A few years back, a guy named Ed joined our gym. When he first walked in, he didn’t say a whole lot, but one thing he made sure to tell me was that he knew of me from my column in the magazine.
“Ricky, right? I recognize you from the magazine. Ya, I gotta be honest, I didn’t think I’d like you. You seem kind of arrogant.”
I laughed as if I was going to get a “just kidding!” But he just gave me a head nod and walked off. I was left scratching my head, wondering if he was messing with me (he wasn’t). Well, Ed kept coming in, and for the last three years, I coached him one to two times a week when he came to my classes.
As time went on, we became friends. He became everyone’s friend. When my son was born, he gave me a bike and a car seat. He always asked how fatherhood was going, eager to find some sort of opportunity to help me out.
Ed had limitations in the gym. He couldn’t do lots of things and frequently had to make modifications, but I never ever heard him complain. He just focused on what he could do.
A few weeks ago, we worked out together. We did a team workout, and I had asked him to be my partner, along with another member, Scott. Again, Ed couldn’t do some of the things Scott and I could. It was fine, though. We adjusted and had a great workout together.
I did not know it at the time, but that workout would be the last time I’d ever see Ed. Less than two weeks later, he died unexpectedly at age 49. Hearing the news of his passing was mind-blowing. He’s gone? How can that be? He was just here, and he was fine. Now he’s gone? I’ve been training for 17 years. Ed Lopez Lavalle is the first client I’ve coached that passed away. He leaves behind a young son and a wonderful family, who I’m sure are hurting very much right now.
His passing got me thinking — the way the death of anyone significant to us tends to do — specifically, regarding a belief I have about fitness: Your fitness should translate into real-world utility; otherwise, all that muscle is just window dressing. These days, the fitness industry has advanced the idea that training in the gym, and the subsequent physique you create, is the end, in and of itself. For many, it’s largely a narcissistic pursuit. Sure, building an impressive body and developing uncommon strength to move heavy loads is impressive and should be applauded. But if all you’re doing with it is posting gym selfies and videos of yourself deadlifting, it’s a tragic waste.
Ed wasn’t the strongest guy you’ve ever met, but he was capable, and his work in the gym made him all the more capable. And if you ever needed some muscle, he was at your service, which to me, is the whole point of being fit — to be useful. Useful when someone strong and capable is needed. Specifically for your family, friends, and coworkers.
Training in the gym makes you resilient and highly adaptable. It imbibes grit. It makes you scrappy. It ensures you’re healthy and alive for as long as possible. It makes stress familiar to you, so when things go sideways or get hard, you can be relied on. To put it plainly, fitness should make you a better human. That is something Ed reminded me of in the short time I knew him.
None of us know how long we have here, but I hope that in your pursuit of fitness, like Ed, you’re determined to put it to good use. And there’s no better time than the holidays to do just that. spt
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