"Knees out. Knees out." He says it with a certainty, a conviction, a genuine investment in my getting it right that I have simply never received in a professional setting. That man wants my squat to be correct more than any manager has ever wanted my work to be good.
Think about that gap. At work, feedback is vague, delayed, wrapped in six qualifiers — "maybe consider possibly looking at, when you get a chance, no rush." At the gym, it's instant, specific, and delivered like it matters: knees out, chest up, drive through the heels. No ambiguity. No "let's take this offline." Just clear direction from someone paying complete attention.
He remembers my form corrections better than I remember my own deadlines. He clocks the exact moment my back starts rounding on rep eight. Meanwhile I've forgotten what's due Friday.
Honestly, I trust this man's read on my life more than half the people I'm related to. He's watched me struggle and improve, week after week, and he tells me the truth about what I'm doing wrong without softening it or making it weird. I go to the gym for the workout. I stay for possibly the only clear, honest, well-intentioned feedback I get all week.