Simple Method Fitness

Everyone has at least 10 reasons why it’s hard…..you just need one reason to get you through the door to realize we make it such a good experience that you actually want to show up more days.

And because we sell the transformation not access or workouts or cutie cutter pdf’s, everyone gets 7 days a week of access to me and the sanctuary gym.

Because we believe everyone has untapped potential and we take pride in helping them find it.

Nobody talks about this part of getting fit.

It’s a hell of a lot easier when somebody is walking the trail beside you.

I’ve coached over 1,000 people and talked with more than 3,000 throughout my career.

I hear the same things over and over:

“I need motivation.”

“I need accountability.”

“I need someone to do this with.”

That’s why every Saturday at 10:30am we host a FREE community partner workout.

Yes, you’ll work harder.

You’ll probably do more work in less time because someone beside you is counting on you.

But that’s not the real reason we do it.

We’re creating opportunities for people to find their people.

Someone who texts you Tuesday morning:

“You training today?”

Someone who notices when you’re gone.

Someone who pushes when you need pushing and walks beside you when you need that instead.

We’ve had athletes stay with us for 5+ years.

I don’t think that happens because I write magical workouts.

It happens because eventually this journey stops being something you’re doing alone.

And on Saturdays, we practice that.

You don’t run ahead and leave your partner behind.

You work together.

You finish together.

And when your work is done, you stay and help the people beside you reach their finish line.

That’s brotherhood.

The workout just gives us somewhere to practice it.

Saturday. 10:30am.

Free.

Come find out who might be walking the trail beside you.

There’s no point building your dream life if you’re never actually there to live it.

I used to think:

Work hard now.

Make the money.

Build the business.

Someday you’ll slow down and enjoy it.

Except my daughter isn’t waiting for someday.

Neither is my wife.

Neither is my life.

I don’t want to experience my daughter growing up through pictures my wife sends me while I’m at work.

I want dirty hands.

Wet clothes.

Noise.

Tantrums.

Her grabbing my finger and pulling me toward whatever incredibly important thing a two-year-old needs me to see.

I want the water park on a Tuesday at 11am.

Phone in the truck.

Her yelling:

“Daddy! Again!”

I still want big things.

I want financial freedom.

I want to build an incredible business.

I want difficult goals.

But I refuse to build them by disappearing from the life I’m supposedly building them for.

That’s presence to me.

I’m not trying to build a life I can escape to someday.

I’m building one I don’t want to escape from today.

But the workout isn’t that important.

And I freaking love working out.

I love chalk on my hands.

Heavy barbells.

The garage doors open.

Music loud.

That moment when talking stops because everyone is breathing too damn hard.

But none of that is the point.

The workout is a tool.

Because eventually there’s a moment when your lungs are burning.

Your brain says:

“That’s enough.”

And you decide to take one more step.

THAT is the part I care about.

You just collected a tiny piece of evidence:

I can do hard things.

Then the clock stops.

You catch your breath.

Grab your keys.

Get back in the truck.

And maybe that evidence follows you home.

Into the conversation you’ve been avoiding.

Into your marriage.

Into parenting.

Into your business.

Into the hard s**t nobody puts on a whiteboard.

We don’t sell workouts.

Fitness is the vehicle.

We care about the person getting back in the truck when the workout is over.

Eventually they get what’s left.

I know because I’ve done it.

You walk through the front door after a long day.

Your kid wants to play.

Your wife wants to talk.

There are dishes in the sink.

Something needs fixed.

Your phone buzzes again.

And you love these people more than anything…

but you have nothing fu***ng left.

So you give them the scraps.

Not because you don’t care.

Because you’ve been pouring from an empty cup all day.

I used to think carrying more made me a better husband and father.

Work harder.

Need less.

Keep going.

Now I’m learning that sometimes the most loving thing I can do for my family is take an hour and put something back into myself.

Move.

Sweat.

Breathe hard.

Laugh with someone.

Set the load down for a minute.

Then go home.

Not as a different person.

As the version of me I already knew was in there.

That’s what lightening the load means to me.

Papa Jerry has had multiple procedures this year.

His body needed time to heal.

So what were we supposed to do?

Sit around for weeks waiting for everything to be perfect?

F**k no.

We adjusted.

More upper body.

Light lower body.

Different movements.

Different expectations.

Same athlete.

Same Papa Jerry walking through the garage doors ready to work.

That’s coaching to me.

I don’t coach the workout written on the whiteboard.

I coach the human standing in front of me.

Some mornings we load the bar and push.

Some mornings we back off.

Some days we try something we’ve never done before.

Some days walking through the door IS the win.

Life is going to happen.

Wounds.

Sick kids.

Sh*tty sleep.

Vacations.

Stress.

The goal isn’t perfection.

It’s learning how to adjust without disappearing.

We meet you where you are today.

Then we take the next step from there.

Sometimes the hardest rep is opening the damn door.

Especially when you haven’t worked out in years.

You pull into the parking lot.

Sit in the truck for an extra minute.

Look through the window at people who seem like they already know what they’re doing.

And that little voice starts:

“You don’t belong in there yet.”

Bulls**t.

Walk in.

Come 40 pounds heavier than you want to be.

Come not knowing what half the equipment does.

Come straight from work with your brain still running 100 mph.

Come tired.

Come nervous.

Come exactly as you are today.

We’ll start there.

Because you shouldn’t have to “become” before you’re allowed to belong.

You belong first.

Then we get to work.