WHY

Not All Are Invited

BY MARK TWIGHT

For three years following its birth in December 2003 Gym Jones followed a Fight Club model of "free to all" though not all are invited. Those who were invited did not pay. No one could buy their way in or buy anything associated with the project. The gym has evolved with time - a few dozen clients pay a fee to train in our private Salt Lake City facility and we offer educational seminars - but the original model thrives in the small group of athletes we sponsor and train according to the Fight Club rules. It's an important branch of my path in life and here I'll try to describe why and how I walk it.

At 24,000 feet on the Rupal face of Nanga Parbat, a step up, another few feet along the path ... activity that is solely physical rarely has value.

I spent fifteen years climbing mountains professionally, at a very high level. What ever I physically accomplished on those mountains is minor in comparison to what they taught me about myself and about humanity. Though my parents understood the value of athletics to an individual's development, sport was secondary to academics. Happily I revolted, and in time I learned more from physical hardship combined with a natural intellectual curiosity than I did from any class I ever attended. Alpine climbing is a complex melding of physical and psychic effort that can last hours or days, and plumbs the depths of the spirit in a way that mere physical exercise (or solely intellectual pursuit) cannot. The challenge that hardens the spirit also develops compassion, because at some point everyone breaks, and once broken the similarities between men become apparent, narrowing any gulf. Whether alone or with a partner climbing strips the climber raw, and without the prejudice of consciousness he is powerless to resist pure, human experience.

Climbing by myself taught me the honesty that no parent or teacher could ever instill. Until I started soloing I lied and stole but ropeless, hundreds of feet off the deck that lack of integrity weighed me down. It was always there. I learned the hard way that being dishonest with myself about my own capacities -- confusing the desire to solo a route with the ability to actually do it -- eventually leads to disaster. Happily the lesson didn't kill me but instead taught me integrity. From my experiences came confidence and ultimately self-reliance in many aspects of life. And although these lessons were often learned alone, in high places they could not have become part of my character without the help of mentors met along the way. Some led by example so I learned leadership. Others were better coaches than leaders. They were sometimes gentle, more often firm, their positive reinforcement meant nothing without the negative, they cajoled, coerced, and threatened, they pushed, pulled, reasoned, and inspired but mostly they opened doors. And having shown the way they left me to walk it on my own.

Steve House, though 9 years my junior was one of my most important mentors. Here, stripped bare by 58 hours on the south face of Mount Mckinley, the outcome is uncertain, the experience pure and human.

In 2000 I consciously retired from hard climbing. I was not willing to take the next logical step on the path. The responsibilities and relationships binding me to the ground prevented the commitment required by that step and I wouldn't change my life for it. Walking away left a hole inside me that was impossible to fill. Nothing could replace what climbing had been to me so I didn't bother trying. Instead I enjoyed the necessity of the hole, learned about the man around it, and never looked for something to put into it. As I became comfortable with where I had come from and who I was new doors opened to new possibilities. My work training military personnel coincided with renewed interest in physical fitness and exposure to new ideas and methods. Teaching reminded me of those mentors who helped and led me. There was no blinding flash, just a series of events building on one another until I stood on the edge of something, closed my eyes, said, "fuck it" and leaped. I decided to put everything I knew into a training process and program, learn how to coach, and try to do some good.

Climbing taught me that mind drags the body upward not vice-versa, that when spirit "increases" physical performance improves as a consequence. It is also circular; when performance improves spirit soars, confidence evolves, and character develops. Mountain climbing is one of the best instigators of this process but few can do it at a level or with the frequency that causes such positive changes. I determined that -- in climbing -- it is the physical and mental difficulty combined with risk and frequent failure that causes a spiritual evolution. The gravity of each component is reinforced by the fact that climbing takes place in a natural environment, in the elements, against the sky, wild and chaotic. An artificial environment can never cause the joy or stress stimulated by the mountains. But if environment and activity melded physical and mental difficulties with the risk of failure or shame, and the experience was undertaken with unusual frequency could one achieve results similar to those produced by climbing?

I hit the books. I found new mentors. I began testing my ideas on myself. My personal experiment took on a life of its own. Eventually it needed its own space and other participants. Each requirement was fulfilled in a way that felt natural: without intent but direct. One day I was working out in a public gym the next I was in my own space. From there it was a short trip to using friends as guinea pigs, and eventually to finding athletes with the need for the training, and the dedication and commitment required by it. The energy these athletes, generally involved in martial arts (but also climbers and fire-fighters, free-runners and soldiers) brought to the gym invigorated me. The results, witnessed in the gym, on the mats, on mountain trails and on steep mountain faces proved we were doing the right thing(s).

The people are an integral part of the process, shared hardship forms strong bonds. In the gym, in relationship with others we learn to trust and distrust. One's character becomes apparent as stress and difficulty increase.

Through this process I discovered a talent. When I help an athlete achieve a goal, or learn a lesson that "increases" their spirit I have done something that is actually worthwhile and therein lies fulfillment. That satisfaction is more valuable than money. The athletes I sponsor understand the value of my experience, energy and effort so they purchase it with an equal measure of dedication and hard work -- they push themselves to their utmost limit because top performance is the only currency I accept. I don't earn a living from the Gym Jones Disciples but I learn about living from what happens here.

The Gym Jones training premise starts with the idea that athletic improvement originates in the spirit. The Pull-up is the easy part: it's merely physical. What led to the Pull-up is important: conception and desire, the discipline to work and recover and eat properly, constant awareness of what helps or hurts progress. These psychological facets support physical expression thus they are the keys to improving fitness. The biggest evolutionary steps occur in the mind, not in the muscles so training stressors must pose psychic (as well as physical) challenges. The risk of failure, social or physical is paramount because failure and dissatisfaction are the parents of thought -- success and fulfillment do not inspire or require introspection. For the goal-oriented individual falling short leads to an unsentimental self-assessment, and the bigger the failure, the deeper one must cut to root out the cause. And the harder one works to turn it to advantage. A former climbing partner once wrote that, "staying focused while truly opening oneself to actual risk of total failure beats specks of gold out of the dross* that comprises the bulk of modern man's existence."

The original space, the gym has since evolved and changed locations but the spirit was developed here, in freezing conditions, and on sweat-soaked floorboards

To improve focus and ensure that the athlete is "present" we separate the individual from what they are outside the gym with a rough, unfinished facility and an atmosphere of hard work. We limit social niceties, and present challenges so difficult that all personal resources are required to accomplish them. Such discomfort keeps the individual on edge, on the balls of his or her feet, prepared for anything and highly aware. Diamond is created underground, by extreme pressure and temperature. The goal of Gym Jones is to replicate those conditions. There are no mirrors or carpets and no comfortable place to sit. The original space had neither heat or air conditioning, instead there were broken windows and a fan. Temperatures dipped into the 30s in the winter and shot over 100 in the summer. The spirit of the space influences the state of mind an athlete brings through the door. The equipment came from pawn shops, secondhand stores and donations. What we didn't have we built or salvaged and it was enough. There is no danger to a lack of equipment, what's dangerous is excess creativity when it comes to programming or developing movements. We learned not to think too big because once you say it you have to do it, whoever writes it on the white board is the first one to do the workout.

Results came fast and easily for those with a solid fitness base and familiarity with suffering but no one experienced a sense of having "arrived." Every step toward knowledge uncovered shocking ignorance, every leap of progress exposed longer miles on the path ahead. I laughed when someone suggested it would take three years to achieve a mature squat -- surely I was exempt from such a lengthy learning period. Two years into it my squat is adolescent, improving and growing to be sure but now I am prepared for a long-term effort, for what ever it takes.

Modern man is conditioned to expect instant gratification but any success or triumph realized quickly, with only marginal effort is necessarily shallow. Meaningful achievement takes time, hard work, persistence, patience, proper intent and constant self-awareness. The path to such success is punctuated by failure, consolidation and renewed effort. It is wet with the tears of emotional breakdown. Personal reconstruction is art. Discovering one's self, one's talent and ambition and learning how to express it is a creative process so may not be rushed. What's the hurry? Pressure to succeed according to a particular timeline comes from outside. If the goal is selfish self-improvement there is no schedule, no deadline. One's rate of progress is influenced by the intensity used to address the task. Hard, intelligent work speeds us along the path. Neurotic obsession and compulsion may steepen the trajectory but usually lead to illness and injury. In the end, the process takes as long as it takes -- you can't push the river. We are in it for the long haul and demand the same of the athletes we train.

I am not sure what the future holds. I doubt the gym will open to the public. I don't want to be the punk band that sold out. I don't want to sell my integrity to the highest bidder. Being a pauper isn't so attractive either. Whatever happens, I'll be honest about it. And I'll never be accused of caring too little about the individuals I train.

*dross
Pronunciation: 'drås, 'dros
Function: noun
1 : the scum that forms on the surface of molten metal
2 : waste or foreign matter : IMPURITY
3 : something that is base, trivial, or inferior