Kettlebell training for functional fitness

To whom it may concern,

On Wednesday, I purchased my first kettlebell, a GoFit product. It’s 35 lbs., approximately one pood (an Imperial Russian measure of weight). An old Russian saying goes, “You don’t know a man until you’ve eaten a pood of salt with him.” I like that. Kettlebells are originally Russian, which is why the weight and quote are relevant. I’ve wanted one for years now, but as you know, they’re rather expensive. Mine cost about $70. I couldn’t have afforded it but for a pair of Academy gift cards I received for Christmas, so this is a lucky break.

Kettlebells have come into fashion recently among MMA and Hollywood types because it develops explosive core strength, offers a full-body workout, and (most importantly of all) looks strange and vaguely homoerotic during use. Kettlebells train what is called “functional fitness” – that is, the kind of fitness that comes in handy during strenuous activity, like martial arts or moving furniture, rather than the grandeur of rippling pecs. That resonates with me.

I used it for the first time on Thursday night, and it was surprisingly, shockingly fun. I was immediately reminded of the quote by Reinhard Engels, functional fitness pioneer, who said,

“I didn't want to do sit-ups or pushups. I didn't want to grovel on my stomach on the floor, like some degraded beast. "There must be some kind of movement I can do standing up, with the dignity of a human being," I thought, "some kind of movement that is natural and interesting, that my body would like to do. Something that will engage my mind, rather than holding it a helpless prisoner."

Using a kettlebell is a blast compared to weightlifting. The round, smooth handle fits easily into your hand. The dome joyfully swings up and around your body. The exercises are much more explosive and interesting than the ponderous hoisting of a dumbbell; by God, the ridiculous thing could fly through a wall at any moment, if you’re not careful. It even invitingly raises its handle in the air when at rest, just asking you to heft it, like Excalibur or Mjolnir. Such a delight.

In fact, I had such a good time on Thursday, that I had another session on Friday. I went through two 10-minute sets while watching a Girlfight.

I got through almost three of those in ten minutes. I was exhausted, but invigorated. I ran through 20 or so tricep presses while Michelle Rodriguez beat up her drunken father, just for good measure. When you're done working out with a kettlebell, you feel like you can DO something.

Two weeks ago, my marketing firm announced a 20% paycut across the board, due to low revenue. The first new paychecks came in yesterday, and the office was like a gallows. I'm the newest guy there, but for our web director, and I'll be the first up against the wall if things don't improve. Dead weight. Then we lost another small client, and I actually felt the ship list to port. My hands trembled as I sent out another job application, wondering just how many unemployed ad-men, more motivated and skilled than myself, all starched suits and people skills, were applying. Thousands died screaming in Haiti, and I'm one more college-educated, shellshocked white boy wondering what happened. I sent out some more job applications, holding back the shakes, without even looking at the title or qualifications. The edge of ruin.

No more fancy Velveeta shells and cheese.

At the bank, I was cheery with the teller. We bantered, and I envisioned hooking my hands over the cool, marble divider, jumping up, then booting her in the head on my way in to ransack the cash drawers. Tellers screaming, mauling the security guard on my way out. I wanted to rip down a wall. To break a door in two, and stalk some unknown tormentor through the wreckage. To flood an office building with burning tar, and fill the sky with ash. I wanted to do something fundamentally savage; to obliterate.

That’s where kettlebell training is most enjoyable, I think. They make you feel like you could do something. They’re bludgeons you swing, to grow stronger. You can feel their momentum surging against your hands, like a tethered bull. You could train to use a kettlebell for many things. Bash a table in half, or cave in a windshield. Knock a man to the floor. Slam the cast iron down with both hands, gritting your teeth against the crunching sound. I'm not proud of these mental images, but I want to be honest. And I think there's something to be learned from them.

You see, this is a marketing angle you may not have considered. True functional fitness.

I watched your instructional DVD, GoFit, proprietors of the Iron Core Kettlebell and Workout Program, and had to avert my eyes. But not before I saw what you did. The sedate, monotone instruction you so cunningly labeled, "The Kettlebell Revolution." The women on that DVD, dutifully swinging their pink, designer kettlebells, eyes forward like mares at inspection. They sculpt their glutes and wax their T zones. They undergo arch threading. I felt a bitter lump in my throat, GoFit. They will cast you aside in a fortnight, like spoiled açai berries. They will laugh at the silliness of it. I close my eyes, and I see your target. Furious men and women, filled with an inarticulate desperation, yearning to feel capable again. People who will splash grain alcohol into their coffee before dawn, and swing their kettlebells naked as the sun comes up, tears streaming down their chins and breasts as they ponder their broken, gingerbread-house dreams. Hoisting the weight overhead, to imagine letting it crash down. They will gorge on the pain of muscle growth, sound their darker impulses. A full size range of kettlebells lining the wall, a platoon attentively waiting. These people will first lift their kettlebells with a tentative struggle, and put them down with calloused hands and certain grip to stalk the earth, arms corded with muscle like pinned snakes. Market research topic: attractive vs. transformative marketing. These people will name their kettlebells. Thor's Jawbreaker. Bad Medicine. Crippler.

Becky.

Kettlebell lovingly nestled in the passenger seat, they'll drive through the night, rubbing hot sauce in their nostrils to stay awake, to find whatever faceless desk jockey made them a statistic. Some baffled smile to cave in. I don't know how to first reach these future acolytes, but they represent a powerful, and committed, potential customer base. A committed marketing professional could determine the best course of action in engaging that rarefied psychographic.

That’s why I’m sending this letter to you, GoFit, along with my resume. I’m only familiar with one of your tools so far, but I’m a quick learner, and intensely motivated. I have a B.A. in Advertising, and six years of experience in creative communications across all major media. I can make what you want to say sound mundane and nonthreatening, or terrifying and alluring. I can provide many enthusiastic recommendations upon request.

I hope you’ll get in touch with me soon to discuss a position with your team in marketing, sales, or someplace where I can’t do too much harm. I am not picky. And I think you’ll agree that I need something constructive to do with my time.

Thank you for understanding,

- Luke Anthony