Pump Club

Thees blog is fahn-tahs-tic

I am a member of the Pump Club.

The Pump Club is a daily email typed from the enormous biceps of Arnold Schwarzenegger, bodybuilder, businessman, Hollywood action star, and 38th Governor of California. Of course, Schwarzenegger doesn’t do the actual writing — there’s a very clear masthead on the email, although the big man does offer what appear to be a few genuine thoughts and there’s a podcast, of course. I can’t remember how I came across this particular wonder of his Oprah-like brand, but it’s a fascinating marketing exercise and do you see what I did there?

Arnold (I will no longer type “Schwarzenegger”) has captured my interest for a long time. At first, it was the grainy black and white photos of the so-called “perfect body,” images propelled by Muscle & Fitness magazine, the “Pumping Iron” movie, Joe Weider, and the legend of Gold’s Gym. A lot of us dopey East Coast suburban kids in the ‘70s were convinced that we could look like Arnold if our parents would just pay the rent on an apartment somewhere near Muscle Beach.

In post-Hollywood, post-Governator times, Arnold has shifted into his thoughtful guru chapter. The man is 78 years old, after all. The Pump Club bills itself as “the positive corner of the internet,” with a banner that reads Lifting Up The World. The writers and researchers dig into nutrition, sleep, hydration, training, and psychology — wheelhouse stuff for 50-something dads like me. 

Lately, the Pump Club newsletter has been landing close to home. On the day I type this, here was Arnold’s message: “It’s time to break that insidious pattern of chasing perfection, failing, beating yourself up, and giving up. It’s time to start a new pattern: let go, and move forward the best you can.”

Here’s another passage from a week earlier: “Before the day ends, choose one thing you’ve been ‘planning to do’ and reduce it to a micro-action. Then do it. Don’t optimize it. Don’t expand it. Just complete it or commit to it. Each finished action is a brick in the reputation you’re trying to build, and one brick beats a thousand promises.”

I’m only a casual consumer of self-help content, but these words resonate because I am a perfectionist, and perfectionists are often paralyzed. We cannot start because we think we cannot finish, and leaving a project unfinished can feel like torture. If you listen to the Media Credentials podcast I recorded with my wife Tracey, I mentioned that I now keep a running list of projects and tasks that I update daily — add one, cross one off. Seems simple, but it’s a massive step for me. There is no perfect time to do something. The best time was yesterday. The next best time is right now. And reducing it to a ‘micro-action’ -- the idea that you don’t have to give up on everything you’ve done to that point and ‘reset’ or ’start over’ — takes a huge load off my shoulders. The idea that I don’t have to do it all at once, perfectly, is quite liberating.

One other tidbit from the Pump Club that prompted me to write this down in the first place: “We live in a world that rewards motion. If you’re busy, you must be doing something right. If your calendar is full, you must be important. If you feel exhausted, you must be making progress…Before you start your day tomorrow, ask yourself one sentence that forces clarity: What is the one thing I can do today that will actually move me forward?

Write it down. Make it non-negotiable. Then, subtract something. Remove one task, distraction, or habit that creates movement without progress.

Less spinning. More advancing. That’s how you turn motion into momentum.”

It was the subtraction bit that jumped off the page. The last three-plus years have been the toughest of my professional life, as I have rebranded myself as a freelance broadcaster. There was fairly steady work at the Golf Channel studios in Stamford, Connecticut, but beyond that, my approach was to throw myself at everything. Voice over work, writing gigs, a golf radio show, a part-time TV/radio job at The Villages, another part-time job at Rollins College, recent play-by-play opportunities at Stetson, public address jobs, you name it. These paying gigs are on top of long-time volunteer roles I hold as an alumni advisor to my high school and to student-run media at Cornell University. Those meetings and events take time. I want to do them right and make it worth my while, and theirs. Perfectionism.

What I have recently figured out — and Arnold confirmed — is that sometimes, I have to say no. Movement is not progress. A wheel spinning in mud doesn’t move the car. My mantra, as I’ve mentioned dozens of times in the podcast, is “always say yes,” and I still believe that, when it comes to work opportunities that will allow me to learn and grow and get better. But when it comes to activities or commitments that simply fill empty space on the calendar, I’ve had to learn to say no.

This has meant pulling back from some volunteer stuff, unsubscribing to a lot of newsletters, and focusing on what I’m good at. Throwing handfuls of darts minute by minute has been shifted to throwing them one at a time, with considered pauses. Subtracting things that don’t serve me. Almost like a mental cleaning of the closet. It’s not always easy to politely decline, but sometimes it’s necessary.

On that note, a plea. My initial plan of throwing everything against a wall and hoping something would stick involved a lot of phone calls, emails, and text messages. Over the last few years, I’ve been in touch with just about everyone I know in the industry, advertising my availability. We’ve all asked for help and been asked for help, more than once. It’s awkward and transparent and it’s the nature of the business, especially now. Most people are kind and responsive, even when the answer is a polite “we’ll keep you in mind.” I field inquiries from students and former colleagues all the time, and I forward them as best I can, as I would hope others would do for me.

Call me a dinosaur, but I’m a little stunned at the number of times I reach out and get no response at all. Leaving a voicemail is like shouting into the wind. Emails are 50/50. Texting someone presupposes a level of intimacy — you’ve got their number in your phone, after all — but even then, it’s cloudy with a chance of crickets.

Couple of weeks ago, there was a scheduling snafu at the office in The Villages where I tape a couple of weekly segments for the Villages News Network. The writer/producer was waiting in his office for me to arrive, not knowing that I was already in the building, waiting in another room. He asked Steve, the boss, what to do. Steve said, “send him an email. Whit always checks his messages.”

High praise? Hardly. Common courtesy. I’ll die on this hill. Return the call, even if you have to say no.