In 2002, I told a colleague I
wanted to start exercising. He couldn’t remember the name, only that the
publisher lived in Crete…no, wait, Cyprus. “Russ, I got the strongest when I
read that guy’s book and followed it.” Of course, I tracked down Brawn by Stuart McRobert. To the best of
my ability – or the best as I then understood it -- I began exercising. And I
subscribed to Hardgainer. After a
couple issues, a gym ad attracted my attention. It had a strange sounding
slogan: “If you train here, you are not normal!” I noted this gym was located
in Washington, DC – at that time, my home. Further, I noticed that the gym’s
owner wrote an article in most issues of Hardgainer.
Without looking back, I recall articles like “John Grimek Was The Man” and
“Training and Eating in The Big Apple.”
These articles told tough tales
about tough men and women. They espoused a no-holds-barred, kick-ass attitude;
incredibly hard work; perfect form; and competing mostly with yourself and your
mind. They exuded energy, enthusiasm, self-reliance, and swagger. For many months, I pondered calling
this author, “Maximum Bob” Whelan. A couple times, I chickened out. I called,
then hung up before anyone could answer. The ads, the articles, the attitude
intimidated me. I didn’t think I could train with the intensity Bob seemed to
demand. That view came mostly from an inner feeling of weakness and a lack of
confidence. But it had grounding in fact.
Shortly after my birth, doctors
diagnosed me with a heart problem called tricuspid atresia. The American Heart
Association classifies it as a serious heart defect. In 1985, at age 10, I
underwent open heart surgery at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN. It has and
will always have a significant impact on my life. Notably, I have far less
strength and cardiovascular ability than normal people my age. However, compared
to patients with this condition, I live an extraordinarily active and
independent life. And my parents never allowed me to become consumed with
self-pity. They pushed me to participate in activities as much as possible, and
attend summer camp far from home each year.
After a time, I realized that not
calling Bob was a manifestation of self-pity. And so, in July 2003, I called
him, setting up the new client orientation. We went through his usual briefing
and Q&A. I explained my heart problem to him, but said within my limits, I
would do my best. And Bob gave that Bob laugh saying, “We’ll take it SLOW,
Russell. DEATHS are not good for business.”
We did take it slowly.
It takes normal clients three or four workouts to make it through the entire
routine; it took me ten or a dozen. But I exercised twice per week, like Bob
asked; and I started eating more and better food, like Bob asked. Before every
workout, I prepared mentally, like Bob asked. I tried to do a tad better this
time than I’d done last time. I attacked the iron. I channeled my anger – from
whatever source – constructively in the battle with the iron. But still, I
accepted limits: if I didn’t have a great workout, for whatever reason, I shook
it off and determined to do better next time.
As months drifted by,
I noticed small but telling differences. I gained some weight, hitting 140 for
the first time in my life. Bob would add a pound or two or five to a couple
exercises whenever I earned it by my performance. It’d take a workout or two, but I’d lift that new weight
to the max reps, demonstrating my new strength. Perhaps most importantly, I noted
an attitude change. I felt tougher – far in excess to the strength gains. I
felt more confident and able – in the gym and in life.
Toward the end of
2003, I came into the gym at 7am one morning. Bob held up his hand, stopping me
at the door. He raised his voice above his usual volume and stated,
half-laughingly, half-solemnly, “In this gym, your name is no longer Russell.
In this gym, your NEW name is BRAVE HEART!” Dumbfounded, I asked
what he meant. “BRAVE HEART! You have a serious heart problem, and yet you work
harder than most people, even most of my clients. You come in here each time,
and you assault the workout. You have a great, positive attitude. You take this
seriously. You do whatever I ask you – no questions asked. You do your best.
THAT’S why your name is now BRAVE HEART!”
So it was, from that
moment until Bob and I both departed Washington in 2012. As a postscript, in
2014, my doctors recommended another open heart surgery. In pre-surgery tests,
the docs noted the strength of my heart and my active lifestyle. (I went to
Chicago myself for the tests; very few patients require no assistance.) In the
months leading up to the surgery, I began exercising every day – not quite as
intensely as with Bob – but regularly and conscientiously. I also worked harder
at my cardiovascular exercise than ever before – in this case, walking longer
and farther than ever before. And I also called on the master of mental
motivation, “Maximum Bob” Whelan, to put me in the proper mental attitude.
Tough but calm. Focused but immersed in life. The couple talks we had brought
the old Brave Heart attitude to the fore, and I entered the surgery incredibly
well-prepared, mentally and physically.
The surgery went very
well. In nine days, I left the hospital (it was 21 days in 1985, when far
different technology and approaches to care prevailed). In about three weeks, I
went home. I attacked cardio rehab aggressively and by the end, in March of
this year, I felt back to normal. But then, Bob has always told me that I am
“NOT NORMAL!”
