There are moments in the gym that stop me cold. Someone twists under load, grinding through a rep that makes my spine ache just watching it. I can feel every old injury echoing through my body, and one phrase rises up almost instinctively: Not on my watch.
Those four words hit me one quiet morning before dawn, and I knew immediately they were more than a thought — they were a calling. A personal oath to take responsibility for the people in my care, even the ones who don’t know they need it yet. Because as long as I’m on that gym floor, I refuse to stand by while someone risks the health they came to build. Not on my watch.
Belief Drives Behavior
People rarely do the wrong thing on purpose. Almost everyone in the gym believes they’re doing what’s right — what’s productive, effective, safe. The trouble is, belief doesn’t always equal truth. The phrase you don’t know what you don’t know can carry a severe penalty.
One of the most dangerous scenarios that plays out in the gym is the newbie watching the well-built male or female member doing a given exercise. Naturally, because they’re in great shape, they know what they’re doing, and if they’re doing a particular exercise, it must be good. Right? Wrong! Many people have excellent physiques, more so despite what they do rather than the other way around.
My reasoning? Their program design may be awful, and their exercise selection may be horrendous, yet they have good genetics and a strong work ethic. They show up and put in the reps both figuratively and literally; they build respectable physiques. This scenario can again trip up the newbie member, whether male or female. You don’t know what you don’t know, and this can be a recipe for disaster.
I learned that lesson the hard way. I still remember the day my own back gave out.
Actually, it was more of a period—the early 2000s—when my back pain started rearing its ugly head. I started playing golf at 11 and lifting at 15. My two loves would play tug-of-war back and forth until 2003, and my lower back was blindsided in the battle.
It started with acute tightness that prevented me from swinging a golf club and limited my performance in the gym. The pain was a nuisance at the least and almost debilitating at the worst. There were days I could barely walk. These bouts of extreme pain and tightness would come and go, and finally, in 2008, I went to see an orthopedic surgeon. He ordered an MRI, which showed a small herniation between my L4 and L5 vertebrae.
Fortunately, he said I didn’t need surgery and that PT would do the trick. Roughly six weeks later, I left PT feeling vastly better. My therapist suggested that I lay off golf in the short run to help give my back a chance to heal. Further, he introduced me to the work of Dr. Stuart McGill, one of the foremost authorities on the planet when it comes to spinal mechanics.
That injury changed everything, and studying McGill’s work alongside strength coach Michael Boyle, who took McGill’s science and made it practical for athletes and trainers alike, reshaped not only how I trained but also how I thought about training others. Since then, core training has become a 25-year classroom that taught me more through pain and perseverance than any certification ever could.
So, when I watch someone train their “core” through endless sit-up and leg raise variations or dangerous twists, I’m not judging — I’m remembering. I see the younger version of myself who didn’t know better. And I feel a deep sense of responsibility to help them before they learn the same lessons the hard way.
The Right Motive, the Wrong Method
Every day, I see well-intentioned people doing what they think is helping them — high-intensity, flashy movements that look strong but compromise structure. They believe effort equals progress. And while effort is noble, effort without understanding can become the shortest road to burnout or injury.
That’s why this phrase matters so much to me. Not on my watch means I won’t just protect my clients — I’ll protect anyone who crosses my path when I have a chance to make a difference. But it also means I must approach with grace, not arrogance. I don’t want to correct people; I want to connect with them.
Touch a Heart Before You Ask for a Hand
Leadership expert John Maxwell has been a mentor to me for over thirty years. He teaches that, “You have to touch someone’s heart before you ask for their hand.” He’s right. Influence without relationship is manipulation.
Over the years, I’ve walked up to complete strangers and gently offered suggestions. Sometimes they thank me and change their approach. Other times, they smile, nod — and go right back to the same thing the next day. I used to take that personally, but not anymore. People accept truth when they’re ready, not when I’m ready.
Now, I focus on the first handshake, not the first correction. A simple, “Hey, I’m Kelly — what are you training today?” opens more doors than a lecture ever could. Because people don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.
A Lesson in Patience and Persistence
Sales trainer Todd Duncan once told a story about a woman he followed up with for three years before she finally became his client. He called it “dripping on the relationship” — showing up consistently, authentically, without pressure, until the timing was right.
That story reminds me of another from Og Mandino’s The Greatest Salesman in the World. He wrote, “A rich man will not buy chariots for a penny today, but tomorrow he will give up his mansion to live in a treehouse.”
In other words, people’s readiness changes. One day, they reject your help; the next, they’re searching for it. That’s why I refuse to give up on people. Whether it takes three weeks or three years, I’ll keep showing up, sharing truth, and being available — because that’s what serving others really means.
Not on My Watch: A Personal Standard
So this is my new rule for life and leadership: If I can make a difference, silence isn’t an option.
I will no longer walk past unsafe training without at least making a connection. I will lead with kindness, not correction. And I will remember that real leadership begins and ends with love.
“Not on my watch” isn’t about ego — it’s about empathy. It’s the recognition that if I see danger and do nothing, I’ve failed the very reason I became a coach in the first place.
Beyond the Gym
The more I think about it, the more I realize this principle extends far beyond the gym floor.
A parent watches their child drift toward bad choices—and says, “Not on my watch.” A leader sees a teammate spiraling toward burnout — and steps in early. A friend notices someone pulling away—and chooses to call rather than stay silent.
The details change, but the courage required is the same: when we know better, we must do better. Because apathy never saves anyone.
The Psychology of Belief
Why do people cling so tightly to unhelpful habits? Because the familiar feels safe. We defend our patterns — even destructive ones — because they give us a sense of control.
In the gym, that looks like trusting intensity over intelligence. In life, it looks like repeating what’s comfortable instead of what’s effective. But growth requires disruption. Sometimes it takes someone who cares enough to step in and say, “There’s a better way.”
That’s the role I want to play — not as a critic, but as a catalyst.
Legacy and Faith
For me, Not On My Watch isn’t just professional — it’s spiritual. It’s stewardship.
Someday, when my time here is done, I don’t want people to remember how much weight I lifted or how many clients I trained. I want them to say, “He cared enough to step in. He made people better. He didn’t look away.”
That’s the legacy I’m chasing — one rep, one conversation, one act of courage at a time.
Because every time I walk into that gym, I whisper a quiet prayer of purpose: “Lord, help me serve the people You place in front of me today. Help me protect, teach, and love them well.”
The Starfish Story: Making a Difference One Life at a Time
I’m reminded of a story about a grandfather and his grandson walking along the beach after a storm. Thousands of starfish had washed ashore, slowly dying in the sun. The grandfather bent down, picked one up, and tossed it gently back into the ocean. The boy looked at him and said, “Grandpa, there are thousands of them. You can’t possibly make a difference.”
The old man smiled, picked up another starfish, and replied, “It made a difference to that one.”
That’s the posture I want to take — one conversation, one act of guidance, one person at a time. I can’t fix every form flaw in the gym. I can’t protect everyone from injury. But I can help one. And maybe that one conversation, that one gentle correction, changes a life. That’s the heart behind Not On My Watch.
Final Reflection
Zig Ziglar said it best: “You can have everything in life you want if you will just help enough other people get what they want.”
That’s the heartbeat of this piece — protect, educate, serve. Whether it’s a barbell or a conversation, my mission is the same: lead with love and leave people better than I found them.
Because that’s what authentic leadership looks like. And that’s what it means to live by the words — Not On My Watch.
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