I’ve added muscle, can recover more quickly, and don’t get winded as easily, but my workouts at Chris’ gym seem to be just as difficult as they were when we started. It’s almost hard to understand.

Let me explain. I’m used to working out by myself, at my comfy gym, reaching a point where I get stronger, am able to lift more weight or run farther, and then I stop. I stop progressing, and I stay there, sometimes for years, and everything gets stale. It becomes hard to go to the gym, and when I do get there it’s hard to stay motivated and not be captivated for 10 minutes at a time by the latest news pouring out of the talking heads on CNN. Maybe I’ll do one less set or a little less weight because I convince myself that I have to get back to what I was doing before my workout started.

The motivation at Frye’s gym is so different that I feel like it comes from a different part of my brain, a more primal region in my head that sparks to life about 45 minutes before my time to meet up with Chris. It starts with a nervous flutter in my stomach, which then kicks off a personal inventory of the current state of affairs with my body: Yes, my shoulder is sore but I can work around it, knees are a bit tender but I think they just need to be warmed up, wrists are beat but that’s nothing new. Then I determine that I feel pretty good, and that I’m about to kick the shit out of Chris’ workout. Nothing he can give me is going to wear me down today. I get in the car, head to the gym, and start to get ready.
By the time I’m at the gym, changed, and warmed up physically I’m ready to go mentally. It’s me against Chris’ workout and no way in hell am I backing down. The problem creeps in after the “warm-up” when my thighs are already betraying me; the burn I feel isn’t a warm-up burn, but a full-on lactic acid bubbling, muscle-tissue-tearing fire that’s been lit inside my legs. What the hell? What’s happening here? I’m super strong with oversized lungs and the ability to go on for days, but I’m 10 minutes into it and already looking at the clock. My mind inevitably moves forward and I start to think, what has Chris concocted for the next 50 minutes?

What’s next is an assortment of swinging kettleballs, climbing forearm thick ropes, and tossing 500-pound tires, and again by the end of my allotted 60 minutes I’m lying on the floor trying to catch my breath and once caught, wobble over on spent legs to put on some less sweaty clothes for the trip home.
This workout wasn’t any easier than the others, there was never any thought of doing less, just ensuring that I could do enough, and Frye has once again pushed me further than I would ever push myself.

See more at Chris’s Gym www.chris-frye.com

~ Todd Trimakas

The missed workouts were for good reasons, or at least, good enough. One was because we were going to the Clemson football game in Death Valley, and the other because I had this magazine to get out the door. Two valid reasons, I hope.

I did try to make it up by re-creating a Chris Frye workout, outside of Chris’ gym at my “normal” gym that I went to before I started working out with Frye. Going in I knew it’d only be so good without the bald one encouraging me loudly. But I could try.

I drive over to my gym on Morehead, swipe my card and immediately notice a difference. There is very little noise. The music isn’t thumping with an encouraging beat, and no one seems to be racking weights or grunting from exertion. Of course there are no massive tractor tires to flip or the Prowler to push; instead, there are people talking on their cell phones and reading magazines while using a stair climber. What are they doing? This isn’t exercise; it’s more of a lounge with plenty of TVs and a tanning bed in the corner. Wow, I’ve only been gone for a handful of weeks but it seems so very tame now. I really had no idea.

I start working out. I push myself as hard as I can. Bench, to pull-up, to windshield wiper and then back to bench. Then the dreaded dead lift to bent-over row to clean to overhead press to squat to good morning. Sweating profusely I start to groan with effort, and at the same time start to get looks from the folks lounging. Maybe curiosity, maybe just checking out the odd bald dude sweating in the corner, but I definitely feel a bit out of place. I finish up my workout and get out of there. As I’m walking to the car I wonder whether I’m going to be able to come back here for what used to be my “normal” workout. Maybe I’ll be able to if I can roll in my own 5-foot-tall tractor tire.

See more at Chris’s Gym www.chris-frye.com

~ Todd Trimakas

Matt and I were 30 minutes late. An honest 30 minutes, as we had a meeting with the city water folks, and got stuck at a treatment plant off of Billy Graham. It’s not like we were hanging out at the Krispy Kreme eating a dozen glazed. We were doing good work for the magazine, and we were late to our meeting with Chris Frye. Never again.

The workout started easily enough – dynamic stretching, kettleballs and we were already approaching the end of our hour. But because we were 30 minutes late we were assigned 30 laps with the Prowler loaded with 50 extra pounds. My brain immediately flashed with a thousand reasons why I could not push that nasty sled loaded with the weight of an average-sized woman (140 pounds) 30 times the length of the gym. But we had to start, and so we got behind the sled and started pushing.

Somehow, after an enormous effort and with Chris’ insistent encouragement/yelling, we pushed that ridiculous sled almost continuously for 45 minutes. We accomplished two things in the process: increased our heart rates to a point where most humans go into shock; and maybe more important, expanded our confidence by knowing that we can push ourselves mentally much further than we ever thought possible.

See more at Chris’s Gym www.chris-frye.com

~ Todd Trimakas