For years, I would sing the same three songs to my son before bed.
While we were waiting for my wife to join us, I would start with “Midnight Lullaby” by Tom Waits.
The last line “when you are much older, remember when we sat, at midnight on the windowsill and had this little chat”. He’s trying to hold onto the moment. That always punched me in the chest.
The second was “Tennessee Flat Top Box” by Johnny Cash. A story about a boy who gets so good at guitar that he eventually leaves town to chase something bigger.
Then my wife would appear and we’d sing a duet of “You Are My Sunshine” before it was time for lights out.
Some nights I was so exhausted that I just wanted to rush through it. And I always felt guilty once I did.
But most nights, I knew exactly what I had. And I wanted to freeze time so I could hold onto it forever and for always.
At some point, the ritual stopped. Kids get older. Bed times change and with them the night time routine fades away.
I hadn’t thought about it much until I found myself staring at a particular picture on the photograph-filled credenza that sits behind the table in our eat-in kitchen. The same table where we have dinner every night.
It’s of Henry and I. He’s probably 5 or 6. We’re walking through our neighborhood. He’s on my shoulders as I look into the camera and he stares off into the distance.
And then it hit me that, at 13 years old, bed times and getting carried on shoulders are just things that are drifting further into the past.
Parenting, I’m learning, is a long series of small endings.
For me, training has always felt a bit like the nighttime routine. Sure, there are rare occasions where I don’t feel like doing it or can’t wait for it to be over. But most of the time I consider it one of the best hours of my day. Where I get to feel strong and test my capabilities. Where I get to work towards something positive and experience those results. And the chance to be around other like-minded people who I enjoy and motivate me.
But, from what I can tell, for a lot of people this is flipped.
Sure, there are days when the sun is shining and they got 11 hours of sleep and it’s payday and we are bench pressing and they feel great about spending an hour or so on the training floor.
But more often it’s a grind. Something they have to do so they can check it off the list. A bit of medicine that they realize they should take but would be happy to skip.
I cannot fundamentally change how you or anyone feels about the gym. Believe me, I’ve tried.
I still spend countless hours developing programs that will be not only effective but engaging. I’ve created really great facilities with ideal layouts, none of the typical gym crowds and a fun training atmosphere. I’ve had my hand in developing trainers who approach their jobs with passion and empathy and expertise. And I’ve tried to do it all in a way where the value felt very high.
But even with all that in place so many people still view training as a chore. Fair enough. Like I said, I can’t change the way you feel.
Just like with the bedtime routine there will be a day when the PRs stop coming. Where the mobility and explosiveness will start to deteriorate. And, at the risk of sounding morose, be the last time you step in a gym.
And though you may not see it now, you will miss it. And you’ll tell everyone stories about how you used to bench 315 or got a sub-7 minute 2k row and laid on the floor for 20 minutes afterwards. Maybe they’ll care, maybe they won’t.But it will give you a moment of pride, knowing what you were able to do.
And you will miss it.
Maybe not as much as you miss your 5 year old son cuddling into his bed while you sing him Johnny Cash.
But you will miss it.
Tom Waits was right.
The moments you want to freeze are the ones you only realize mattered after they’re gone.