Dear Master Chief,
Twenty-three years ago I started my professional career. As one might hope, I’m now at the top of my game. That’s the good news! The bad news it that my job involves sitting in a dark movie theatre all day moving nothing but my arms, hands and fingers. (If strong fingers are the keys to a long life, I’ll live forever!) The hours are long (sometimes ridiculous) and the stress level can crush cars.
When I started I weighed 185lbs. I played ice hockey and I carried speaker stacks like a forklift; I was the young Turk breaking down the doors of the old boys club; I was tireless and charged through the sixteen hour days like only an 18 year old could. I was the youngest on the crew, by at least 20 years, and I told myself time and time again, "I’ll never be like them."

Well 23 years later, I am just like them. I’m overweight, tired and can’t wait to get out of the studio. My partner is now the young Turk, and after mountain biking with him and praying the whole time, "God please don’t let me die of a heart attack on this hill," I had had enough. Annie and I went out and bought a treadmill. That was great. I was getting a little exercise and working up a sweat, but there was not real change in my body or the way I felt and soon the treadmill was just taking up space. What were we
to do?

I had seen your ad in the local paper and Annie jumped right in. Four weeks into her first camp I could see a big change in her and she was feeling great. At the end of her first camp she quickly signed up for the next one and during the break she met fellow campers on the hill to continue their workouts. About half way through her second camp, she came home and told me that she had signed me up for the "big 8-week camp" and that I was next! We have a wonderful marriage and are really looking forward to spending a long life together so I was all for it. I’d seen, first-hand, the changes she’d gone through and I knew that I needed something to kick-start the return of my young Turk days.
When I came for the weigh in I was 275 lbs. Now, I’m a big guy and I can carry some extra meat, but 90 lbs. heavier than my starting weight? That’s almost four pounds per year I’ve been working. If I kept that, I’d retire at a whopping 350 pounds! The studio would have to install a crane just to get me behind the console.

The mornings have never been my best times; I’ve often just gotten home, but I rolled out the first morning cussing a blue streak (you should hear the cussing in my head running up that darn hill) and told Annie that I was going to give it my all. (She then hit the treadmill, a clear sign that a life-long habit has been formed). The first day was good, but, by day three, I was really tired and sore. My extra weight was like carrying a ten-year old around on your shoulders all the time. Only my commitment to change and the encouragement of NCO’s (that’s Non Commissioned Officers, like Master Chief and Sergeant, for you civilians) and campers alike kept me going. I have no idea how much I weigh now; I’m waiting for the weigh out at the end of camp, but I DON’T CARE! I feel great!

Today was week 5, day 1 and we ran 5 miles. 5 miles! You could have watered your lawn for a month with my sweat and powered Burbank all day with the steam coming off me at the end, but I ran 5 miles. I love being the first one there in the morning and I almost always have my "homework" done before camp starts. Last week after crunches that added up to 550 I thought my abs would explode out my body. It hurt and then it hit me like a ton of bricks. I did it! I only did 91 crunches the first day and here I was doing 11 times that many. Outstanding!

I now get up looking forward to getting started. I go to work and charge through the long days again. The stress just rolls off me because I know that I was up and running long before anybody else is the room was even in the shower. I totally understand that the treadmill didn’t work because I didn’t push myself and I just kept eating anything I wanted. I get it! And it’s working!

I know that one camp isn’t going to get my 18-year-old body back (although, a little more hair, would be nice), but I also know that I have the tools and the power to get there. Annie and I have both seen the promised land and, hand-in-hand, we’re going!

Thanks Tina.
Ken Tearney