My Health Is My Business Card

My Health Is My Business Card

The fitness industry told me to look the part. Here's what that cost people.

Early in my career, more than one person told me that my body was my business card. They were trying to be nice about it. What they were actually saying was that I didn't have the body. I knew exactly what they meant.

The problem was that they had it backward. The concern in this industry is usually about overweight trainers, and I understand that logic. If someone is trying to lose weight, they want to work with someone who looks like how they want to look. That's human nature, and it's not entirely unreasonable. But that wasn't my situation. I was underweight. I had always struggled to put on weight, and no matter how hard I trained, I didn't look the part the industry had in mind. Not enough size. Not enough visible muscle. Wrong aesthetic for a market built on flat bellies and big biceps.

But even then, even at a younger age, I didn't buy it. Because to me, fitness had never been about looks. It was about function and health. It was about what your body could do, not what it looked like standing still. That was a tough sell in the fitness industry in those days. Honestly, it still is.

What I didn't fully understand yet was how much that pressure shapes not just careers, but the entire direction of the industry. The message isn't just delivered to new coaches trying to find their footing. It's delivered to every client who walks through the door, in every advertisement, in every social media post, in every before-and-after photo. Look the part. That's what this is about.

It isn't. But it took me years to articulate why.

There's some truth to the business card argument

Let me be fair here. The idea that appearance communicates something isn't entirely wrong. If a personal trainer is significantly overweight and visibly out of shape, people will reasonably wonder whether they practice what they preach. Humans are visual creatures. We read bodies the way we read body language, and some of that reading is useful.

But the moment appearance becomes the objective rather than the byproduct, the whole thing starts to fall apart. And in the fitness industry, that shift happens constantly.

The gap between looking fit and being fit

The most important thing I've learned after decades in this industry is that looking fit and being fit are not the same thing. They overlap sometimes. But they're not synonymous, and treating them as though they are has done real damage to the people this industry is supposed to serve.

What does fitness actually measure? Cardiovascular capacity. Strength relative to bodyweight and age. Bone density. Blood pressure. Functional mobility. The ability to produce force, absorb load, and recover from both. These are the variables that predict how well you will move, how long you will remain independent, and whether your body will continue to do what you need it to do as you age. None of them are visible in a mirror.

A 70-year-old who can hike a mountain, carry grandchildren, climb stairs without hesitation, and live fully independently may represent a higher level of fitness than a shredded 25-year-old who can't touch their toes, has already had two shoulder surgeries, and is quietly dependent on substances to maintain their physique. The numbers on that older person's health panel may be exceptional. You just can't see any of it.

The influencer problem

Social media made this worse by creating a reward structure built entirely around appearance. Visible abs generate far more engagement than improvements in blood pressure. Photographs of low body fat outperform posts about bone density, VO2 max, or grip strength. The platforms don't reward health. They reward the visual signal of health, which is a different thing entirely.

And what that created was an industry full of people optimizing for the signal rather than the substance. Many of the most visually impressive people in fitness are quietly battling chronic injuries, hormonal dysregulation, disordered eating, and burnout. The physique is maintained. The health is not. Behind the carefully lit photos and the performance of effortless discipline, there are people in real trouble. That's not speculation. It's widely documented, and most coaches in this industry have seen it firsthand.

The business card looks perfect. The business is a shit show. 

What appearance actually tells you

I'm not arguing that appearance is meaningless. Extreme obesity is associated with significant health risk. Visible muscle indicates some level of training. Being lean enough to see muscle definition suggests a level of body-composition management that is loosely correlated with healthy habits. These signals do carry information. 

But they carry far less information than the industry implies, and they carry it with much less precision than we pretend. Genetics determines a great deal about what a body looks like. Hormones, some of them not naturally produced, can dramatically alter physique without improving health. Surgical interventions can reshape appearance without changing function. Someone can look exceptional and be metabolically compromised. Someone can look ordinary and have the cardiovascular profile of a serious athlete.

Appearance is a blurry picture of health. 

What I tell my clients now

After decades of coaching, the metrics I care about have shifted significantly. I care whether you're getting stronger. I care whether your cardiovascular fitness is improving. I care whether you're sleeping well, moving without pain, and maintaining your capacity to do the things that matter to you. I care about whether your training is building something that will last.

I don't particularly care whether that process produces a six-pack. For most people over forty, it won't.  What matters is whether you can get up off the floor. Whether you can carry things. Whether you can keep doing the activities you love. Whether your body is a reliable tool for your life, not just a decorative shell. 

That's fitness. That's what we should be building toward.

The business card I carry now

Today, I understand the business card argument better than I used to. Your appearance does communicate something. It tells people whether you're taking your own advice seriously. If you're asking clients to prioritize their health and your own is visibly neglected, there's a credibility gap.

But if your body is the entire business card, you're in the wrong business.

Fitness isn't about looking healthy. It's about being healthy. It's about having enough strength to carry groceries at eighty. Enough cardiovascular fitness to climb stairs without thinking about it. Enough resilience to keep doing the things you love for decades. A physique can be part of that story. It just isn't the whole story, and in too many corners of this industry, it has become the only story being told.

My body isn't my business card anymore.

My health is.

See you in the gym.

—JG

Buy my Book: Fitness First. $9.99