For thirty years, Frank Collquit has owned the Iron Shack gym. Nestled in a strip mall, twenty minutes south of Charlotte, North Carolina, “The Shack,” as the few hundred members call it, catered to the serious weight lifter, with free weights, iron and rubber plates, power racks, and wooden platforms, some machines, plenty of dumbbells, two heavy bags, a treadmill, and a few exercise bikes. Frank had never made much money, but he loved his job and wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

The gym was a fixture in the small town, and they sponsored the July 4th parade and held many charity drives for homeless veterans. Everybody in town knew Frank, and everybody respected him. He was a no-nonsense man, one who didn’t lie or cheat and didn’t mince words. He played high school football and then went on to play four years on scholarship at an FBS school in Alabama. He came back home, opened the “Shack,” and competed in powerlifting and fighting and some bodybuilding. Now, at age 50, his whole life was in the gym, seven days a week, from 4:30 AM to 10 PM. It was a labor of love for him.

One August morning around 6:30 AM, as Frank was finishing up some push-ups after a bench press day, the bell on the front door rang, signaling that someone had entered the gym.

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“Hey Frank,” the voice said.

Frank stood up after finishing his last set of 20 push-ups. “May I help you?” Frank asked.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

“It's me, Chuck Miller, from the old high school days.”

Frank stood up, shook Chuck's outstretched hand, and said, “Damn Chuck, what happened to you?” Looking Chuck up and down. “You are a little overweight. How much do you weigh right now?”

“I’m 350 pounds at 5'10".”

“That's plenty big,” Frank said.

“Hell, I’ve been down a rough road,” Chuck said, laughing. “Are you done with training?” He asked.

“All done,” Frank answered.

“Well, come on, let's sit down and I'll tell you all about it,” Chuck said. They entered Frank's office, and Frank motioned for Chuck to sit down on the couch opposite his desk. “Give me the scoop,” Frank said. “Hell, I haven't seen you in like, what, 20 years?”

“It's been a while, and as you can see I let myself go.”

Frank said, “You were a damn stud in high school. Ripped to shreds and your bench was 20 pounds ahead of mine, no matter how hard I tried to catch up.”

“That was like, I don't know, over 30 years ago,” Chuck said. “Class of 1984.”

Frank said, “It’s been 41 years to be exact. Time flies. So give me the scoop.”

“Well, I left here and went to college, played on the baseball team for a year, and then Janey, my high school girlfriend, got pregnant and I quit school and went to work for her father at the tire store. I had been lifting when I was in college with the team, but once I began working, I stopped going to the gym. I opened a few tire shops of my own. We had 4 kids and lived pretty well, but I let myself go for a long time. I just sold my tire shops and I’m retired. I've been divorced for six months. I am 57 years old and fat, and my kids are all gone except for one senior in high school and he’s halfway out the door. If I am going to have any kind of life for myself, I have to get my shit together.”

“So you want to get laid, not be embarrassed to take your shirt off at the pool, and be strong and capable enough to do a lot of shit again?” Frank asked.

“You always had a way with words, Frank. Yes, you summed it up well.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but what does your eating look like?”

“Shitty. Fast food for breakfast and lunch, a few beers, and a sub sandwich at night.”

“All right. We aren’t going to make drastic changes. If I do that to you right away, you will quit on me and we will have to start over again. Since you have so far to go, any changes will be positive. So with your diet, cut out the fast food. I want you to eat at home. Cook for yourself or order from a meal service. There are some great ones right now. No fast food, and cook at home or order a meal service, with each meal containing a serving of meat protein or eggs or fish. Load up on fruits and vegetables. Make yourself full of good food.

“What about the beer?”

“A couple of beers won’t hurt you. Just stay with a couple and you should be fine.”

“What about cheat meals?”

Frank laughed, “Yeah, you’ve been having cheat meals for 40 years. Do you need more? Give me a break with that question – no cheat meals.”

Frank continued, “With the weight training, you are a beginner all over again. First, let's check out your form on a few exercises, and I can adjust things. Then we will train some. I am going to start you off easy, so have patience. I promise you, we will get you there. The worst thing to do would be to push it too fast and then you are sidelined with an injury and we have to begin all over again.”

They walked over to a power rack and Frank went over how to find his rack height, hand and eye placement, the walkout, all the important reminders. He had Chuck do a few squats without the bar first, and he did well. His belly was so big that a shoulder-width stance wouldn’t allow him to get the proper depth, so Frank widened his stance out.

Chuck's t-shirt kept riding up his pendulous belly, and he was constantly pulling it down. “That's embarrassing for you, isn’t it?” Frank asked. Chuck nodded his head. “Good. I want it to be. Remember how you feel right now. Save it up when you are tempted to not go to the gym or eat those doughnuts.”

Although Chuck had been inactive for many years, he did very well. His body seemed to remember how to find the form after a few sets with just the bar in the squat, bench press, deadlift, and press. Frank made coaching points as he observed.

“Okay, let's put a little weight on the bar and we will do some squats. Five sets of five. We will work up in weight until the last set is hard but where you don't lose form.”

They began at 95 pounds and made 20-pound jumps until the final weight on the bar was 175 pounds. Chuck finished the set with a flourish and walked the bar back into the rack. “Nice work, brother,” Frank said. They moved onto presses, bench presses, and deadlifts. They did a few sets with very little weight, but it was a start.

After the training session, they went back into Frank's office. Frank wrote out a 3-day program for Chuck, emphasizing the exercises they just went over, complete with sets and reps and the weights to be used. Frank handed him the notebook. "It doesn't seem too complicated," Chuck said, reading the program.

“It doesn't need to be,” Frank said. "Just do the basics, and you will be fine. I even wrote the weights for the first week for you. Don't deviate from this and the results will come fast."

Frank walked Chuck to his truck. “The key with all of this is consistency. Never miss a training session, and follow the few rules I gave you. You can do it, and you will do it if you keep coming in. People think that I am all gung-ho to train every day. Most of the time, I have to force myself to do it. If I waited until I was feeling perfect or all fired up, I would barely train. That's one of the keys to this whole thing, doing shit when you don’t “feel” like it. Get your ass into the gym and your goals will be reached.”

“Thank you so much, Frank, I’m going to do it.”

Frank shook Chuck’s hand through the truck window. “I hear you, but talk is cheap and action is all that matters. Remember, consistency and doing it when you don’t want to.”

“You got it,” Chuck said as he drove away.

Next time: Chuck's Progress report

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