Without knowing it, he’d encouraged me to try new things (spinning) and he’d coached me through some things in our passing post-class conversations (“you can’t make your thighs smaller with just spot-training … you gotta do cardio too!”). I felt better and more confident than I ever had and I know without a doubt that all of that started with Marcus.
But when I approached him, I got shy. Suddenly, the thought of confessing all that to this man I only knew through my gym made me feel like a big dork, maybe a little stalkerish, like those crazy fans who gush and cry when they see Michael Jackson. So I just said, “I’m really going to miss you. I’ve loved taking your classes.” Very dignified. He hugged me and thanked me. That was the last time I saw him.
Fourteen years later, I’ve experienced classes taught by instructors in cities all over: Atlanta, San Francisco, Chicago, London, New York, Seattle, and now back to San Francisco. Though I live in one of the fittest cities in the world, I’m still an average-bodied gal, though that’s not from lack of interaction with some of the best teachers in aerobics, spinning, yoga, Pilates, kick-boxing, weight-training, and a host of other classes.
But as fantastic as they all are, not one of them can hold a candle to Marcus. He was the whole package, my alpha and omega of fitness and positive reinforcement. Maybe I discovered him at that exact moment in my life when I needed a little encouragement from someone other than a tiny woman wearing a workout thong who obsessed over every calorie she put in her mouth. I’m not sure. What I do know is that I still approach every new teacher with an open mind, but in the end—always—I measure them against the Marcus barometer.
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