanced knee surgery. One that would not simply repair my knee, but rather, make it more than it was originally. I am still laid up and rehabbing my knee, so it remains to be seen how ‘special’ is this bionic knee.

I feel liberated all the same. I feel like my workout efforts now have that sky’s-the-limit mojo.

As I’m laid up in my knee brace, I’ve been working on the things I’ve never been too good at, such as sugar abstinence, sleep and my relationships with the ones I love. I’m trying to find inner peace without having to rely on my physical self. If I can learn to calibrate myself without having to rely on exercise, then I think I will have reached a new place when I do once again have my physical self back.

I’ve been reading a ton lately. I’ve always read a lot, but it’s funny how one takes in information at different ages over his life. At 36 years old, I am by no means old, but I have felt a strong feeling that life choices have narrowed and you start to become who you are and will be. This is unquestionably a result of 2 things: 1) my children; it is breathtaking to watch their energy and restorative power; to witness their growth and 2) aging; my peak is in many ways past. But mentally, I feel extraordinarily more powerful; I find myself thirsty for learning about the world and other people’s experiences. But at the same time, I feel an increased urgency to become who I am so that the world and the ones I love can bear witness.

Fitness, sigh. Folks – that is one piece of the puzzle. I very much want to teach you how to gain control of that piece but that has soooo little to do with the nuances of exercise (i.e. how to do this exercise or that) and so much more to do with your psyche. You need to learn about some things emotionally, not intellectually. Fitness is one of those things. That’s why I don’t use this blog to write how-to articles on fitness. My telling you the proper technique of an exercise doesn’t address the emotional triggers of why you eat so much or can’t get off your butt and go running.

I used to be a trainer. Do you know why I was fit and you weren’t? It’s not because I was superior in finding balance. What is balanced about working in a gym? How could you not be fit when you actually get paid to exercise? So what did I have over you and my clients? I sensed at a young age my coordination and physical strength; I was able to define myself through these innate abilities. I then set out to teach others how they could find their best physical self, and how finding this person leads to spiritual peace.

Why am I writing all of this? Because I see this as a partnership. I want to relate to you by showing my humanity and struggles so that you see how like you I actually am. I don’t want to educate you on fitness in a top-down approach. It’s dishonest and ultimately, not helpful. I think that peeling back my thought-process might help you do the same. I’m hoping that you can find nuggets of insight here so that you can apply it towards yourself.

Stop and think about what you are feeling. Use exercise as a way to flush out those feelings. You are very strong; stronger than you know. Do not use me to try and help make you stronger. I can’t do that. You have to do that. You don’t actually have to get stronger; you simply have to unlock your strength.

Spring Break, 1997

I will never forget Mora. I sensed we had much in common but I wondered if she would accept me on her back. When I got up on the saddle, she reared high. I stood up with her, ran my fingers through the coarse hairs of her mane and kept my chest pressed to her neck as she reared up on her hind legs. I whispered in her ear, "easy babe, easy." I squeezed her back between my legs to let her know that I was comfortable and that I understood and shared her need to run.

Jen and I were among eight couples who were waiting for the horses to be saddled for what would be a 2 hour horseback ride from the high hills on the island of Aruba, down and along the sandy beach. The ranchers were asking our experience level and I was hesitant to say 'none' because I feel like such an answer doesn't account for my natural athletic ability. So I always say "none, but..."

Everyone except Jen was now saddled up and atop their horses. Jen was the most experienced rider and deemed the only one capable of riding Mora. Mora was brought out, feisty and rearing up on her hind legs. Kicking and bucking. I wouldn't have known that is was such a scary thing if not for the nervous look and mannerisms of the ranchers. "She's okay," they said. "She just needs to be up front."

And so once Jen was saddled up, Mora rudely nudged her way through the tight crowd of 15 horses to be in front. I was jealous. Jen clearly was going to have an adventure while I'd be at the back of the line with Mr. Goat the Horse.

I needed to be on Mora. I never rode a horse before but I just felt like I needed to ride Mora. Jen was willing to switch and the ranchers nervously conceded because I assured them I could handle her.

We descended the rocky trail, single file. Mora and I were contained by the ranchers ahead. The salty scent of the ocean was growing stronger. The beach was near and we could bolt ahead. I would pay no heed to the ranchers caution. I wanted to run with Mora and Mora wanted to run.

Cha! I let out the reigns and snapped my right knee into her side. For a split second, I was stunned by Mora's power as she bolted onto the beach. I could not believe the power she unleashed. We sprinted hard and fast away from our group. I wanted the ranchers to know that Mora didn't kidnap me so I reigned her in, spun around and ran straight back towards our group. We came to a stop and Mora kicked up again. Daringly. High above the other couples and their horses.

As I stood on my stirrups and Mora stood on her hind legs, I nodded to the ranchers that it was okay. I pushed Mora's neck forward, tugged on the left reign to turn her and cha! - sprinted away form our group and onto the light surf.

The sound of the ocean air running past my ears and Mora's rhythmic gallop on the wet sand is my fondest memory of early spring. This memory pulls me through the long days of winter and prods me to stay in shape for the new memories I get to create this spring.

I started going to the gym again recently after laying off for a few weeks. I decided I wanted to just keep it super simple because physical therapy on my knee was eating up my daily workout time. So which 3 exercises did I choose? Pull ups, Dips and Overhead Squats. That's it. 15 minutes and I could claim I did a full body workout!

Now those 3 exercises wouldn't be the right starter exercises for most people so please don't hang from a monkey bar yet.

But which three exercises should you do? I bet most of you would think 'abs.'

Nope - you'd be wrong there. I promise you that no one gets in shape by laying on their back.

It varies with every person and depends primarily on flexibility, experience and body awareness so I can't write a one-size-fits-all solution.

But think in that mindset if you don't know where to get started: start with 3 exercises. After 3-4 consistent weeks, you can add 2 more exercises. That's really all it takes to start looking and feeling good.

If you need help picking three exercises, visit my free exercise library at Agile Fitness. There are hundreds of exercises there that I've spent 3 years making.

I woke up this morning terrified. I had one of those doomsday dreams again - 2nd night in a row. The dream felt so real. Real enough that you wake up with the remnants of those feelings intact. In my dream, a huge tidal wave was approaching. My wife and I were running to try and reach our kids, Mia and Max. In that dreamlike sort of way, we were desperately trying to outrun the wave, but it was all slow motion running. I needed to run faster but couldn't. I looked at Jen and told her I loved her and that I love Mia and Max. None of us were going to make it, but I wanted to squeeze Mia and Max and shield them from this wave. Let the tidal wave hit my back. It is okay that I go, but leave them. Please. Please leave them.

You wake up from a dream like that and it is hard to shift into the everyday mode.

So today I feel my humanity; I feel how precious life is. I am scared that I am not living life to the fullest so I say to myself - what can I do TODAY to amp things up? To make myself standout. To be heard. To be remembered for when that wave does break my back.

Somehow this mood always leads me to the gym or out for a run. The act of exerting myself seems to be that expression of 'I'm alive.' It is that place where I can go to make my back more broad to handle that wave.

You had better do the same if you really want to live a full life. In the beginning, exercise is that cold wave - a jolt that will bolt you out of sleep. Move your body, get your heart rate up. Wake up. Life is today.

July 1993, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Boathouse Row.

The sun had set. I was on alone on the upper deck of my boathouse, Pennsylvania Athletic Club Rowing Association, famously known as Penn-AC. The Schuylkill River was calm and lazily falling over a small damn. Remember the museum steps that Rocky climbed in the movie? That museum, with the lit cityscape above, formed the backdrop to one of the most memorable moments of my life. But on this night I was sad; I was saying goodbye to what was the opportunity of a lifetime and one of the best experiences of my life.

Six weeks earlier, I had arrived, along with 3 dozen of the best rowers in the country. I had only been rowing for 10 months but somehow was invited to Penn-AC, the premier rowing camp in the country, for 3 months of world class training and racing under the direction of US Olympic Coach Ted Nash. I will never forget walking into the boathouse on that first day and being introduced to Mr. Nash. He shook my hand and said to me, "I was watching you row upstairs - you know what I like about you? You're the shortest guy here but you bury your hands in the cage anyway and get the same length as these other guys. You're a good athlete - you're one of Chuck's boys right?"

For the record, I am 6'1" so hardly short. But rowers are an unusual breed of broad-backed giants. I was able to compensate because I have inhumanly large quads, the powerhouse muscle needed to row hard and fast.

Chuck was my rowing coach at the University of Delaware. He was and still is one of the best known and well respected rowing coaches in the country. All he had to do was say to Ted, "I'm sending one of my athletes to you this summer." I showed up hardly a good rower but my athleticism made up for what I lacked in experience.

I was gonna have to prove myself everyday at this camp or I would be sent home. I remember sitting in the #4 seat of an 8 man crew and Ted hollered into his megaphone, "#4 - make your catches faster in the next 5 strokes or your out of the boat." Funny how you learn quickly when you're given that kind of ultimatum.

Practices were 3 times per day. I had planned on getting a job to support myself but I simply didn't have the time or energy to work. I took a waiter job at a local restaurant but quit on Day 2. I was here to row, not wait tables. But cash - I needed cash. I was losing weight very quickly because I wasn't eating enough. I ate to survive. I bought a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter and a jar of jelly. I'd eat that for breakfast, lunch and dinner until it was gone and then I'd buy it all again. I picked up side jobs moving furniture, painting fences - anything I could squeeze in between practices.

I was becoming desperate for food. On one afternoon practice, I hit rock-bottom - I waited until my crew mates were ready to launch from the dock. I excused myself, ran back into the boathouse, bound up the stairs and raided the small clubhouse refrigerator. Nothing in there. I opened up the small freezer compartment and buried under lots of frost were 2 frozen hot dogs. Fine. I scarfed them down my throat as I ran back down the stairs, onto the dock and into the boat.

I lasted 6 weeks. My crew was headed to the national championships in Topeka, Kansas (I guess they have water there) and I was told to stay behind and catch up on sleep. In other words, I wasn't cutting it.

So while my teammates were competing at nationals, I had the boathouse entirely to myself; I sat on the upper deck of the boathouse and wrote a small note thanking my coaches for the opportunity. I hung out there alone all weekend and reminisced. I packed up my gear and rode my bike back to my hometown which was about 60 miles away.

If I knew then what I know now, I would have done things differently - I should have asked people for money on the street. I could have put on my crew jacket and told my story. Why didn't I put up a sign on the street and row on a stationary rower on the street telling people why I need money or food!

I gave up, packed my bags and went home. I could have found food. But what I would not have found is the maturity to realize that I did belong there and that I could figure this out.

I'm okay saying that I have this regret. I won't be that person that's lying on their death bed that says, "I have no regrets." I would much rather say, "I've had regrets, but I made things right in the end."

I am making things right. My memory is bittersweet; it was not my time. But my time is now.