ould commence. By weeks five and six the daily visits turned into weekly cameos, and by the two month mark, Ted was lucky to make a fortnightly appearance. When I called him to see where he was, he would inform me that he was still pumped and totally in the zone but that "work was crazy, his ankle was playing up and that he'd been carrying a sore throat for a week or so." Sure Big Ted.

The Revelation. After yet another of Ted's failed weight-loss campaigns I was feeling a little in

The following post is kind of long, so you may want to get yourself a cup of tea (coffee, hot chocolate) and kick back. I have taken a couple of words here and there from some of my previous scribblings so if you sense that deja vu feeling, you probably don't need your pills after all. The good news is that your memory is working. Nice to know.

The first bit. One day in the mid eighties, possibly a Tuesday, I was manning, or should I say 'personing' the gym floor (must be PC), picking up stray dumbbells, mingling with the club members, dispensing incredible advice (as always) and generally being fabulous, when a familiar figure loomed large in the doorway of the weight room. For the sake of my story and his anonymity, we'll call him 'Ted'.

Ted was not unlike many people that I've met over the years; he would re-appear at the gym about every six months with a steely, new resolve to create 'Super Ted'; a new leaner, meaner version of himself. He would tell me that he hated his body, needed to drop fifty kilos (110 lbs)and that "this time it would be different." Stupidly, I would believe him. Call me young, naive, gullible, call it what you will, but every time, I was sure the big fella would get the job done; he seemed so sincere and desperate. If you had seen his big dopey, chubby face and those big, puppy dog eyes you'd have believed him too. How could I not have faith in him?

With an over-riding sense of familiarity, I would take Ted's measurements, talk to him about his crappy diet and diabolical lifestyle (again), set some (more)goals (because that's what you do) and write him a new program (again).

For about two weeks the big guy was a cross between Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sugar Ray Leonard (it was the eighties), lifting, riding, punching and sweating his way to a better body. Then somewhere between weeks three and four his amazing commitment and Olympic attitude would start to wane and the inevitable slide would commence. By weeks five and six the daily visits turned into weekly cameos, and by the two month mark, Ted was lucky to make a fortnightly appearance. When I called him to see where he was, he would inform me that he was still pumped and totally in the zone but that "work was crazy, his ankle was playing up and that he'd been carrying a sore throat for a week or so." Sure Big Ted.

The Revelation. After yet another of Ted's failed weight-loss campaigns I was feeling a little ina

ing up stray dumbbells, mingling with the club members, dispensing incredible advice (as always) and generally being fabulous, when a familiar figure loomed large in the doorway of the weight room. For the sake of my story and his anonymity, we'll call him 'Ted'.

Ted was not unlike many people that I've met over the years; he would re-appear at the gym about every six months with a steely, new resolve to create 'Super Ted'; a new leaner, meaner version of himself. He would tell me that he hated his body, needed to drop fifty kilos (110 lbs)and that "this time it would be different." Stupidly, I would believe him. Call me young, naive, gullible, call it what you will, but every time, I was sure the big fella would get the job done; he seemed so sincere and desperate. If you had seen his big dopey, chubby face and those big, puppy dog eyes you'd have believed him too. How could I not have faith in him?

With an over-riding sense of familiarity, I would take Ted's measurements, talk to him about his crappy diet and diabolical lifestyle (again), set some (more)goals (because that's what you do) and write him a new program (again).

For about two weeks the big guy was a cross between Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sugar Ray Leonard (it was the eighties), lifting, riding, punching and sweating his way to a better body. Then somewhere between weeks three and four his amazing commitment and Olympic attitude would start to wane and the inevitable slide would commence. By weeks five and six the daily visits turned into weekly cameos, and by the two month mark, Ted was lucky to make a fortnightly appearance. When I called him to see where he was, he would inform me that he was still pumped and totally in the zone but that "work was crazy, his ankle was playing up and that he'd been carrying a sore throat for a week or so." Sure Big Ted.

The Revelation. After yet another of Ted's failed weight-loss campaigns I was feeling a little in

at he hated his body, needed to drop fifty kilos (110 lbs)and that "this time it would be different." Stupidly, I would believe him. Call me young, naive, gullible, call it what you will, but every time, I was sure the big fella would get the job done; he seemed so sincere and desperate. If you had seen his big dopey, chubby face and those big, puppy dog eyes you'd have believed him too. How could I not have faith in him?

With an over-riding sense of familiarity, I would take Ted's measurements, talk to him about his crappy diet and diabolical lifestyle (again), set some (more)goals (because that's what you do) and write him a new program (again).

For about two weeks the big guy was a cross between Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sugar Ray Leonard (it was the eighties), lifting, riding, punching and sweating his way to a better body. Then somewhere between weeks three and four his amazing commitment and Olympic attitude would start to wane and the inevitable slide would commence. By weeks five and six the daily visits turned into weekly cameos, and by the two month mark, Ted was lucky to make a fortnightly appearance. When I called him to see where he was, he would inform me that he was still pumped and totally in the zone but that "work was crazy, his ankle was playing up and that he'd been carrying a sore throat for a week or so." Sure Big Ted.

The Revelation. After yet another of Ted's failed weight-loss campaigns I was feeling a little in

measurements, talk to him about his crappy diet and diabolical lifestyle (again), set some (more)goals (because that's what you do) and write him a new program (again).

For about two weeks the big guy was a cross between Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sugar Ray Leonard (it was the eighties), lifting, riding, punching and sweating his way to a better body. Then somewhere between weeks three and four his amazing commitment and Olympic attitude would start to wane and the inevitable slide would commence. By weeks five and six the daily visits turned into weekly cameos, and by the two month mark, Ted was lucky to make a fortnightly appearance. When I called him to see where he was, he would inform me that he was still pumped and totally in the zone but that "work was crazy, his ankle was playing up and that he'd been carrying a sore throat for a week or so." Sure Big Ted.

The Revelation. After yet another of Ted's failed weight-loss campaigns I was feeling a little in

ould commence. By weeks five and six the daily visits turned into weekly cameos, and by the two month mark, Ted was lucky to make a fortnightly appearance. When I called him to see where he was, he would inform me that he was still pumped and totally in the zone but that "work was crazy, his ankle was playing up and that he'd been carrying a sore throat for a week or so." Sure Big Ted.

The Revelation. After yet another of Ted's failed weight-loss campaigns I was feeling a little inadequate and frustrated. I got off the phone after chatting with him and sat there trying to figure out what I was doing wrong. I was setting him good programs, giving him appropriate advice, providing him with all the resources he needed to exercise effectively and being as encouraging, understanding and supportive as a twenty two year-old alpha-male, meat-head could be... and then it dawned on me:

I could tell people what to do (how to exercise and eat),why they should do it (the physiological benefits) and how it should be done (the method) but I couldn't actually make anyone do it.

Maybe it wasn't about finding the right program or diet; maybe it was about finding the right attitude. The right head-space.

Having a personally designed exercise program is handy. Being a member of a health club is .. nice. Having resources at your finger tips might help. Knowing what to do is always a good start. But the truth is many of us have all the reasons in the world to change our body, life and reality but never do. We are consistently almost getting in shape. For a range of reasons we spend our life getting on and off the weight-loss merry-go-round, wasting time, starting, stopping, procrastinating, lying about our behaviours, making excuses, waiting for the right time to start (which never comes), getting frustrated, complaining about our genetics and generally being miserable.

Standing there on the gym floor it began to dawn on me that creating physiological change (getting bigger, smaller, faster, fitter, lighter, leaner) is more about our head than it is about our body. More about his 'readiness' to genuinely change than my programs. For the first time I began to really understand that the weight-loss process isn't as much about dumbbells, treadmills and carbs as it is about attitude, thinking, beliefs, passion, self-control, decisions, standards and habits.

Getting in shape is more of an internal process than