Authenticity
Excerpted from Two-Brain Business 2.0
In the spring of 2015, I attended a seminar for coaches of Adaptive Athletes at Reebok CrossFit Back Bay. It was a great experience, but the best lesson wasn’t on assessment or exercise prescription. The best lesson was on authenticity.
Angel Gonzalez became a wheelchair athlete after sustaining a rare infection while surfing. Now a gym owner, he travels with the Adaptive Athlete crew to many of their weekend seminars. I met him at one of the seminars in Boston.
While the seminar was in session, Angel was introduced to a teenager who had recently sustained a spinal cord injury. The kid was new to the chair, and his parents fussed over him constantly. Angel took the family to a distant corner of the gym to chat.
First, Angel asked the teen if he’d ever used a “sport” chair. Angel has a high-performance chair he uses for CrossFit and his other sports, and it was sitting between him and the teen.
“Go ahead, try it out.” Angel offered. The kid demurred, but Angel insisted.
“You’ve gotta try this thing. Get in the chair, son.” Angel is a big Texan athlete and coach. He’s used to being obeyed.
So the teen nodded, and his parents rushed over to help. His dad stabilized his wheelchair while his mom moved his feet closer to the sport chair. His younger brother grabbed an arm, prepared to heave him up and out.
But then Angel raised his big hand and said, “Stop.” The family froze. Angel looked the teenager in the eye.
“YOU get in my chair,” he said. “Just you.”
“But I CAN’T,” the teen answered. Mom nodded. “I can help him,” she said. “I don’t mind.”
A mother’s love, empathy, and guilt—it’s powerful. But what Angel said next was even more powerful:
“Stop handicapping your kid,” he said softly.
Mom and dad immediately got the picture. She burst into tears; he clenched and unclenched his fists. Angel didn’t break eye contact with the teen.
“You’re going to want to go on dates. You have to go to college. You’re going to want to drive a truck like mine. You going to let Mom drive you around? Dress you? Pick you up when you tip over? Cause you’re going to tip over, son. That’s how this goes. And YOU gotta get back in that chair.”
That was one silent corner of the gym, let me tell you.
And then the kid said, “Okay, let me try.” And he tried. He fell down. Mom reached out to help him. Angel waved her off. After almost ten minutes, the teen collapsed back in his chair, sweaty and exhausted.
“THAT is functional fitness, my man.” Angel said. “I don’t care about your weight, or how much weight you can put overhead. Let’s get you up off the ground, son. THEN we’ll talk about getting you a date.”
The kid got the message. Mom was crying openly; dad was visibly choked up. Little brother was avoiding eye contact. And the newly-chaired athlete had THAT look: you know, the “hell yeah. Let’s get started now!” look.
I couldn’t have said those things, because they wouldn’t have been authentic. I haven’t been in a chair, except for one “seated” workout I performed with Angel that weekend (he smoked me.)
Who are your best clients? Look at yourself first. What are the challenges you’ve overcome? What were the greatest hardships in your life? Those are the largest opportunities to help others. The word “crisis” is derived from the Greek word “krisi” (κρίση ) which really means “opportunity.”
In 2008, facing potential bankruptcy, I couldn’t have predicted that my experiences would help thousands of others. But my ability to empathize with others in trouble means I can help them. They know I’m authentic. Just as you can’t get full insight into a chaired athlete’s life from reading a book about spinal cord injuries, other business “coaches” who don’t own businesses (or have never bounced their own paycheck) struggle to build rapport with owners who are in the trenches every day.
Your authenticity is a huge advantage. Your hardest lessons are the most valuable thing you possess.
What have YOU learned the hard way?
