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My friend Brad is 36, very smart, studying law, sitting a lot and had gained weight. When I saw him last New Years Eve, it was clear something had to be done. He asked me for help. I am a professional Pilates trainer, a fitness expert, but had my own troubles committing to regular work-outs and meaningful, measurable goals. If you are tall and naturally slim, you can get away with a lot.

We decided to draw up a contract. Brad knew just how to do that of course: Six hours of exercise a week each or send each other $50 to donate to a charity of their choice. You know what that New Years Spirit is like, and we both wanted to change our pattern. I could feel the pressure but had to go for it anyway.

A few days later I am on my way to Germany, walking up and down the airport terminal—half a mile, back and forth for a total of three, carrying two heavy bags. It won’t count unless I work up a sweat and increase my heart rate. There is no way to fill my quota for the week if I do nothing today. Then 20 minutes Chi Gong at the gate looking out at the tarmac—all towards building strength and physical resilience. Am thinking of Brad.

Next day arriving at my dad’s for a visit: running up and down the stairs in his condo before he wakes up from his nap, squeezing some Pilates sit ups in between the couch and the coffee table –everything helps. I would have never done it without the loss of $50 looming over my head, let alone my honor.

One week done, Brad writes triumphantly, he did it too! His housemates are very impressed and two of my clients made their own commitments for while I am away.

Week three: Still in Germany I get the flu, badly. I stay in bed and sleep for a solid two days. Sunday, our day of reckoning, Brad calls. “Uli, I saw in your e-mail that you were sick. I am sorry. But I think you should pay, since the contract doesn’t say that sickness is an exemption to working out.”
“What??? You got to be kidding. I didn’t even eat those two days!”

“Thing is,” Brad says, sternly now, ”unless it scares the shit out of us, the contract is worthless.”

“No way!” I am getting louder now. “I don’t want to scare the shit out of anybody. I believe in your intention, you are my friend, to hell with the contract, come on!!! I was sick!!!”

Eventually I get it: In order for this to work, we need to get our commitment out of our own inner, subjective, and often not very logical reference. That is what the contract is for. I should have called Brad, told him I was sick, been together in deciding that it was okay not to work out. So next time something unforeseen happens we will confer. Need to put that into the contract!

Week six, Brad writes: “Hi Uli, woke up with a bad cold, will skip workouts today and tomorrow, okay?”

My fingers fly on the keyboard: “Wait – sorry to hear you are sick, but why not take one day at a time? See how you feel tomorrow! And how sick are you? Wasn’t one of your goals to not get sick as much? Maybe you should do some gentle yoga and/or a walk in the sun. It might help?”

Brad calls, three hours later: ”Hi! I hated your mail. But I guess, that is what I signed the contract for. Just did a yoga class and some biking.” Victory! He sounds just a bit sniffly. We laugh.

The next day, a nurse friend of ours told him to stay in bed, and he called to discuss that. Okay!

Week eight: We have grown to 4 people—Megan and Victoria from the Sunny Way joined in! Everyone is setting their own goals, but if they don’t meet them, it’s pay time. This is the first week one of us had to pay up – just no time to work out. But – Brad has lost 12 pounds, Megan 20, I can feel and measure the difference in my aerobic capacity and the weights I can lift, and Victoria is running again. We feel great physically and very connected, busting the “Only I know what is good and right for me” paradigm, ready to pounce on the next excuse for each other!

Want to join? E-mail us, we will send you the contract!