CrossFit’s community-based approach helps ensure a thriving and engaging atmosphere. Rather than have people sign up for a gym membership and then leave them on their own to figure it all out, CrossFit offers inclusivity and guidance through group classes led by qualified coaches. From day one, it offers newcomers support through coaching and community. Coaching and teaching are part of the daily experience. Both the coaches and the other members want you to succeed, and they hold you accountable for showing up. It’s noticeable if you don’t, and in most CrossFit gyms if you’re absent for more than a few days, you usually get a phone call, email, or text. When you join, you are much less likely to fall through the cracks. The community provides a safety net of support.
In other words, CrossFit delivers on the promise of fitness in spades. It helps people improve their lives across multiple dimensions and lends them a community to back them up. Plus, its methodology is rooted in math and science. Without getting too geeky about the actual method of it all…CrossFit makes fitness measurable, observable, and repeatable. You can actually point to real data that shows you have improved—you are undeniably fitter. At this point, I knew this was for me. I could tell that the owners of CrossFit gyms went to bed at night knowing that they were truly helping people become healthy and fit. This new vision really appealed to me, and defined what I wanted out of a fitness business.
NCFIT
Even after discovering my passion for CrossFit, I still hadn’t yet taken the leap of faith required to go into business for myself. The seed of entrepreneurship had been planted but was not in full bloom. I was still somewhat under the spell of a “traditional career” and the idea that simply making more money would get me more quickly to where I needed to be was alluring. So, for a little while I kept selling gym memberships, but also began looking for other, higher paying jobs. At this point, I was one foot in and one foot out, dreaming of my life the way I wanted it to be but too scared to do anything about it…a precarious place to be.
Eventually I settled on finding a job in the finance industry. Why? It seemed like a safe bet. And because finance = money…logical, right? Little did I know at the time, this path was definitely not in alignment with my core values, and even worse, would pull me further away from my why. This is the spell of money, and it can be intoxicating.
I was nearing graduation from Santa Clara University in early 2008 and interviewing in the financial sector. A few early conversations with portfolio managers and bankers made me start to suspect this wasn’t the life for me, but I was still lured in by the promise of financial success. They dressed in tailored suits, wore gold watches, and were always busy…very busy. They had money for sure, and they made that clear. But when it came down to it, they didn’t seem to be like me and I didn’t seem to be like them. We were different through and through. I still felt obligated to go through the motions, though. After all, my parents had spent a lot of money on my education, and I knew their expectation was that I would find a traditional job with a salary, benefits, and all that.
Despite my misgivings, I eventually scored a big-time interview with a local financial services company—exactly the kind of job I was “supposed to” get. I prepared well by studying the company and anticipating the kinds of questions the interviewer would ask. I neatly pressed my one and only suit and mentally prepared. I should mention that my suit wasn’t really an actual “suit.” Instead, it was a black blazer with a pair of black slacks. The blacks matched just well enough to the naked eye. I paired it with a collared shirt, spit-shined black loafers, and a tie I borrowed from my dad. He even helped me tie it. I thought I was sharply dressed.
I arrived early and was told by the receptionist to sit in the waiting area. She gave me a form to fill out. Okay, this is pretty standard, I thought. But scanning it, I realized they wanted me to write down the names and phone numbers of people who might make good customers for the company. Estimated income levels, best daytime contact, relationship to me…they wanted sales leads. My heart sank a little bit, and I uneasily filled out the application. Soon, I was called into a very neat, but also very sterile, office. It was stuffy, and the walls were adorned with stock paintings of nature scenes. It was kind of like the office next to it, and the one next to that one, and so on. Cookie cutter, rubber stamped. You know what I mean?
I greeted the interviewer with a smile, and she asked me to take a seat. I answered each question with enthusiasm and energy, and it went very well. She told me that I was a solid candidate for the job, and we began talking about my next interview, which would be with her manager. I was charged up! Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
I stood up, thanked her, and gathered my things.
“By the way,” she said as I was walking out the door, “for the next interview, you’ll want to improve on the…suit.”
Improve the suit? Say what? Her tone and message really caught me off-guard. To this day, I can still hear the self-importance in her voice.
The uneasy feeling I’d had when filling out the sales leads form returned with a vengeance. By the time I reached my car, I was downright angry. In the interviewer’s world, the suit I was wearing was substandard and low-class. She thought I looked cheap and unprofessional. No, my suit wasn’t custom fitted, but it was clean and carefully pressed. My shoes weren’t Armani, but they were freshly shined. I was a twenty-two-year-old guy who had just spent four years grinding his way through college trying to look his best. I took a lot of pride in how I looked that day. She had really shot me down with a few careless words.
What really got to me was that despite all the care I had put into preparing, I had been judged not on my character but on how much my suit cost (or looked like it cost). The interviewer had made it clear that people at the company were going to calculate my value as a person based on how rich (or poor, in this case) my clothes made me look.
This woke me up, and the great wealth promised by a job in finance faded into the background. First off, did I really want to spend the rest of my life at work in a suit and tie? Was that what I wanted to be? Despite my best efforts, I had been told to come back looking sharper and better groomed for the next interview. What next interview, I thought.
I walked out of the office and climbed the steps to the third level of the parking garage. My future career felt like it was a blazing, four-alarm fire. Sirens were blaring in my head. This was no joke. It was a good opportunity for a business grad, and it was a smart, comfortable choice. Was I in any position to pass that up?
It was traditional and safe for sure. But was it me?
My heart said no, absolutely not. It was a resounding and echoing NO. This was 100% not me. First off, if my best dress wasn’t good enough for them, then why bother? Besides, this wasn’t how I felt comfortable either. If I were to define my ideal dress style, I would characterize it as, “clothes in which I can move around easily.” Suits feel like straitjackets. However, attire wasn’t the real problem. The problem was that I wanted to go into business for myself. I wanted to compete in the sport of business, and I wanted that business to be in a world which I was passionate about—fitness.
I wanted to be my own boss and feel comfortable in my own skin. I wanted to be in an industry where I would be judged not by the price of my suit, but by my work ethic and results.
The realization of my path poured over me. I was attracted to the uncertainty and discomfort of being an entrepreneur, not because of the risk and reward but because it would force me to push the boundaries of what I was capable of doing. Perhaps I could sense that it was a pivotal decision. I knew that if I pursued the financial services job, ten years could fly by, and I would regret that I hadn’t taken the chance to do something greater. For all I knew, I could be the one sitting at that desk telling some recent grad to press his lapels better next time. I could never be that person and being true to myself was far too important to ignore.
The decision was made.
I’ll never forget the call I m
ade to my dad while walking to my car. I had never felt as sure of anything in my life as I did at that moment when I pulled out my cell phone and dialed. I knew that I needed to follow my passion—my why—and start my own business.
The phone rang a few times. I was nervous, as you can imagine, but not because I wasn’t sure of my decision. That was certain. I just wasn’t sure what my parents would say. It rang again, and he finally picked up:
“Jason, how did the interview go?”
“Hi, Dad. I have something to tell you…I want to wear gym shorts and a t-shirt to work every day. I want to improve people’s lives. I want my hard work to be directly related to my success. I want to open my own gym.”
It couldn’t have been more than two or three seconds…
“Okay. Let’s do it,” he said.
Honoring Your Why with Action
In June of 2008, I graduated from SCU. In July of the same year, I won the CrossFit Games and opened the doors of our business, NorCal CrossFit, which would become NCFIT. Neither task was easy, and I still had a lot to learn.
My parents have always been amazingly supportive of me, but helping me go into business for myself was the culmination of that support. Although deep down I knew I always had their support, this particular time I could sense they were going all in with me…despite what they might feel was the safest play.
At first, my parents weren’t entirely sold on the idea of me going into business for myself. But they wholeheartedly wanted what was best for me. A few conversations followed that fateful phone call, and we reached an understanding. In the end, I knew that I was making the right decision. The decision to open up my own business aligned squarely with my why and my core values. I knew that even if there was doubt from my friends and family about the risks, they would be there for me. It dawned on me that failure simply wasn’t an option. If I wanted to stay true to my why, cultivate my core values, build a life with Ashley, make my parents proud, and prove to myself that I could do it all and more, then there was only one outcome…to win.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: your why and your core values need to be in sync with one another. If they are not, there’s a fatal flaw in the matrix. Your why and your core values need to support one another harmoniously, seamlessly. For me, the values of honesty, connection through community, and self-expression aligned perfectly with my why. However, when applied to selling empty promises through gym memberships or pushing paper as a financial analyst, there was a direct and massive conflict. It wasn’t me. Could those opportunities have eventually helped me realize my why? Maybe. But I would have been one unhappy son of a gun for a very long time…I couldn’t handle that type of stress. I had to be me.
So, I went into business for myself. It was go time.
To be honest, I didn’t really know what I was getting into. There were certain things I knew for sure. I loved fitness. I wanted to work hard. I wanted to help others reach their goals. But taking those things I knew for sure and translating them into concrete steps that would lead me to my own gym was not easy. I figured I had the basics, and I would see what happened.
The first step to owning a gym business was finding the right location. After some searching, I found a 1,200-square-foot warehouse space in a small commercial park in Santa Clara. It wasn’t perfect, but it would work. Now all I had to do was convince the landlord to rent his property to the twenty-two-year-old kid in a t-shirt and shorts who had never rented property before…
This took some work. I was full of passion and assurances that I would be successful, but I didn’t have any collateral, which was what the owner of the property really wanted to see before agreeing to rent to me. After haggling back and forth for some weeks, I think he finally came to see my passion for the business. He agreed to rent me the building. I truly believe that he saw my drive and took a chance on me.
Even though I had been working hard for years, I still needed a loan from my parents to start the gym. For all intents and purposes, I was broke…which I’ll explain in minute. But to my parents’ credit, they continued to believe in me. They gladly offered up their credit card so that I could purchase $5,000 in equipment. I didn’t enjoy asking for this loan, but it would allow me to start classes as soon as I took the keys to the warehouse.
Misadventures in Business
This is tough for me to talk about. I needed to borrow money from my parents because of several missteps that had left me with little cash in the bank. I’ll take you through these missteps, because although they cost me money, the lessons learned in the process were invaluable and still serve me well today.
The first event in my costly education in business began back when I had just entered my teen years. When I was fourteen, I worked part time at a community center. Using the money I had saved there, I made my first investment at the bold age of sixteen. I thought I was a real slick investor…while working the front desk at a health club.
I put a total of $5,000 into a company that I thought was going to be a big hit. The company touted a revolutionary product called…The Batter Blaster. Other investors convinced me that this was a “cannot miss” opportunity. So, I pulled the trigger…$5,000 to support The Batter Blaster. That is a lot of money for a kid to put into anything, but that’s how sure I was about The Batter Blaster.
The Batter Blaster was pancake mix in a can. It resembled a canister of whipped cream. You’d wake up in the morning, squeeze the batter into a pan, and cook it up—no measuring or mixing of ingredients required! Not only was it convenient, but the batter was organic as well. The company was seemingly on a rocket ride to the top. The product was already being sold at Costco, and it looked like the sky was the limit.
Well, the sky was not the limit. As it turned out, through a series of events beyond my control, I lost the entire $5,000 investment when the company folded a year or so later. I learned quite a bit from this experience. First, I learned that when it comes to investing (whether you are investing money, time, or energy), it is important not to get distracted by the shiny bells and whistles of something if the foundation is crumbling.
More importantly, though, this was my first life lesson on the second step of the AMRAP Mentality—focus on what you can control. Unfortunately, I didn’t learn this lesson in its entirety until several years later, which brings me to my first foray into buying property…
I was nineteen at the time and had finally recovered financially from the pancake debacle. I was ready to try again. I took another shot at investing, this time in real estate—a much sounder bet, I reasoned. Can’t go wrong with real estate, right? The deal put me and a few friends on the ground floor of some highly sought-after land—in a remote part of Idaho (writing this now, it’s a little embarrassing). For a relatively small investment, we could potentially see huge returns. I did a little research and decided it made sense. I was able to put up $10,000 this time. My goals were strictly financial—invest the money in the real estate, sell it quickly, and rake in a huge profit. That was the idea anyway. Unfortunately, this project also went nowhere, and I lost the $10,000…every penny of it.
I was working hard at the time and making good money selling gym memberships. When word came back that the money was gone, my stomach turned so sour that I had to sit down. This loss stung. How could I miss again? And this time for $10,000! I look back on the Idaho land grab and realize failure had been all but inevitable. I knew nothing about real estate, and more importantly, I knew nothing about the real estate market in Idaho.
The deal had been too good to be true. What I’ve learned in business, and in life, is that if it seems way too good to be true…it probably is. I may as well have bought land on some booming new settlement on Mars or bought the deed to the Brooklyn Bridge from the guy on the corner selling fake Rolex watches.
These two experiences are great examples of learning to understand what you can control. I had no control at all over the decisions made by the owners of The Batter Blaster and some
plot of land 2,000 miles away. I should have realized that early on and figured out that if my money was in the hands of someone I didn’t know, far away, being allocated in any number of ways—well, then I had no chance.
These decisions were foolish on their own, and particularly so considering my net worth at the time. I should have invested in something I had more control over, and I should have taken more time to understand the leadership of the businesses I was getting involved with, rather than falling in love with a breakthrough technology in pancake mix.
So, for my third and final attempt at business, I went in the opposite direction. I would be in a position to control as much as possible, and only interact with leadership that I knew and understood. In this case, that would be my friends. Unfortunately, I overcorrected…
This third lesson came in college. Instead of investing in someone else’s idea, my friends and I took it upon ourselves to pursue our own: the next big clothing brand. We named the company Faded Lifestyles. This was a project targeting the college-aged market, which had a proclivity for the nightlife and fashion.
After a long day of classes, training, and work selling memberships in the evening, I spent time on the new company. My friends and I hung out late into the night, working on our business plan. It was a lot of fun. This was at about the same time when the first hints of the AMRAP Mentality became apparent to me.
We gathered at our “company headquarters” (what we called “the shanty”—a two-bedroom apartment where a couple of my friends lived) and talked business. We built the company from the ground up, without knowing a thing about starting a business. We learned how to work with the municipality in getting the paperwork together. It was a banner day when we registered for business in Santa Clara County. Under “Owners,” we listed our four names. I remember having to print as small as possible to make my signature fit within the allocated space.
As Many Reps as Possible Page 4