I was petrified when I met with my first nutrition client.  Will they believe what I say? Will I meet their expectations? It's one thing to learn from a textbook and be certified, but quite another to actually coach someone.

I'm still far from a "nutrition whisperer," but I've learned a lot since I started several years ago. Instead of trying to fix whatever I *thought* was their problem, I now begin with this general algorithm:

• What's their current and previous relationship with food? (Hint: we all have one)
• Is this person getting enough sleep?  (Usually not.)
• Are they adequately hydrated?  (Again, usually not.)
• Are there any glaring tendencies that need to be addressed? (Like when someone puts butter in their coffee.  Yup, that's a thing.)

I didn't always love deadlifts.  I feared them.  And every deadlift day I'd walk into the gym wondering if "it" would finally happen - "it" being that my spine would break in half, shoot out my butt, and I'd be crippled for months.

So why'd I do them if I was afraid?  Ego, probably.  And testosterone.

But having since learned to love the deadlift, I can attribute my early struggles to one specific point: I thought I was more advanced than I was.  I bypassed every easier deadlift variation in favor of the conventional stance - the hardest progression.

I get it.  It's January.  If your last few weeks of December were anything like mine - filled with food and drink and very little exercise - you want to hit the gym hard. After all, there's no time like the present to #getyourchanningback.

But how hard we should push ourselves in the gym?  Is it possible to do too much? Should we hit a new personal record each visit? What's a realistic expectation to avoid burning out before February?

It's complicated.  But first, an anecdote. 

I'm proof that having mobile shoulders is a gift and a curse.  It's allowed me pitch at a high level, press my body weight overhead (for reps), and apply sunscreen to any part of my back without asking for help.

But if you ask my college roommate, he'll beg to differ at how effectively I can do that last part under the intense Aruban sun.

Besides the benefits of having Orangutan-like arms, there are plenty of downsides.  Chiefly, the neck and elbow pain I've experienced along the way.

I usually don’t sing John Cougar Mellencamp.  Strike that.  I never sing John Cougar Mellencamp.

Except for when I’m foam rolling. 

That’s when the words and melody to “Hurts So Good” start blaring in my head (and occasionally out of my mouth). If you’ve ever done any soft tissue work, you know what I’m talking about.