Santa Rosa trainer makes getting in shape fun
The first time you show up at Rich Anderson’s Fitworx in Santa Rosa, chances are he will greet you in person and ask you to hit the floor and do 100 ? push-ups. ? Think you can’t? Think again.
“People walk out saying, ‘I just did 100 push-ups!’” Anderson said, then paused to grin.
The 3,300-square-foot space on Maxwell Drive is part gym and part workout wonderland, a product of Anderson’s unique take on athletic training.
There’s a 1,200-pound tractor tire for clients to hit with 35- to 50-pound, custom-made sledgehammers. Devices suspended from the ceiling are designed for “American Ninja Warrior” enthusiasts who want to train like a ninja or compete in the NBC TV series. Punching bags also hang from the ceiling, along with 20-foot ropes and a cargo net for climbing
and gymnastic rings for pull-ups and leg raises.
Though Anderson doesn’t consider himself an artist, he definitely has a creative streak. Using scraps from the junkyard, he created a steel dinosaur on a bike that is suspended from the ceiling, a piece of art to complement the gym’s one-of-a-kind equipment. There’s a new device that looks something like a donut with handles, for example. Anderson refers to it as the “core buster.” His clients stretch out on the floor (push-up style), grip the handles and do 100 reps, shifting their weight back and forth.
“It’s my new toy to work on balance and strength,” he said.
Anderson has an athletic build that makes him look years younger than 53. He works out along with his members, describing himself as a “teammate,” not a personal trainer. On his own, he cycles about 185 miles a week. And though he’s an advocate for healthy eating, clients know that he sometimes wolfs down a Snickers candy bar for quick energy before a workout.
Inspirational messages are painted on the walls: “Make Your Life Happen,” “Lead by Example” and “Be More Than What You Think.” They represent the grit and confidence that evolved from Anderson’s intensely challenging childhood.
He was born in San Francisco in 1962 to a woman who was originally from France and who worked as a prostitute in the city. He was named after his father, Richard, the man listed on his birth certificate but whom Anderson has never met.
His mother placed him in an orphanage when he was three months old and visited him periodically during the early years, taking him on outside excursions. When authorities discovered she was having young Rich dance in bars for money during these excursions, the visits stopped.
He was 6 at the time and never saw his mother again.
Anderson remained in the orphanage until he was adopted at 8, but that placement didn’t work out. Three more adoptive families followed, each resulting in a new surname and dysfunction. He was beaten, molested, locked in cars and ignored and bounced from place to place. He lived in Napa, Santa Cruz, San Jose and Porterville, where his name became Rich Anderson.
He learned to cope with the dysfunction through sports at school, particularly track, but kept to himself.
“I was a loner,” Anderson said. “I didn’t trust people.”
Defining moment
He became the target of bullies. At a track meet in sixth grade, while running the 660 (a lap-and-a-half around the track), one of those bullies ran out on the track and kicked him in the seat of the pants. “He kept chasing and kicking me saying, ‘You can’t quit this race. You’re going to win,’” recalled Anderson. “I’ll never forget it.”
It was a defining moment. He won the match and emerged with the determination to always do his best.
Anderson got a part-time job and ran away from his final adoptive family at 14, moving into a room offered to him by his employer.
Although just an average student, he continued running track in high school and was noticed by a coach at College of the Siskiyous in Weed, Calif., earning a place on the track team, financial assistance and the possibility of graduating early from high school.
He seized the opportunity, earned his two-year degree and joined the Army. There his passion for fitness took on new meaning.
“In the military, I realized I was faster, stronger and had more willpower,” he said. “I knew I had something, and that gave me confidence.”
Anderson served for 12 years, living in places such as Missouri and Kentucky and on bases throughout California. When he was discharged, he focused his experience on helping people who wanted to help themselves.
“I could have the best self-pity story in the world, but it is possible to rise above it,” he said. “There are no excuses. You can do whatever put your mind to.”
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