No sweat - no reward

Dedicated to One More Training GmbH and its Personal Trainers

Do you know the feeling?

The “Dry January” or “Veganuary” phase—or whatever else health influencers have come

up with to torment, the typical pleasure-seeking golfer—is almost over.

A dry January? No problem. But the increased fiber intake, which naturally boosts methane gas emissions, isn’t exactly helping to reduce CO₂ levels. Cravings kick in, which could easily turn into “love handles.” But even this challenging phase is something the senior golfer knows how to navigate.

Of course, he can’t keep using his supposedly poor hearing as an excuse. His dear wife never tires of reminding him about the health consequences of his lifestyle, so he feigns a little interest in her concerns. He looks in the mirror and realizes that his once-French luxury physique has taken a few hits over the decades. He doesn’t need to turn into an Arnold Schwarzenegger lookalike, but trimming down the belly and love handles would be nice. That’ll require some effort and a gym membership—but at least it saves him the extra cost of buying larger clothes.

So, our golfer signs up at the “house of horrors” known as the gym and schedules an initial consultation. “I thought I was supposed to work out, not have a lecture on healthy living,” he mutters. He dreads the thought of walking into a place filled with perfectly sculpted people in the latest fitness fashion, preaching about nutrition.

He gets ready: old sports socks, an Adidas workout shirt, and a pair of training shorts. Then, he throws on his cheap Tchibo tracksuit and slides into his recently purchased Adilettes. “You need proper sneakers,” she calls after him. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, grabs a pair of well-worn Roger Federer sneakers, and heads out.

“Great to have you here! What can I get you?” Had it not been 7:45 in the morning, he might have answered, “A beer would be nice.” Instead, he settles for an isotonic drink with wild berry flavor—it’s worth a shot.

Then, the real ordeal begins. Page after page of questionnaires must be filled out together. “How much do you weigh? Do you take medication? If so, which ones and how many? Any physical limitations?” What does he mean by that? “What are your goals? What do you hope to achieve here?” Dutifully, he answers every question and finally signs all the paperwork, including the privacy agreement.

In plain English: The goal is to maintain mobility and balance, strengthen neglected muscle groups, and prevent pain. If he gains muscle, he certainly doesn’t intend to look like a testosterone-fueled gorilla. A reasonably toned body and a bit of weight loss—that’s the real goal.

Our golfer is officially enrolled. He receives an email with all his training appointments with the head torturer. At least he managed to negotiate a start time no earlier than 7:45 AM. By 9:00 AM, they’ll let him go home—if he survives.

First Training Session

Thursday finally arrives. Instead of heading to the golf club, he finds himself marveling at how many cars from Aargau are clogging the roads toward Zurich.

As he enters the training hall—packed with “torture benches”—he’s immediately hit by the peculiar smell of sweat and old socks. It seems those who train this early don’t bother showering beforehand.

A guy is lifting massive weights while making noises that could easily be mistaken for, well, a very satisfying experience. Another man—a rather hefty one—is struggling in the back. That must be the owner of the Bentley, which takes up two parking spaces due to its sheer size.

Then, it’s our senior golfer’s turn. He grabs his sweat towel, receives a glass of isotonic cherry-flavored drink—tasty! —takes a sip, and follows his trainer to the “monkey cage,” aka the SensoPro.

Do you know this contraption? If not—it’s the pinnacle of sadism. A combination of display screens, software, resistance bands, and a steel frame, this machine can break even the fittest athlete. The golf training program is set to the lowest level—considering the current fitness state—and includes a mix of physical and mental exercises. It’s like being on a game show, except instead of winning a million bucks, you just get a pat on the back.

Seven minutes in, the first challenge is conquered. A mild burning sensation is already creeping into his thighs. What fresh hell awaits next? The machine designers certainly had no shortage of imagination. He’s now pushing weights with his feet, nearly dislocating his shoulder joints while lying on his back with dumbbells, and swinging resistance bands—first the green one, then the blue one—in ways that vaguely resemble a golf swing. His heart rate picks up, sweat starts dripping, and his Prada-infused body odor mingles with the gym air. His throat is dry—thank goodness for cherry-flavored electrolyte water.

Next up: the stepper. Forty reps up and down. Sounds easy enough—until rep 28, when his calves start protesting.

Back to weightlifting. “Instant success!” The dumbbells seem lighter now. Fifteen reps feel almost effortless. But then he realizes—the trainer secretly added more weight. “That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

It’s now 8:45 AM. “Just 15 more minutes of suffering,” he tells himself. “I can do this.”

The personal trainer, calm and ever watchful, has one more torment lined up: battle ropes. “This will activate your core and glutes—15 reps.” “Oh man”—his trouble areas have been identified and are now under direct attack. After ten reps, he’s gasping for air. He pauses briefly, then struggles through the last five reps. To cap it off, a few minutes on the stationary bike—steady pace, controlled heart rate.

Almost collapsing, he drags himself to the counter, downs the last sip of his life-saving drink, gets dressed, and leaves with a breathless “Cheers” to his fellow gym-goers.

On the drive home, he feels like he might veer off the road at any moment—completely drained. His wife greets him with a knowing smile. Barely able to whisper, “I’m back,” he collapses onto the couch and wakes up an hour later.

Later, muscle soreness kicks in—he was warned about that. But it’s not as bad as expected. Apparently, his body still has some reserves from the old days and a remarkable ability to recover.

Is It Worth It?

Absolutely! After just two sessions, he already sees progress. Each time gets a little easier. The senior golfer is starting to feel better. His hip and knee pain? Still there, but noticeably less. The issues with his L4 and L5 vertebrae? Practically gone.

It turns out his wife’s push for exercise and healthy eating might be paying off.

And with these promising results, he’s gearing up for golf season, which—weather permitting—kicks off in March.