Most people bathe in desire for as long as possible.

Some things you want, you’ll never have. Others you can have. You just don’t want to pay the toll.

A better relationship with food. Moving around with less pain. Enjoying yourself without getting drunk.

James Clear, from Atomic Habits. The book going mouldy on many an aspiring bad-habit cleanser’s bookshelf.

“If you don’t want to live the lifestyle, then release yourself from the desire.”

“To crave the result but not the process is to guarantee disappointment.”

It’s never been easier to start your “journey”.

Hand over your email for a free fat-loss guide. (You read mine yet?)

That little dopamine buzz can carry you six months. Not one workout. Not one change to what goes in your gob. Not one real attempt to try harder with your habits.

You know from experience, the buzz switches off the second you commit.

So most keep bathing in it.

Until a life event forces their hand.

They reluctantly part with their money. Along with any responsibility.
It’s my problem now.

My turn to try harder. For both of us.

The more people I help try harder and succeed, the less tolerance I have for the ones who think they’re trying harder and fail.

I have to try harder not to be a cunt when they fuck up.

Try harder to make them aware of why they’re trying harder again with exercise, dieting, and building “better habits.”

Try harder not to drift into being another cheerleader in their life.

The only difference? I’m getting paid for the pleasure.

A lot to juggle, this whole PT/nutritionist/therapist gig.

I guess I need to try harder.

The missed check-in.

Out comes the laundry list.

“Work’s mental at the moment.”
“Kids/Grandkids/Shits”
“I’m embarrassed by my efforts.”
“I’ll start again on Monday.”
“I fuc*ed up on my diet.”
“I couldn’t be bothered.”
“This one time, at band camp…”

Look, I know how crazy band camp can get…

And I’m all for providing ample accountability. Adapting my approach. Adjusting expectations week to week. Working around your life. Asking you to meet me halfway.

I spend a lot of energy not letting myself become an expensive cheerleader.
You can always try harder next time.

All the empathy in the world still leaves plenty not putting their shoes on and getting out the door.

Besides, the head cheerleader role is already filled.

The one who tells you, “You’re perfect just the way you are. Relax. You work hard. Let’s get a takeaway. Sounds like that coach is a dictator, forcing you into fat camp.”

The head cheerleader is always super supportive of your latest attempt at improving your health.

Until they hear you fully intend to stick to your exercise, diet, and habits this week. And turning up to the check-in.

“What about this weekend’s bottomless brunch? Tuesday Domino’s? Thursday bingo and cocktails? You’re willing to throw all that away to check in with the dictator?”

Trying harder is hard work.

So you break. Brunch. Domino’s. Bingo. (Wings.)

Sort of enjoyed at the time. Doesn’t quell the stress. Or the boredom. Or the guilt.

Now we both have to try harder to get you to next week’s check-in.

Pennywise starts off trying to be your friend too.

But the head cheerleader never gets cast as the maniacal clown.

Every week, the same wrestle with the check-in. Because turning up means giving something up.

“I don’t want to give up my weekends. My banging social life. My bingo. It’s everything else in life that’s making me hate myself.”

Why would you give any of it up? The joy it brings. The way it improves your relationship with food. The way it encourages you to move a bit more. The way it encourages you to go to bed before midnight.

I rarely ask you to give anything up straightaway.

Back to meeting me halfway. A high-protein snack before brunch. A small Domino’s. Soft drinks at bingo.

And if you can’t control yourself in the moment, and it leaves you feeling worse every time? Skip it for a week.

God forbid you miss a week of getting rowdy at bingo.

But one missed check-in? Not the end of the world, right?

Some miss a lot more than one. And they’re fine with that.

They’ll admit it freely. Happy to keep coming, because they get something else out of it.

That puts me on edge.

Because any moment now, I’m expecting them to wake up and realise they’re still a plump, miserable fuck. One who’s been lining my pockets, convinced they’re much better off.

All those weekly check-ins. Me ruling with an iron thumbs-up. “Great job!”

And it’s led to nothing.

Then they’ll spend the day ripping the mirrors off the wall. Can’t risk locking eyes with the person at fault.

I have my own internal battle not to do the same.

Sometimes I’m not the right fit.

I’m not always the one who can bring it out of them. Someone else might make them feel the sacrifice was worth it.

Nine times out of ten, when I follow up, I find the same person. Same problem. Same cheerleaders. Same try-harder attitude. Now with a couple of GLP-1 stints in between, for good measure.

One recently. They wanted to give themselves the best possible chance of not ending up like their parents.

Always hated exercise. Drank too much. Negative relationship with food. Would never dream of setting foot in a public gym. Numerous failed attempts to flap their arms and legs at home with old plastic dumbbells.

Took a month off over the summer. Very busy. Couldn’t possibly squeeze in a gym session. During this much-needed rest, they went through a remarkable transformation.

Their snacking had stopped. They’d discovered the wonders of protein. Drinking was down to weekends and Wednesdays only. They were even training from home, with the help of a red band that almost took their eye out in our last session.

All this meant they didn’t need to come back to the gym. Trying harder had finally started to pay off.

Inspiring.

People can drag themselves through 30 days, kicking and screaming. Convince themselves trying harder has finally worked. That is usually enough to see them through another year.

Some of that’s on me.

I sell 30 days of sampling my goods as the gateway to a better life.

So, inevitably, people treat it as their annual month of trying harder.

What’s not so sexy? Spelling out that this is only the start. Of trying harder in a different environment. With different tools. And a different mindset.

If I don’t get that across, they come away a little more bitter about exercise, nutrition and habits.

Thirty days won’t undo thirty years of doing nothing.

This is a lifelong commitment. Dipping in and out only makes it worse.

Because every time you come back, you’re older. More tired. Less healthy.

None of this is new. But it still leaves a dent in my soul. And wallet.

People, young and old. The youngest, not even 40. They were told that if they didn’t find a way to move more and be slightly more conscious of what they eat, things wouldn’t get better. They’d die.

Still couldn’t do it.

“Sorry I wasn’t the right fit for you. Would you like me to send over some free guides to get you started?”

“Not at the moment.”

Not at the moment? No worries. Enjoy death. Let’s hope it comes quicker than your rapidly deteriorating health.

Parents harp on about doing anything for their kids. They’d die for them.

Anything apart from exercise. And being more conscious of what they shove in their gob.

I tend to work with older people. They’ve run out of trying harder at the same life.

Under 50, it can always wait. After the holiday. After the next work milestone. When the kids leave home.

Over 50, next year isn’t a given. You’ve watched a parent fall to pieces. Something hurts every day. Life’s well is drying up.

So by all means, wait till you’re 50. Then reach out.

If you make it.

The Try Harder Fallacy.

The belief that more effort and more willpower will fix it. When what actually needs changing is the strategy. The tools. The environment.

“I’ve been doing all of this very diligent desiring for things to be different… could someone please look into this?” — Adam Mastroianni.

That someone is usually me.

But if a health scare can’t tip it, and your kids can’t tip it, I can’t either.

We can’t care more about your health than you do.

For most, the toll isn’t worth paying, regardless of what the alternative costs.

If you won’t pay it, let the desire go.

Give yourself permission to stop trying harder. Your soul and wallet will thank you.